Holocaust Remembrance Day
With the newspapers and television channels providing extensive coverage of the conflict in Gaza, the continuing struggle in the Middle East somewhat overwhelms one of the most important days in Western and World society. January 27th: International Holocaust Remembrance Day.
I visited Auschwitz, scene of much of the horrors of the Holocaust, as well as scene for Hollywood productions, each one trying to recapture the emotions that run through the place. Back in August 2007, the overriding sensation was one of bleakness, which on first impressions stems from the sheer size of the camp – it is vast – but, after a few minutes of contemplation, it becomes obvious that the grim mood is caused by the numbness that overcomes you when you go there; the enormous loss of life still weighs heavy on the shoulders of the visitors, however disconnected they might be from the events of World War Two.
With its monumental entrance gate, never-ending barbed wire and parallel train tracks that split the largest part of the camp in two, the next feeling creeps in: the realisation of function. The whole place is designed to be efficient. After all, it was built for one purpose alone, but it is nonetheless disconcerting to see it all in its horrific glory. The dark train lines are a symbol when looked at from the high watchtower of the main gate, look what went on here, they underline, yet up close they are faded and cracked, unmaintained by the Polish government to try and preserve their authenticity.
Almost predictably, the weather when I visited was grey and overcast, though some chinks of light were still managing to escape through the cheerless sky. The grass was green and brown, burned in some places from the summer sun, yet on Holocaust Remembrance Day it will be covered with deep snow, when temperatures are below freezing. To see the tourists wandering round the camp, in groups, pairs or alone, adds another strange sensation to the place; being there alone would be frightening, but in company somehow reduces its imposing nature. Hundreds visit every day in summer, but we all went earnestly, perhaps from a sense of duty rather than attraction, and although every visitor was a stranger to each other, there remained a feeling of community; we all visited on the same day to ensure that the last large community to pass through the gate is not forgotten: to ensure that it couldn’t happen again.
Some buildings in the camp are set closely together, and even the barbed wire is arranged in double rows, making escape impossible. We saw the paths trod by Nazi guards, and rooms filled with bunk beds, where prisoners slept in threes or more. While I explored this area I came across a large, desolate courtyard with a concrete wall at its furthermost end, where wreaths and flowers had been laid. On close inspection the concrete wall was pockmarked from bullet holes – this was the ‘wall of death’, where some inmates were executed by firing squad. Others were not even provided with this dignity, and guides told us that many were shot in the lanes between the buildings, or behind the latrines.
This barrack-like section of the camp was where the gas chambers were, and as I wandered into one of the ‘shower’ rooms, a group of young Jews were lighting candles underneath a vent, where more than 60 years before their ancestors would have been rained on by deadly Zyklon B pellets. Many of them were in tears, and, suddenly, they broke into a hymn that was so touching and personal, that we were asked to leave by the guide. On the way out we had to pass by the furnaces where bodies were burned, and it was difficult not to feel the oppression of death again. Once outside, the heavens opened. Prisoners of Auschwitz were exposed to rain, snow and the ash of their friends and families, and on that day it seemed almost scripted that it should rain on us immediately after exiting the gas chambers.
That night in nearby Kraków, there was a beautiful sunset of orange, purple and red that surely would have been seen over Auschwitz too. Like the rays of light that crept through the dismal cloud earlier in the day, the sunset led me to think once more of the inmates, and how beauty and destruction can coexist. Would it have given them hope, or would they have seen it as another of God’s great ironies?
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DEAR STEFAN,
I AM THANKFUL THAT I READ YOUR ARTICLE , IT IS MOST MOVING AND EVOCATIVE AS WELL AS A TOUCHING REMINDER THAT THIS GROSS INHUMANITY MUST NEVER BE REPEATED. I AM ALSO VERY PROUD OF YOU.
BEST, MEILIN