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Auschwitz Visit by Cara Scott
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I don’t know how to start this. Someone much wiser than
myself told me that it’d take time. I don’t want to wait. I want to tell you
now.
I recently visited Auschwitz 1 and Auschwitz 11 (Birkenau)
in Poland for a “school trip”. It wasn’t just a nice wee day trip to another
country; it was an experience I’ll never forget. We arrived in the town of
Oświęcim to visit a pre-war Jewish site – A Jewish cemetery. Walking in, the
first thing that strikes you is the sheer volume of gravestones in untidy
rows. Next, your eye is drawn to a breath taking but eerie memorial built up
from the reclaimed pre-war gravestones. During the Nazi occupation of Poland
these stones were broken down and used as paving stones but, as the war
ended, the stones were reclaimed and put to use to show that the Jewish
community had not been successfully eradicated as planned by the Nazis. To
find out that the last Jewish citizen of Oświęcim had died and was buried in
the cemetery that I was standing in, 7 years ago was hard to handle. Just
the fact that there are no more Jews in what was once a Jewish town is
difficult to get your head around. I don’t know if I’ll ever understand it
or, indeed, any of the things I saw.
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We moved on to Auschwitz 1. This was the biggest Nazi
concentration camp for prisoners of various nationalities. It was open
between 1940 – 1945 and after 1942 was the centre for extermination of
European Jews. Around 90% of the 1,000,000 people murdered in Auschwitz
between these years were Jews.
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Passing through the main gates of Auschwitz 1 wasn’t easy. It was odd.
Thousands of people had once walked through the very same gate and never
came back out. What right did I have to pass through them? Probably none.
All I can do is offer this article as a chance to share the lessons from
Auschwitz as the justification for my presence there.
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Auschwitz 1 is now a museum that informs visitors of
the horrors that once took place. It is used as proof of the atrocities that
so many people deny even happened. You can see all of the blocks that people
once lived and died in. Some of the blocks are off limits to the public but
some of the other blocks are open for exhibitions. In Block 4 you can see
the “Material Proofs of Crimes”. I left that block a different person.
Inside the block you can see the displays of artefacts that had once
belonged to the detainees. It makes your stomach churn. If you know your
Holocaust history then you might know that after prisoners were killed they
were stripped of anything that had any value. This included their hair. Hair
could be sold. It could also be used to manufacture materials (a woman’s
long hair could be woven through cloth to stiffen it). When the camp was
liberated by the Russians in 1945, 7 tonnes of human hair were found,
packaged and ready to be sold. 2 tonnes of this human hair, shorn off for
mere profit, can be viewed. Disturbing. Also on display are thousands upon
thousands of shoes that had once belonged to real people not so different to
you and I. They ranged from the tiny children’s shoes to a woman’s high
heels and a man’s leather work boots. What I found the hardest to take in
was the fact they I couldn’t identify one single pair of shoes amongst the
lot of them. For me it just emphasised how many victims there actually were.
Even although I had been told the figures many times, seeing something like
that for myself was almost sickening. The reality is hard to bare. However,
the display that struck me the hardest was a display of suitcases prisoners
had brought into the camp. People were never actually told where they were
going. They hoped it was just a better place than they had been before. A
new beginning. Not their death. They had packed all the possessions that
they could and scrawled their names and dates of birth on them so that they
could be collected when they arrived at the camp. These suitcases were never
collected. To see all of the names and birthdays re-established the fact
that these people were real and unique individuals who had their own life
and personality. When you’re bombarded with numbers and statistics this can
be difficult to remember.
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Auschwitz 1 is now a museum that informs visitors of
the horrors that once took place. It is used as proof of the atrocities that
so many people deny even happened. You can see all of the blocks that people
once lived and died in. Some of the blocks are off limits to the public but
some of the other blocks are open for exhibitions. In Block 4 you can see
the “Material Proofs of Crimes”. I left that block a different person.
Inside the block you can see the displays of artefacts that had once
belonged to the detainees. It makes your stomach churn. If you know your
Holocaust history then you might know that after prisoners were killed they
were stripped of anything that had any value. This included their hair. Hair
could be sold. It could also be used to manufacture materials (a woman’s
long hair could be woven through cloth to stiffen it). When the camp was
liberated by the Russians in 1945, 7 tonnes of human hair were found,
packaged and ready to be sold. 2 tonnes of this human hair, shorn off for
mere profit, can be viewed. Disturbing. Also on display are thousands upon
thousands of shoes that had once belonged to real people not so different to
you and I. They ranged from the tiny children’s shoes to a woman’s high
heels and a man’s leather work boots. What I found the hardest to take in
was the fact they I couldn’t identify one single pair of shoes amongst the
lot of them. For me it just emphasised how many victims there actually were.
