POLSKA: PART 1

By Jenny Wolochow

September 4, 2005

*WARNING: This article is depressing… because Poland is depressing.

Well, did I really expect anything different? As always, before I go on a trip somewhere, I tried to clear my mind of any expectations of places, people, or emotions. But when I found myself sitting on an airplane with 43 Jewish teenagers in the seats surrounding mine, it was difficult to comprehend that I would soon be landing in Polska, a country almost completely devoid of Jewish life and culture.

Yes, I do believe that Judaism is more than just a religion – Jews are a people, with the history, culture, and traditions that come with the label. Part of what our tour guide, Ya’akov, wanted us to realize about Poland was that it used to be one of the largest centers for Jewish life in Europe. That is, before the Holocaust.

In Hebrew, the Holocaust is referred to as “HaShoah,” literally “The Destruction.” As you all well know, there are numerous accountings of destructions throughout Jewish History, but the devastation caused by WWII is simply referred to as The destruction – and everyone knows what it refers to. The terminology can be hopeful if you take it to mean that there was only one horror deserving of the title, and that there will never be another like it. There will only ever be one Shoah.

Before leaving the hotel in New York City where our group had met, we watched a few films to become accustomed to what life was like in Poland before and during WWII. No one needed to see a video of Polish life after WWII because we saw it firsthand a day later.

The videos we did see showed black-and-white footage of a surprisingly modern city, Warsaw, with cars and tall buildings and street vendors. The people were dressed in traditional Hassidic clothing – dress clothes, long, dark overcoats, and black bowler-looking hats. This was obviously a very densely-populated Jewish city.

As I walked the streets of Warsaw myself only a few days later, there were no signs that Jewish life had once dominated the city. The Polish signs were indecipherable to me – even though I clutched my Berlitz Polish Phrase Book close every time we ventured out of the hotel. There was not a single kosher restaurant in sight, which turned out to be quite unfortunate for my group. Because there was no kosher food to be found in the country of Polska, our group was stuck with kosher airplane food for an entire week, which was flown in from Israel. And naturally the only alternative to these meals was a big jar of peanut butter – not quite my style. Needless to say, I lived on cucumbers, powdered-soup, and small packages of Oreos for the week we bussed around Polska.

But as we toured the run-down synagogues and destroyed cemeteries of Polska, a question nagged me, and many of my companions, I’m sure. What type of huge event must have occurred to transform a heavily-Jewish area into one so devoid of modern Jewish culture?

The answer: the deaths of more than 5.8 million Poles, the destruction of Jewish synagogues and cemeteries, and Nazi ideology. It’s amazing, but somehow there are people in this world who still deny that The Shoah ever happened. There are those who deny the deaths of six million individuals – I want to emphasize the individuals, not the number because I have learned that it is impossible to comprehend what six million lives really means. Instead, try to focus on one life – perhaps your own. Think of how many people you have met in your lifetime, or how many things you have accomplished, no matter what your age. Think of your future, the goals and aspirations you hold most dear. Think of them like a candle. Now think of someone blowing out that flame – destroying your future and taking away your precious memories. Now try, even though it may seem difficult, to imagine six million candles blown out simultaneously, their smoke rising up into the sky, carrying so much with it.

I’m sorry to say that human life was not once, but many times destroyed in this fashion – with burning bodies and human ash clouding the sky. It’s pretty hard to deny The Shoah when you’re standing on a mass-grave. Thousands of my ancestors were stripped naked and brutally thrown into humongous pits. They were shot over and over again, and then left for dead. Their screams for help were never answered and their dreams never became reality.

It’s pretty hard to deny The Shoah when you’re standing next to a gynormous bowl of six tons of human ash as I did at a memorial at Majdanek. It was five weeks ago, but I can still remember the feeling of pure disgust as I walked up the stairs of the memorial at Majdanek and first laid eyes on the filth before me. Ya’akov held up his fist in front of him and motioned for us to do the same. “Now look at your fist,” he told us. “That’s the space that the ash of one human would occupy.” Then he looked over his shoulder and we all followed his gaze to the mountain before us. “That,” he said, “is human ash.”

Each of the four camps we saw in Poland was different. I will tell you about only two of them. Sobibor was the first extermination camp we saw – or rather, we saw its remains. Sobibor was destroyed by the Nazis themselves and planted over with trees to hide the traces of mass-extermination after 300 Jewish inmates escaped in 1944 – it was the largest revolt of all the camps and in 1987 a movie was made of the escape. All that remains of Sobibor is a forest of young trees lined up in rows and a mountain of ash in the center clearing.

When we drove up in our Polish tour bus, the few of us who woke up long enough to look out the windows had no idea we were approaching the remains of an extermination camp. I even remember thinking that the countryside reminded me of home in the Northwest.

Enjoy your first week back in school and tune in next week for more about my trip to Polska and Camp #2: Majdanek in POLSKA: PART 2

Photograph is of the Memorial at Maidanek

POLSKA: PART 2

By Jenny Wolochow

September 4, 2005

…and now back to our story.

