Sunday, April 27, 2014

Follow us on the March live

Visit this link to watch the March of the Living from Auschwitz to Birkenau live: http://new.livestream.com/bti/motl-2014-poland


Auschwitz Photos



Xyclon B Gas Canisters

The solid pellets vaporized into gas when dumped into the gas chambers due to the humidity in the packed rooms

All people who were not considered productive members of society were targeted by the Nazis

Guard tower

Wall where Jews were shot in Auschwitz

Entering the crematorium at Auschwitz

April 27, 2014 Day 3





When we first walked into Auschwitz I, we entered a room full of headphones and walkman-like devices. I was in awe of how many sets of headphones lay on just one rack in front of me... But there were merely two, maybe three hundred - not even one percent of the prisoners whose lives were ended daily.


Gas canisters: Xyclon B used to exterminate in the gas chambers

Piles of human hair shaved as people entered the camps

Eye glasses collected as people entered Auschwitz

Pots and pans collected as people entered Auschwitz

Shoes 
collected as people entered Auschwitz

Suitcases collected as people entered Auschwitz

Brushes collected as people entered Auschwitz



We each found moments of clarity - realizing the magnitude of the death, the humanity, and it just as easily could have been us. During a later discussion, a major topic was the newly-opened Jewish exhibit, Block 27, which proved challenging. We entered a dark room with videos of Jewish families worldwide living normal lives before the war. Activities such as laughing at Shabbat dinner, riding their bikes, and playing on the beach - they were just like us. A large choir of young Jewish children singing Hatikva illuminated all four walls. It then shifted to a wall of family photos. THE KLEIN FAMILY glowed at my eye level. My direct relatives all left Eastern Europe before WWII, but these faces staring back at me could easily have been my family. I have no idea who they were, how they lived, nor how they died. It's a daunting reality.


My next personal challenge occurred in the childrens' memorial upstairs. A famous Jewish artist traced drawings onto the walls in pencil, at a level that would have been at eye level of a young artist. I thought of my students in preschool and kindergarten art class and the drawings they create in my class weekly. They also draw planes, but bombs aren't falling from them. They also draw forests, but there aren't men with guns standing in them. 

Drawings from children during the war



The breaking point happened when we entered a room with a rack of hanging papers containing records from European Jews. The entire collection is called The Book of Names. I began at the beginning of the alphabet searching for "Cohen," my mother's maiden name. I flipped and flipped, in awe and horror of how many names were listed. I jumped way ahead and landed on "Cohen, Esther." Pages of pages of women, almost all with "murdered" following. These women all shared my great grandmother's name. Dozens of pages of the surname Cohen, the high priests direct descendants of Moses's brother Aaron. Thousands of pages of names of millions of people are now nothing but names. 



Today we walked out alive when so many others weren't so fortunate. We learned and shared stories of individuals to bring faces to the numbers, to revive the identities of those stripped of theirs. We are beginning to understand six million names and six million lives.

-Rachel Klein




Saturday, April 26, 2014

Krakow Ghetto Wall Poem 3


I feel a sense of unbalance -
The way you feel the need to dip your left hand in the water
After you've submerged your right.
Except for me; my sides are in and out.

My inside is full of sadness -
Long days and long faces...
Short smiles, but few imply any more
Than a small gift of hope to the next passerby
And a prayer of gratitude that at least they're alive.

My outside has more life in a day
Than the inside had in three years.

I can still feel them.
I can feel the pressure of the prints
Of those who pressed their hands against me,
Desperately wishing they were on my
Outside -
Of the longing stares that temporarily
Removed me from sight,
Because only through my invisibility
Could freedom be seen.

My inside still burns
From the physical attention;
My outside receives barely a passing glance anymore.

What is the difference between the Jews
That were on that side then
And the ones on this side now?

Only time
And too many painful memories to bear.

- The Wall of the Krakow Ghetto



Krakow Ghetto Wall Poem 2


The air, gently stirred. 
Somewhere a soldier.
A wall being built.
Brick to mortar: Mortar to brick.

Slowly it rises and stands.
A hand, bloodied and beaten.
Allows a human a moment rest.
Blood staining it's surface.

The hand falls.
Sliding down the wall.
With it, a body, pushing against it.
Brick to mortar; Mortar to brick.

Years.
A new hand touches the wall.
Placed upon the outline of the blood shadow long erased.
A thought of history cries.
"Remember".

-Alex Weisser

Krakow Ghetto Wall Poem 1

 
Who else touched this wall?
Who was on the other side?
What's the difference between us and them?
Why are we on this side now?
Why were they on that side then?

In another time,
In this exact place,
Their hands touched this wall.
Today, our hands touch this wall.

-Dan Ginsburg & Matt Steinberg

Pictures from Krakow

Dan and Magda, our Polish Pilot/Guide