Even although I had been told the figures many times, seeing something like
that for myself was almost sickening. The reality is hard to bare. However,
the display that struck me the hardest was a display of suitcases prisoners
had brought into the camp. People were never actually told where they were
going. They hoped it was just a better place than they had been before. A
new beginning. Not their death. They had packed all the possessions that
they could and scrawled their names and dates of birth on them so that they
could be collected when they arrived at the camp. These suitcases were never
collected. To see all of the names and birthdays re-established the fact
that these people were real and unique individuals who had their own life
and personality. When you’re bombarded with numbers and statistics this can
be difficult to remember.
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Up to 2000 people at a time would be packed into 210sqm
chambers that were then filled with Cyklon B. Cyklon B was originally used
in 1940 to disinfect clothing but in the Autumn of 1941 was put to another
use. The first test of Cyklon B was carried out in Block 11 on 600 Soviet
Prisoners of War. The Nazis had discovered a new efficient way of murder. I
stood in the basement of Block 11. I stood in the basement where 600 men
died. 600 sons, fathers, husbands, brothers, uncles. 600 too many.
Block 11 was the prison inside the prison. This was
where the standing cells were. Up to 4 men would be crammed into a tiny
square cell and forced to stand there for up to 12 days and nights with
either little or no food. Most died. At the entrance to Block 11 flowers
line the bottom of what once was the shooting wall. Observing the place
where innocent people were shot to death for no reason is more than just
surreal.
When leaving Auschwitz 1, I couldn’t get this one
thought out of my head: I was getting to leave. We left out of a side gate
that had a small “EXIT” sign printed on it. So many people never got to see
such a sign.
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When the bus turned into the car park of Birkenau I
couldn’t help but utter a word that frankly isn’t suitable for school. The
vastness of the campsite surprised me. I knew it was going to be large but
the emptiness made it seem bigger. Compared to the business of Auschwitz 1,
the solitude of Birkenau was haunting. It was only then that I realised just
how uncomfortable my presence there was making me.
We stood on the selection ramp where SS doctors had
once labelled people as either fit to work or unfit to work. Those who
weren’t fit to work were sent immediately to their deaths. These people were
killed for no reason other than their ethnic background. Only 25% of the
arrivals were fit to work. From the watchtower at the main gate we could see
the entirety of the desolate camp and the stretch of railway that had been
part of many people’s last ever journey. To my left I could see the brick
red barracks that had housed thousands of men, woman and children. The brick
red barracks that had witnessed abuse, torture, labour and death. To my
right, the remnants of the wooden barracks. The washroom that had only 200
hundred spaces yet had to accommodate between 400 and 1600 people at one
time and were only open twice a day. A washroom with no running water. I
could see the red brick chimneys that stood in place of the barracks that
had been destroyed before the Nazis had left.
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We walked through the camp towards where the
crematoriums had once stood. All that was left was the rubble that was a
result of the Nazi bombs. They had tried to destroy the evidence of what had
happened in the camp. Beside Crematorium 11 lies a small pond with 4 sleek
black stones containing a written memorial for the people who had died and
never had a funeral. Each of these stones had the same message but in a
different language. The pond is the only grave many relatives of the victims
can visit, as this is where the ashes of their bodies were deposited. I
couldn’t look at the pond after I found out what it was used for.
Following our guide – yes, you can get a tourist guide
to escort you around death camps - we went to what was known as the sauna.
In here was an exhibition of the pre-war photographs that were found of the
victims of Auschwitz. Under each picture was a name. Looking at the pictures
you realise how similar these people were to you and I. It’s hard to think
about the fact that the people we hear about were real people. But they
were. Seeing the hundreds of photographs was too distressing and I had to
leave the building. I found little solace in the fact that many others had
had to do the same. Even although I struggled to look at the pictures, I
felt I owed it to the victims to recognise who they were and that they
actually existed. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to go back in and I for this I
doubt I’ll forgive myself.
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Rabbi Barry Marcus led us in a memorial ceremony at the
end of the rail track. We heard Holocaust related poems that moved us to
silence. The silence was inappropriately appropriate. Psalm 23 was read to
us and we had the opportunity to join in if we so desired. It was hearing
these words that provoked the first tear to roll down my cheek. I couldn’t
find the energy to speak the words myself but I still found them deeply
profound.
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures,
He leads me beside quiet waters,
He restores my soul.
He guides me in paths of righteousness
for his name's sake.
Even though I walk
through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for You are with me;
Your rod and Your staff,
they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
Surely goodness and love will follow me
all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord
forever.
The Rabbi then sang a prayer in Hebrew. The beautiful
language and the haunting melody will stay with for many years to come.
As part of the ceremony we were given candles to place
along the railway as a mark of remembrance and regret. It was also a
promise. A promise to never forget. A promise to tell of what happened there
over 60 years ago.
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Walking back up the railway towards the main gate of
the camp, I turned to look back and saw the most bizarre, confusing,
disturbingly beautiful and amazing thing I have ever seen in my life: sunset
over Auschwitz Birkenau.
I wanted to share what happened because I feel that
anyone who has even the slightest bit of understanding of these events has a
duty to tell of what happened. It must never happen again. I want to finally
highlight what I think to be one of the most important lessons you can learn
from Auschwitz: This isn’t just a story of death but of survival.
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