After Sobibor and a restful Shabbat in Polska, my group visited Majdanek, which was constructed originally on the outskirts of Lublin as a concentration camp, but was later used for mass-extermination after gas chambers were installed. I think that if you asked almost anyone in my group about Majdanek, he would say that it was the climax of our trip to Polska.

We walked off the pavement of the parking lot and onto a small road towards the camp. On our left was the biggest stone memorial I have ever seen, which is a not-so-subtle metaphor for Nazism and WWII. It looked like a huge, rectangular boulder about two stories off the ground. Underneath it was a square base of pavement with a border of jagged stones and a few words carved in the front. In the center was a ramp leading swiftly down, seemingly underneath the floating boulder, although upon entering I felt as though the walls on either side were closing in on me. I felt trapped and was relieved to see stairs in front of me leading out of this cement pit. But the stairs were not the standard height I was used to – instead it was very difficult to climb the steep stairs out of the pit, with the floating boulder hovering over me. Finally, I reached level ground and emerged slowly from beneath the boulder towards my first view of a standing concentration camp. I saw cabins and grass and scattered chimneys– and they stretched on, seemingly forever towards the horizon. To my right was a small, white house on the outskirts of the camp, which I later learned was the director’s dwelling, and just beyond the fence on the perimeter of the camp were… modern houses. I was astonished and I turned to Ya’akov for an explanation of why or how anyone could live next-door to a death camp. I snapped a few pictures, mostly because I couldn’t believe my eyes.

Ya’akov chose to help our group experience Majdanek by following in the footsteps of a young girl, whose story he told through her memoirs as we walked through the camp. We walked somberly through the front gates and down a path as Ya’akov spoke to us about the beatings and shootings and inhumane treatment that the prisoners experienced on the very ground we were walking on.

We turned to the right and entered a cabin with the sign “Bad und Desinfektion I” (Bath and Disinfection I.) As we passed through the small, winding hallway and into the first room, we heard how the men, women, and children who entered through the door sixty-four years ago were forcefully stripped of all their clothing and had every hair on their bodies shaved like animals as they were beaten once again.

We moved on through another doorway and into another room, which was dark and musky. An audible gasp escaped from the lips of each person in my group as our eyes adjusted to the darkness and we saw the showerheads protruding from the ceiling. Ya’akov told us how our young girl entered the room with promises of a clean shower – and her joy when cold water doused her doubts and fears. She was lucky, if you can call it that, to walk out of the cabin alive and begin work in the concentration camp.

“I am now going to leave the story of our young girl and tell you that of her mother,” Ya’akov said in a hushed voice. He recalled for us the dehumanizing experience the woman had received upon entering and the joy she must have felt when water touched her skin – hot this time. But joy was only momentary for this woman, and the others surrounding her, because the hot water was only a process meant to calm her and open her pores so they would be more receptive to what awaited her in the next room.

I moved slowly through the next doorway and instantly knew I was standing in a gas chamber. I didn’t need Ya’akov to tell me how the women were packed in this room and how the door was sealed so the Cyclone B could work its magic as efficiently as possible. I didn’t need to hear the story because from the second I entered the chamber I could see the blue and turquoise gas stains on the walls and ceiling. I saw the two holes in the wall where the gas was pumped in. I sat on the floor from which thousands never arose and my tears fell around me as Ya’akov told us the effects of the gas.

“What would you do if you found yourself here, in this room, and you only had thirty minutes left to live?”

What would I do? I don’t know, and I hope I never have to find out! But I can tell you what I did right then and there. I cried. I cried for the millions of people who suffered as I can only imagine. I cried for the evil of mankind. I cried for human nature.

But I also cried for the beautiful life I live – for all the wonderful experiences I’ve known ad all the amazing people I’ve met and loved. I cried out of hate and anger and frustration, but I cried out of love as well.

As I looked up, I saw all around me people doing the same. My friends had placed themselves in similar positions on the floor, with their heads against the wall, or holding the hand of the person next to them. All were crying and all were beautiful. In that one moment we became a true family – a group bound by similar experience and feelings and bonds that would not readily break. The climax.

As I stood up slowly, clutching a pole for support, I saw my friend Jacob, my Teddy Bear. He looked into my eyes for a moment and then wrapped his big arms around me. His tears dropped on my shirt and I could hear his painful sobs. We stood still together for countless minutes, crying on each other for support. When the tears finally ceased, I let go of Jacob slowly and took one last look around the room. It was almost empty – Jacob and I were among the last few of our group. I snapped pictures of the gas-stained walls and then took the last few steps my ancestors were never able to make… out the final doorway and into the bright sunshine.

Maybe that’s what’s so weird about Polska – yes, its history is depressing as hell, but the country is beautifully lush and green. There are parks in the cities and farms a few miles out. There are blue skies and sunsets… as if to say that life still goes on.

And for my group, life did go on. We survived the rest of the week in Polska, including trips to Auschwitz I, Auschwitz II-Birkenau, Treblinka, and countless cemeteries. We even survived the kosher airplane food. When we finally boarded the ElAl plane, we were a close-knit family with rising anticipation for the five weeks ahead … in Israel.

*NOTE: My next article will be much happier, I promise. ~ It’s about ISRAEL!!