Learning The Lessons of the Death Camps

“Exactly a year ago, my friends and I were getting ready to embark on an adventure. We were going to Israel, the Jewish homeland. A number of different youth organizations had been advertising their trips, each promising unforgettable experiences. I could not decide which trip to go on; whether to spend a week in the army or a night of “survival” in the desert. My best friend proposed that we go on the “Poland/Israel Pilgrimage.”
If I went on this trip, it would mean going to death camps, to gas chambers, to cemeteries; all remnants of the Holocaust in which six million Jews died just over 50 years ago. I grew incredibly reluctant. I did not think I could handle going there; was I mature enough? Maybe I just did not want to see, simple as that. Maybe I did not want to scare myself and go though emotions I could not even fathom yet. Why would I want to do that to myself?
Nevertheless, I considered the idea. What happened is part of my past, my recent past. I was already familiar with the suffering of the Jews throughout history: slavery in Egypt, expulsion from Spain and endless discrimination. The Holocaust is different than all of those other things—it took place so much more recently. It took place when the world was known as “civilized” and “advanced,” in a period of rapid industrial and intellectual development. The entire situation is ironic. The Holocaust occurred when it was least likely to. That settled it—I was going.
Because I used to go to a Jewish day school, I am well-acquainted with Jewish history. I have seen countless videos and talked to survivors of the Holocaust. I have been to the Holocaust museums in Los Angeles and Washington DC. It’s incredibly difficult to visit the exhibits without breaking down and crying. But when I set foot into the real thing, it hit me on a deeper level that is hard to describe. The horrors of the Holocaust hit me in the face.
Two of the camps we went to, Sobibor and Treblinka, had been leveled—bombed by the Nazis to conceal what happened there. All that remains are monuments, memorials and mass graves, which I probably walked upon without even knowing. In Sobibor, I noticed that we were surrounded by trees, and oddly, they were all the same height. In a real forest, trees are at different lengths, each being planted at a different time. Our counselor told us that the Nazis had quickly planted all those trees around the area as part of their plan to keep the camp’s existence unknown. Treblinka was a gigantic death camp with 13 gas chambers, each fitting 2,000 people at a time. The memorial there includes 17,000 jagged rocks to represent the 17,000 Jews killed in one day. One single day.
We also visited Auschwitz, which is so big it has been divided up into three different camps: Auschwitz I, Birkenou, and Maus. Auschwitz is probably the most notorious death camp. The stories of torture and execution are endless. Auschwitz I was actually built during World War I as a camp for political prisoners. Ironically, the grounds looked like a college campus: green fields scattered with brilliant purple and yellow flowers, birds singing in the bright blue sky and people strolling along with their children.

