Photos by Hannah Rappoport
After a meaningful Shabbat in Kraków where we were able to hear the first hand accounts of those who survived Auschwitz, we headed over to witness the places where these stories transpired; a place which thundered. We drove there on our coach bus, sprawled across our seats. But as we passed by the railroad tracks that transported Jews to the camp, I felt overcome by gratitude for our circumstances. Rather than being cramped in hot cable cars with not enough room to breathe, no sustenance, or any sense of hope, we were on a spacious bus with not only hope, bus also happiness. For me, this camp was an especially emotional experience. My grandfather was a survivor of Auschwitz and many other camps. His entire family perished except for his mother. He passed, but he left behind an item by which we remember an important story. When he was in the camp, his pants were too big, which meant that he couldn’t work. If one was unable to work, they would be shot right away. His father traded his day’s ration of bread for a belt to hold up my grandfathers belt. A few years before he passed he finally told us this story and we still have the belt. As we walked through the gates, I held it close to my heart. We began our walk through the camp under the sign which says “work liberates.” This sign may have given the Jews a glimpse of hope, but once they walked through that gate, it might have been the last time they felt that. We walked past brick barracks which masked the true horrors that happened inside of them. Inside most of these barracks now are museums with items found at the camp after liberation.
As we entered one of the buildings, I was not ready for what we were about to see. We walked into a room and to our right was a small pile of braided hair on top of cloth made from 100% human hair. This showed us how the Nazis missed no opportunity to make use of every single part of the Jewish people. As I kept walking, I thought this was all the hair to see, but as I turned my head there were hundreds of individual braids behind glass covering the entire room. These all belonged to woman who were brought into the camp and most likely never left. A feeling raced through my body which I had not yet felt and cannot describe. Each of these braids belonged to women who each led unique lives, until the Nazis slowly stripped away their individuality.
As we continued through the building each room held possessions which the Jews had brought with them when they were told they were going to “resettle.” These items included things like glasses, toothbrushes, hair brushes, dishes, and baby clothing. We saw behind a glass case suitcases with names and birth dates. One birth date was 1939—he was just a child. Another room held items belonging to those with disabilities and were able to infer that the people to which these items belonged were most likely sent straight to the gas chambers. Having a disability led them to lose their life instantly; they were not given a chance. One room was full of shoes and there we heard a quote that really put things into perspective: “You will find people in the world without shoes, but here is the only place you will find shoes without people.” These shoes were filled with feet belonging to a unique individual who there is now probably no trace of. All that remains are their shoes. While we walked from this building to the next, we were blessed with the opportunity to meet two more survivors. One survivor we met was there for the 76th anniversary of his arrival to the camp. He pointed to the exact barrack in which he lived and told us the number of hours he lived there for. The reason for this was that in a time like this, time was not measured by days, months, or years, but rather by hour. You survived hour by hour. He referred to us as “my revenge.” Another survivor reminded us how important is was that we were there because we must not forget what they did to us.
After that moment which we will never forget, we saw the memorial Yad Vashem created. The first thing we heard when walking in is the song “אני מאמין.” We then found ourselves in a room surrounded by videos from pre-war Europe of Jews doing things like dancing and playing in soccer. I felt completely immersed in the Jewish life and gained a better understanding of the livelihood they lost when Hitler invaded. One boy looked right at the camera and I felt as if he was staring right at me. He did not know what he was soon going to face. The memorial contained a room with walls covered with the drawings of children. However, they were not drawings of fantasies like castles and princesses. Rather, the children drew what was right in front of their eyes. We saw pictures of Jews hanging from gallows, Nazis with guns, and many other horrific depictions—things children’s eyes should never witness.
The memorial ended with books full of the names of the 4 out of the 6 million Jews we have been able to identity. The girls leafed through the thousand of pages to find those with their names. There were pages and pages of people sharing our names, further making this dark time for the Jews more real in our minds. I did not find just people with names similar to mine, but the name of someone my grandfather grew up with: his brother who was murdered in the gas chambers as a young child.
The last thing we did before we left was walk through the gas chambers. This was a place where we were flooded with emotions. We stood in a place where thousands of people faced their last moments on this earth as they screamed out Shemah. Here we said Shemah, honoring those who lost their life, but we were fortunate enough to have the ability to walk out.
After this we headed to Birkenau, a sub-camp of Auschwitz. Although it is a sub-camp, the camp covers a vast amount of land. The majority of the camp was destroyed by the Germans right before the end of the war, but what remains still shows what went on there. We first saw the sinks where 2,000 people had ten minutes to wash up in the morning. Here they were given a small opportunity to keep their dignity by attempting to remain “clean.” After this we peered through the window at what they called a bathroom but that name gives the wrong idea of how it looked: it was only holes in a cement block. But this was a place where people could feel safe from the Germans because G-d forbid they enter such a nasty place.
We continued on to see a cable car on the platform where the Jews got off the train. Inside this cable car are a pair of Tefillin to commemorate a man who risked his life because he felt it was not worth living without his Tefillin. We saw what remained of the massive gas chambers and said Tehillim at a memorial for all those who died there. As we made our way back to the exit of such a somber place, we were reminded that we are still here and thriving. On the train platform where thousands of people were separated from their family, we united as we watched a group of Yeshiva boys sing. We joined together in song in a place where millions of Jews lost their lives simply because they were Jewish. Rather than feeling what the Nazis would want us to feel, we showed them that no matter how hard they tried, we are here today. I walked out of the camp and clutched my grandfather’s belt. Although tears fell, a smile appeared on my face knowing his granddaughter was standing in the place where people intended for his life to end.
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