Everyone was sweating, but complaining made us feel guilty. Blistering heat met us as the doors of our bus opened, and 32 Israeli and American teens poured out. In our short time together we had become like sisters and brothers. Our laughter and loud voices soon turned to eerie stillness because we were at Majdanek, a concentration camp in Poland. It was strange to walk in such a depressing place while the sky was sun-filled. We proudly wrapped Israeli flags around ourselves, uniting us as we held hands. Since it was quiet, we could hear the crunch of gravel below our feet. The pebbles silently held the memories of the prisoners’ horror.
In the distance, I could see a jagged fence surrounding the camp, enormous barracks, and a colossal open dome. My relatives were fortunate to emigrate from Eastern Europe before the war started. When my family’s “doors” opened, they experienced a free life in a new country. Even though I did not have relatives in concentration camps, I felt how inhumane and degrading it was to be surrounded by that fence. I could not help but feel that the individuals forced into camps were my family too. Realizing how many human beings struggled in this enclosed space was heartbreaking.
Those struggles became clearer to me when I walked into a barracks the size of an airplane hangar. The room was filled with prisoners’ shoes; the smell of leather was overpowering. I touched a few and thought about the people who might have worn them. I ran my fingers across the laces and soles. They came in all shapes, sizes, and styles. I touched the criss-cross fencing that held the shoes in place and noticed it was not that different from the fence that kept the prisoners in the camp. I reflected on how everything is interconnected. The prisoners had to form strong bonds in order to survive. They came from all different towns, but even with language barriers, they became close.
We then went to a vast open dome filled with ashes. Whose mother, father, son, or daughter might be left there? The ashes were mixed, uncovered, and we could recognize human bones. The unprotected ashes really disturbed me. Some visitors had left their garbage in the ashes. My brain flooded with questions and emotions.
No book or museum could have helped me understand any of the places we saw that day. I was surrounded by other teens as ashes were swirling in the breeze. We shared religion and a common past. Despite our varied homelands, we had more similarities than differences. Our families are still carrying on the traditions of our history and, like links in a chain, we were connected, relying on each other for a vital sense of community. I must now live my life to the fullest since so many had theirs cut short. I looked around our group and saw by my new friends’ body language they experienced the same impact.
The last thing I saw before getting on the bus was a statue made by some prisoners. Doves were carved in the stone, poised to fly away freely. To me, that showed hope and life, where at one time there was none. As tears streamed down my face, I was leaving this indescribable camp. I knew when I returned home that I would hug my little sister, Mom, and Dad a lot closer.
I was leaving Majdanek as a free Jew, unlike many people who were just like me years ago. In a few days, my group was heading to the Promised Land. Ironically, the weather changed to mirror our now somber mood. A dark sky with a cold breeze was blowing my hair, the flag, and my tears away. I was free and a witness to history, even more, determined to be a stronger link in the continuing chain.
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