Since today, January 27th, is the anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz, I thought I would share something that I wrote years ago (with some minor tweaks) on my first solo trip. I decided to take a week before my study abroad program started in the summer of 2014 and hop around Eastern Europe. With my degree in history, I found my way to Poland with a strong desire to experience Auschwitz and Auschwitz II – Birkenau. This is a combination of 2 posts I wrote about my experience. Grab a tissue. And some chocolate.
A little background to set the stage for this: I landed in Prague the morning before I arrived in Poland. I spent the day exploring Prague and had just boarded an overnight train (my first!) that would take me to Auschwitz. I ended up sharing a room with 5 other Americans that woke me up every 30 minutes or so to “take some shots and par-tay.” Hard pass, bro.
And forgive the weird filter I was using on my phone…apparently I thought it made my photos look more “authentic” or something.
After not sleeping for a few days, I could feel myself getting a little drowsy. When I boarded the train, I knew that my stop in Oświęcim (Auschwitz) was just after 4:30am…which made me wary with who I was sharing a “room” with. I was nervous that I would sleep through my alarm with my earplugs in, but since I didn’t really sleep, it wasn’t a problem. I was awake and ready to go at 4, so I just hung out in the walkway, watching the slow sunrise.
After a pilgrimage to the WC, the conductor let me know that the train was almost 2 hours late and he’d come get me when we arrived. Seriously? What happened? I guess we were held up at a station for a while as the world slept, but it didn’t matter. I fell back asleep for about 90 minutes and then just decided to wake up fully. At this point, most people on the train started to wake up, thinking that the train would be pulling into the Krakow station soon. Nope!
Around 6:45am, the train pulled into the Oświęcim station and I realized that I was out in the sticks. The station was almost deserted with a few random train cars dotting the tracks. The station looked like a rundown airplane hangar, and all of the buildings were different shades of gray. It had rained a little the night before, so the roads and sidewalks were spotted with puddles.
I knew that Auschwitz didn’t open until 8, so I looked at the city map just outside of the station and found a path I could walk. Fortunately, there was an ATM just across the street, so I loaded up on Zloty. The museum was about 1 km away from the train station, so I assumed it wouldn’t be too bad of a walk with my bags. As I walked down the streets, I couldn’t help but notice how absolutely beautiful and green the town was. I noticed it on the train as well: Poland is so lush! I passed little bakeries along the way and forced myself forward. The smells emanating from the bakeries were magical, which was in sharp contrast with the town’s history and left me befuddled.
After about 30 minutes of wandering around the quaint little town, wondering why people would live so close to such a horrible piece of history, I happened upon this sign:
I felt chills down my back. I’m here. I couldn’t believe I was fulfilling a life-long dream of visiting this place. I knew coming here would change my life, but I didn’t really know how to prepare for the emotions that overtook me.
Most of the buildings that weren’t offices (really??) were each dedicated to some aspect of life in the camp: arriving, sorting, living, dying, items taken, escape attempts, etc. I will let these pictures speak for themselves:
I will say this: being one of the first people in the camp that day, I was able to take some time to quietly reflect on the miracle of being able to freely walk in (and out) and under the “Arbeit Macht Frei” sign. “Work will make you free.” Lies. I steeled myself for what I was going to see/think/feel.
I said a prayer as I entered the camp to be aware of what happened and to not be overcome by hatred/anger/revenge as distractions. I asked for strength to keep walking, keep reading, and for those who passed during their stay to have peace. I asked for my heart and mind to be opened to impressions that I might feel, so I might be able to take what happened here as a lesson to improve my life and the way that I treat others. Those who ignore history are destined to repeat it.
As I walked from block to block, reading the stories, seeing the mounds of shoes, eyeglasses, prosthetic limbs, clothing, suitcases, prayer shawls, etc., I would stare at the ground from time to time, watching my feet hit the cobbled pavement, wishing I could have double vision and see what happened in real time: to see who was walking where I walked, to know of their story and what happened. Did they make it out alive or were they sent to Birkenau to be cremated?
