Work Sets you free
Our last stop. The group was already tired and with low spirits after the first Auschwitz camp, where we saw the famous gate “Arbeit macht frei”. The weather seemed to fit our mood, heavy rain falling from the grey clouds onto my black umbrella. On the way to the entrance, something peculiar caught my eye: One girl, about 14, wearing the Israeli flag like a cape and dancing on the train railways, moving her cape like Dracula, Zorro and other childish movements. I checked to see if anyone else was as intrigued as me, but the large group showed little interest to this peculiar girl. She suddenly stopped, with her head looking down, picked up one of the coal black stones of the tracks and went back to her dance -with a smile.
We were divided into groups, each about ten people, but no one showed comfort to chat, we instead quietly heard the brutal drops of rain falling in the mud.
"I know we're all down," said the leader of my tiny group "it's been a long day, it was not meant to be uplifting." He stepped on the railway tracks, each foot over a metal snake. "There's something I want to tell you, whatever it is you're going to feel, whatever way you deal with it- it's your experience. There is no wrong way of experiencing this... place." And so it started.
The old wooden barracks gave us cover from the sky’s water bullets. I always liked to say that I have a “good imagination” though I found out that this is not always a good thing; as I had to imagine 400 men all sleeping in this cold room, and the number increased every day. I remember wondering about the little things: “Who built this? Were they content about its use?” Apparently no, they didn’t even know about it, as this was built for 52 horses. It was hard to focus on my thoughts, the cold wind would slide through the fist-sized gaps between the wall and ceiling, and the wall and ground. Not even my leather jacket was enough to keep me warm. I fail to imagine the burning cold that the prisoners must've felt during nights of winter, with their thin striped clothing and the dirt floor covered with ice. All sleeping together, sharing each other's heat- all 800 of them. 52, 400, 800... I'm not just saying numbers to be accurate after researching them. No. These numbers have stuck in my head for two months. My imagination made sure I wouldn't forget.
The camp didn't seem to have an end- I know that describing something as "not having an end" is a bit of a cliché, but it truly felt like it: with no trees and no buildings remaining from one side of the camp to the other- just grass, hidden by the thick fog. Its emptiness gave me the sensation that I was standing still- walked and walked but nothing change.
At the end, behind the end of the tracks, was the memorial, many people didn't seem to appreciate it: Huge pieces of stone, no sculptures, just big square stones. Alongside it, big metal squares with the words:
"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"
Each one was written in one of the languages spoken in the camp, all 16 of them.
It still wasn't the end. The long path continued to the right to see the "additions" that were never finished? They were to me. After so much that happened, after so many... and this place can still be described as unfinished... They wanted to make it larger! Faster! These sort of things should bring fury to our spirits, but instead, a response of a peaceful and respectful silence seemed more appropriate.
In our minute of silence, a group of Israelis passed by us, listening to their loud cultural music, dancing, talking and laughing. When the sound of their noisy celebration was far from us, one member of the group commented on their lack of respect, but the leader of the group also had something to say:
"I told that there is no wrong way of experiencing this place. We use silence to show respect- they show respect in their own way. What you saw was a group that refuses to be silenced. To them, simply leaving this place with their lives, is itself an act of rebellion."