I spent over an hour in the gas chamber

Once inside a neatly constructed brick barrack, I saw what the camp was really about. There were dozens of rooms used for the sole purpose of torture. One of them was a mere 4 x 4 ft. with no windows, no doors, only a small crawling space on the bottom. Four prisoners were forced to stand in the cement room, sharing a tiny five-inch hole in the ceiling to breathe.
But the camp that made the biggest impression is the one most people have never heard of: Majdanek. It can be operating at full capacity within 48 hours. Everything is there; the gas chambers, barracks, crematoria and mass graves. As I walked into the camp, I could visualize Jews from two generations before, unknowingly walking to their deaths. The Nazis had told them to strip and put their valuables in a pile. They were then led into an area where their hair was shaved. They were told to enter these large rooms, so-called “showers,” where they would be cleaned after their long journey. Many breathed sighs of relief, believing they were safe. They crowded around the “shower heads” waiting for water; instead a deadly gas surrounded and killed them.
I spent over an hour in the gas chamber, the stench of death surrounding me. Patches of blue and green stained the otherwise white walls where the Zyclon B gas had reacted with the plaster. This poison had replaced carbon monoxide in the “showers” because it took less time to enter the bodies of the victims and kill them. Why were they using gas in the first place? Because this was more cost-effective than shooting them. The idea of gassing the masses was known as the Nazi’s infamous “Final Solution.” It made me sick.
As I looked around, I couldn’t really cry—I was in total shock and disbelief. It was oddly silent while I was in the large gas chamber. Only the soft sobs of my friends could be heard. Just over 50 years ago, agonizing screams, wails and cries for mercy echoed through these walls. I walked out of there knowing that if I had been there a few decades ago, I would now be nameless in a pile of other dead bodies.
I also visited the crematorium. Ashes still lay in the ovens; the smell of burning flesh overwhelmed me. After 50 years, the stench remained. I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. I felt a wave of nausea go through me and the urge to throw up. I couldn’t understand how people could be evil enough to try to exterminate an entire people. How could humans treat their own with such hatred? What was even harder for me to understand was how the rest of the world stood silent while all of this was going on. Instead of extending their arms to help those in trouble, they turned the other way.
Our ten days in Poland were not spent solely in camps. We also visited cemeteries where Nazis had used the gravestones for target practice. I prayed in the only remaining synagogue in Warsaw, where 300 once stood. We learned Jewish texts in an old Jewish house of study, a Yeshiva. We prayed and danced in the Jewish square of Krakow. We were breathing life into a place that had tried so effectively to suffocate it.
I also learned something from our interactions with the Poles. Some were anti-Semitic, other kind and understanding. I assumed that after learning about these horrors in their own country, the Polish people would no longer be anti-Semitic, instead feeling sympathy toward the Jewish people. I wasn’t completely right. Walking down a street, I could hear Poles mumbling to one another, pointing us out and laughing at us. People stared at us like we were a freak show. They could tell we were Jews because the boys wore head coverings and the girls long skirts, signs of respect. When we prayed in public view, Polish children made fun of us. They jeered at us, gave us the finger. As we drove away, one of them threw a Coke bottle at our bus. It’s sad to see such a young child so ignorant. Their parents must have reared them to be prejudiced.
A Polish man came up to our Polish tour guide, and took him aside. “Do you know the people you are touring are Jewish?” he said. “Do you still want to work with them? They’re Jews!” Never before had I witnessed such prejudice aimed at me. When we got to our hotel, I went in my room and cried. Not only because of what had happened to my family, but because the hatred which caused their deaths is still present today. A number of Polish citizens made sure our stay in Poland was as uncomfortable as it could possibly be. I had never met these people. Why did they hate me so much?
When I got back to the Los Angeles, I began reflecting on our trip. Most of us had never traveled to a strange land before, never interacted with total foreigners in such a way. We assumed that their actions towards us were anti-Semitic. I spoke to a staff member about the prejudices our group as a whole had experienced. He explained to me via e-mail that they were not all we had assumed them to be. He wrote, “Perhaps the only negativity that I, personally, have witnessed has been a result of the fact that I was traveling with a group of 65 boisterous, loud and sometimes rude American teenagers. We speak a different language, we make a lot of noise, we have weird eating habits and they aren’t always used to that… All in all, the Polish people with whom I’ve dealt with are regretful of what happened to the Jews of their country. They don’t really know much about us and are usually more curious than anything.” He opened a new door to me. The Poles’ behavior towards us were not necessarily anti-Semitic. Those little children making fun of us were only doing so because they were acting like normal eight-year-olds, not because we were Jewish. I realized that I had been making stereotypical conclusions about others, something this trip was teaching us not to do.
I felt ashamed as I thought of all the help we had received from the inhabitants. Our two bus drivers had driven us all around their country, from Warsaw to Lublin to Krakow and back. They made the effort of learning English to make us a little more comfortable. Each hotel we stayed at was generous enough to not only provide enough rooms for 71 noisy foreigners, but with Kosher meals as well. It cannot be too easy to find Kosher meals in a place where there are so few Jews. Our tour guides, a father and daughter, were extremely helpful with our group. They told us of their country’s history, took us to different places, and arranged a lot of things for us to make sure our stay was as comfortable as possible. Our guides were invaluable to our trip. At one hotel, the band surprised us by playing Hava Nagila, a popular Jewish festive song. Our group gathered on the dance floor and had a great time. One afternoon, while we were walking in Krakow to a Kosher restaurant, a small group of musicians began to play a Hebrew song. It was amazing! It was a warm welcome into a country I had thought would despise us. I understood now that although there were a few people who did not welcome our presence because of our religion, it was a minuscule few. Most were nice enough to help us with our needs and did not really say anything when we noisily walked through their neighborhoods. These sudden insights drastically changed my mind about our interactions with the Poles for the better.
My stay in Poland was an experience I will never forget. I underwent both heart-wrenching and uplifting experiences. I will never go there again—I don’t think I could handle it. But I’m glad I went. It has opened my eyes and will give me the chance to open the eyes of others to the atrocities that took place during the Holocaust.
After the emotionally draining experiences in Poland, we spent five weeks in Israel, moving me from a place of general sadness to one of joy. Everything I would experience in Israel had more meaning because in the back of my mind, I was remembering all those who couldn’t make it this far. Israel is the only place in the world where I feel like a majority, not a minority. I am not an outcast. I cried again, but this time out of pure joy. I was home.
1998 is the fiftieth anniversary of the creation of the State of Israel. A large number of Jews believed that the only way to prevent another Holocaust from taking place was to create a homeland for the Jewish people. They did whatever possible to get the United Nations to vote for its birth. It paid off. Now future generations would be able to go to a safe haven built especially for them. The creation of the State of Israel made sure that the six million who died in the Holocaust did not die in vain.
Our five weeks in Israel were amazing. We visited the Western Wall—the only remaining part of the Second Temple. We climbed Masada, a mountain-top fort where a number of Jews committed suicide rather than be enslaved by the Romans. We swam in the Dead Sea. We survived in the desert for two days with only bare necessities. We visited ancient ruins of our people dating back four thousand years. We learned about the Jewish people’s struggle to get a homeland, and I was now lucky enough to be in it.
After 10 grueling days in Poland, I thought I could relax. Again, I was wrong. Our last few days in Jerusalem, a bomb went off in a crowded marketplace. We had driven by it 15 minutes earlier. A terrorist had taken his own life to kill others, to kill Jews. Even in the Jewish homeland, anti-Semitism persists. I was as confused as ever. I was supposed to be safe in Israel, the Jewish homeland. Poland held enough reminders of death for me. I didn’t need any more of it. It seemed to have followed me to Israel. After 50 years, after six million, hadn’t the world learned? Despite the bombing, my stay in Israel was great. I learned about my ancestors who had established the Jewish homeland. I learned about the people who had been fighting for such a meager piece of land for thousands of years, my people.
I came home with a new frame of mind. I looked like the same person, well, maybe a bit tanner, but otherwise just a teen with a bunch of great memories. But I wasn’t the same. Judaism had new meaning to me. I knew what was so special to the millions that had died for their religion so I could live for it. It wasn’t just a religion, it was a part of them and now a part of me. The prayers I chanted now had meaning; they weren’t just catchy little tunes anymore. I wouldn’t be able to take anything for granted anymore. I also had a job to do now: to enlighten others of my trip and its meaning, to tell them of the horrors I had seen and what had risen from the ashes and blossomed out of it. I remember what was carved into a rock by a wall in Auschwitz: Nie Wieder. Never Again. I will always have that it my heart, along with something I carved into another rock: Never Forget.”

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