I’m trying to describe what I was feeling, but it’s hard. I knew it would be. I was okay (no active falling tears) up until I found the gas chamber. I was dreading this: I had visited the Museum of Tolerance in LA a few times and would always lose it when I reached the “gas chamber.” Again, nothing can prepare you for it, and there’s no way to avoid it. You are affected. Even now, I’m starting to cry as I remember walking up to the opening. I saw the smoke stack a few yards away and knew what was coming, trying to brace myself.
Just inside of the building was a sign that said, “You are in a building where the SS murdered thousands of people. Please maintain silence here: remember their suffering and show respect for their memory.”
There was a HUGE lock on the front door. I could feel the tears starting, but held it together. I wanted to remember this feeling forever and needed to maintain a level head. I walked in and held my breath…waiting.
The building was grey cement, small, with 3 chambers. My eyes looked up and found the walls, covered in nail marks where those who were gassed desperately tried to claw their way out. I could hear them screaming, crying, praying, asking why this was happening. I remembered the mountains of shoes; adult sizes…and then sizes that would fit people a lot smaller: children. I lost it. I started crying and couldn’t stop.
I fell to my knees and said another prayer, so grateful that I wasn’t surrounded by tourist groups. After a moment, I stood up and walked over to the closest wall, and started tracing the fingernail marks with my hand, searching for understanding.
I continued to the 2nd chamber, and found it roped off with a small bouquet of flowers.
Still sobbing, silently.
Last chamber: the furnaces.
Once outside, I realized that I had tensed up every muscle I could possible control while I was inside the building. I didn’t feel it until I was in the fresh air. Another blessing: I could walk in and out of the building as a free woman. Amazing.
Once I regained control of my tears, I continued on to the other side of the camp: there were still a few more buildings that I needed to see, as well as the shooting galley. Here, the “prisoners” were taken to be shot if they weren’t deemed fit for work.
I stood against the wall and looked where they would have. It was a sobering sight, hindered by the fact that I could hear cars driving by. I looked up and saw that the walls were at least 10 feet high, leaving no hope of escape. What a psychological weapon: to have a “prisoner” who will be shot walk a long distance down the galley between 2 buildings, only to have them turn around and meet their fate.
After about 2 hours of being here, I realized that I was shaking. Bad. I decided that it was time to go. I had seen the buildings, the items, the watch towers, the “roll call” area, the sign. I had felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for when and where I was born. I had felt the Spirit strongly as I prayed for those who died in the camp. When I left, I saw a sign that Auschwitz II-Birkenau was just a 5-minute drive on the other side of the rail yard.
I needed to see it.
I needed to walk on those train tracks.
So, I grabbed a taxi and headed to Auschwitz II-Birkenau, The Extermination Camp…
One thing that I was not prepared for was the sheer SIZE of Birkenau. It is huge. I was stunned. This place wasn’t as crowded as Auschwitz was, yet. I was sure it would fill up, but it wouldn’t be as noticeable. I picked a side of the train tracks to walk down, and started crying again. I couldn’t help it.
I walked quite a ways until I reached the “living quarters.” Most of them were closed for refurbishment, but there was one that was open, with a sign indicating that it was a women’s building.
I walked into the antechamber, and saw this:
I traced her name with my fingers, wondering about her story. Was she liberated or massacred? Where was she from? How old was she? Then I stopped and saw the “bunks” they slept on.
At this point, I physically couldn’t move. I was alone and the feeling I had in this large room was overwhelming. There was a very interesting and unsettling spirit I could feel in the room and I decided to leave. I’m so glad I did because again, as soon as I left, I could feel a noticeable lightness to my back, neck, and shoulders. I looked down and noticed that my skin had been crawling and the hairs on my arms had been standing up. There was something otherworldly in that room and I didn’t like it. I can’t imagine what it would have been like to live there.
