I never got to sleep last night, but I'm now sitting outside Majdanek. I'll just pick up where I left off yesterday [description of Friday]: After we saw the barracks exhibits, we went to a gallows, specially constructed after the war, where Rudolph Hoess, a high-ranking Nazi officer, was hanged following post-war trial. Right next to this was a gas chamber and crematorium. Though Auchwitz was not a major death camp, they had one "small" crematorium which is still intact, as opposed to the larger ones in Birkenau that were destroyed.
Going through the chambers was very eerie. The room was completely solid concrete, with a steel door, and holes in the ceiling where Zyklon B gas was dropped. The crematorium looked like a big oven. There, we sang a little and recited Kaddish.
The things that took place there completely defy all human logic, and because of that, it is almost impossible, without having been there, to comprehend what went on. It seems human beings should be incapable of this type of complete cruelty, but what we've seen over the past few days proves that they were, though I think that I still haven't really processed that fact.
I bought a book there, and then we went to Birkenau. We drove
through a part of the camp, which was kind of strange, and started
off where we had assembled the day before, at the end of the march.
I barely recognized the place, because the day before, I was only
able to see people, and none of the ground.
[written after the March, expanded from brief notes made during the March]
After wandering around the camp a bit, we gathered by what was left of one of the gas chambers for a ceremony led by Ramaz students. Matt led us in some songs with his guitar, including "The Butterfly." Afterwards, we filed in to the chamber to the haunting tune of "Eli, Eli". Mr. Meyer, a survivor who traveled with us, spoke, struggling through tears to get out his words. Next, Kaddish was recited by him at the chamber, the site of his mother's "grave". Afterwards, we left the chamber, again to the tune of "Eli, Eli". As we walked up the stairs, there was a strange feeling of guilt that hit me. Why should we be allowed to walk out of the chamber after a brief ceremony, when so many men, women and children left only as smoke through the chimney of the crematoria? Looking around, seeing the somber faces of my close friends, and even my mother, I realized that the only reason that we were standing around in blue jackets as opposed to marching, naked and hungry, to our death, was simply a freak accident of timing. Had I been born a few generations earlier, I wouldn't be able to do what was so easy for me in 1994: to walk out of the gas chamber in Birkenau.
In an understandably bewildered mood, I next went to confront a somewhat more personal bit of the past: my grandmother's barracks at Birkenau. My mother and I looked around the camp, trying make sense of a map of the barracks there. My grandmother had told us the number of the barracks where she stayed for some time in Birkenau, before making it out of the camp. After wandering around for a while, we found one that looked like it could have been the right one. The inside was cold stone, with wooden shelves for beds. I imagined my grandmother there, cold and cramped, among hundred of others. It was difficult to believe that all this was real, that we weren't in the middle of some nightmare or horror movie.
Finally, we left the camp and returned to the hotel for Shabbat.
We were exhausted from all we had seen and done, and looking forward
to Shabbat, in spite the fact that it would be spent in a country
where we didn't exactly feel at home. We managed to enjoy a Friday
night dinner in the hotel, with singing and all. Right next to
us, there was a Polish wedding taking place. This was another
reminder to us that life went on as usual, even in Poland. After
dinner, we had a bus meeting in Rabbi Tom's room, where we all
sat and discussed a bit of all that we had each seen and felt
over the last few days. Eventually, after some singing, the meeting
officially ended, but the conversation went on until early in
the morning. I stayed up in my room until about 4 AM talking with
friends from school about anything and everything that was on
our minds.
[description of Saturday, April 9, 1994]
After finally collapsing sometime after 4 AM the night before, I slept until 1 PM on Saturday. Mati and I made it to lunch just in time to catch the very end of the meal. A little while after lunch, we took a walking tour around Krakow, along with some heavy security. We saw the Ramah shul there, along with some other sights. One incredible part of the tour was completely spontaneous: while we were walking through the main town square, drawing glances from all those we passed, there was a small band performing in the square, playing for donations. When they saw us passing, either because they were hoping for us to give them money, or because of their cynical sense of humor, they started playing Jewish music, like "Hava Nagilah" and "If I Was A Rich Man". At first, many of us felt uncomfortable, as if the entire square was saying, "Jews, you're not welcome here". After a little while, realizing what we had just been through, and to spite these people and their feelings, we began to sing and clap. Gradually, we formed a circle and danced a Hora right in front of the band. The music kept playing, and our dancing only got louder and more spirited, to the delight and amusement of those watching. We proudly danced and sang, showing that we had nothing to be ashamed of; that, on the contrary, we were proud. We eventually moved on with our walk, still on an emotional high. I doubt there are many people who can say that they've danced a Hora in the middle of the town square in Krakow, on Shabbos, and it was definitely a memorable experience.
After going back to the hotel and hanging out for a while, Shabbos
was almost over. We went to Rabbi Tom's room for havdallah - Matt
played guitar, and we sang a few songs. We stayed there and talked
for a while afterwards in the room. Eventually, we went back and
were talking by the rooms. We were leaving early Sunday morning,
and I never quite got around to going to sleep that night.
later Sunday...
We left the hotel early this morning, and our first stop was the University/Yeshiva of Lublin. The place is now a medical center, though you can still see the cracks in the doorposts where mezuzot had once been. There, we had a siyyum, led by M.T.A. After half a century, we brought at least a small bit of Torah back to this place where many of the great minds of Europe had learned. This place was another example of the great level of Jewish life here that was lost.
Next, we went to Majdanek. The camp is nearly exactly the same
as the way it was right after the war. After seeing a massive
stone monument, we went through several exhibits, similar to the
ones in Auchwitz.