At the opposite side of the camp, there was another memorial set up, this time next to a large pit (filled with rain water) and deteriorated buildings with a marker that read, “To the memory of the men, women, and children who fell victim to the Nazi genocide. Here lie their ashes. May their souls rest in peace.” Again, I took a moment to offer a short prayer, asking for peace. I can’t describe it.
At the end of the train tracks was an international peace memorial to those who died during the operation of Birkenau. There are many plaques that are laid into the ground; each in a different language, but bearing the same message, “For ever let this place be a cry of despair and a warning to humanity, where the Nazis murdered about one and a half million men, women, and children, mainly Jews from various countries of Europe. Auschwitz-Birkenau 1940-1945.” There is also a lovely memorial with flowers.
As I made the long trip back to the front of the camp, I walked along the other side of the tracks. This side was an interesting sight that took me a second to fully comprehend what I was seeing: all of these chimney-looking things were actually ovens. There were SO. MANY. OVENS. Literally, mind-boggling. Staggering. I had to catch my breath and hold it for a few seconds. Again, the Nazis knew how to use psychological tactics with their “prisoners.” I can’t imagine having to work one of the ovens, pushing in bodies of people I probably knew. Maybe even family members, wondering if I was next? Unfathomable.
Halfway down, I stopped by this rail car and wondered. This was an actual car that was used to transport people to the camp, packed in like cattle in the worst conditions, heat, cold, unable to breathe, unable to sit down, unable to move. One thing you notice right away is that there aren’t any holes in the sides of the car: no way to breathe, no way to see where you were going. You had no idea where you were until the doors were finally opened and you stumbled out, limbs stiff from not being able to move for hours. Finally realizing where you were and then the doom set in.
The last few hundred meters or so, I walked along the rail lines, again grateful that I could do this. I remembered an episode of Oprah where she visited Birkenau and Auschwitz I with Elie Weisel, Jewish writer and Holocaust survivor. I couldn’t remember much of what they talked about, but I remember neither of them talking at all when they were entering the camp, and then Elie only whispering when he would talk. He said that he never thought that he would again enter the camp on his own free will and volition. I can’t blame him, only knowing a fraction of what happened.
When I would walk around the camps, I made sure that I spent a lot of time looking at the actual road and pathway that the “prisoners” would have walked, wondering what they were thinking.
We read about what happened at the camps, we watch videos, we read journals and letters, we visit museums and the actual camps, but we have NO IDEA what it was like. I am both grateful and humbled by that fact. I started thinking about an acquaintance that is German. She is older and lived through WWII, but is one of the few who believe that the Holocaust didn’t happen and it was all a scare tactic. Now, I am not saying that I believe her. It happened. But I wonder at that mindset. Is it straight out denial? Was that the belief of her parents? Were they Nazi sympathizers who, like most of the world, didn’t really know what was going on? Were they ignorant or did they know? How can something like that be covered up?
I remember a book that I read last year called “In the Garden of Beasts,” by Erik Larsson. It’s a historical non-fiction about the life of the American ambassador to Germany right before WWII. It talks about how most of the world had no idea about concentration camps and what was being done to the Jews, Poles, and other minorities. I’m so grateful to have studied history and am able to process this a little bit.
While I didn’t enjoy visiting the camps, I would say it was a very satisfying day. Nothing compares to actually walking among the bunkers where “prisoners” were kept, worked, and died. The feelings I experienced will stay with me forever. I will never forget, I will never take for granted my freedom, my religion, my life. Now comes the next step: what to do with my experience. How do I pass on what I have felt, what I have learned?
If you’ve made it this far, I applaud you. Even to this day, years later, I still am brought to tears with this experience. Although I am forever grateful that I was able to visit Auschwitz and Auschwitz II – Birkenau, I can’t say that I’m looking forward to another visit, or even a new one like Dachau.
PIN ME
