Walking in Their Empty Shoes

Poland, before 1939, was called "Polinyah" by Eastern European Jews. Polinyah meant "Here Lies God," it was the land of the most incredible Jewish community in the world. It housed hundereds of thousands of Jewish people thriving and living equally. But walking through the streets of Krakow, Lublin and Warsaw, and ghostly pacing through the death camps of Majdonik and Auschwitz, Polinyah should be translated into "Here Lies God's Ashes".

Preparing for Poland in class meant intense studying of pre-Holocaust Jewish life in Eastern Europe, but emotinally preparing was something else. There's no way to expect any emotions to be felt, and no way to know what will effect you and what won't. What I do know is that I prepared by promising myself I would not hate Poland. Poland is a place where, from 1939-1945, was occupied by Nazi Germany, and hating the place that is Poland would do nothing and just be hypocritical. So, I went in with an open mind, a winter coat, and my grandfather's story in hand.

Poland was full of emotions and 6 hour bus rides. But those hours were filled with a very surreal experience. My grandfather is a Holocaust survivor from Piotrakow, Poland and throughout my entire life I have heard, read, and introduced his story to multiple audiences but this was the most personal way I've read his story. I read it while winding on the same roads he once did, at one point we were about 2 miles away from Piotrakow.

The first place we went after getting in was called Ano Ticho, a town that once was a shtetl (a small very consentrated, strong Jewish community). The remanents of Jewish life are overshadowed by the Church in the middle of town. However, the people did reconstruct the synogogue and it was beautiful. After having a service there, we were taken on a bus, told to be silent, and taken to a forest. Just as the Jews of Ano Ticho were sent, we had no idea where we were going or why. But our fates ended much differently. We entered the forest and approached three fenced off areas, with yardsite candles bording them and Israeli flags hanging proud and sad. We were told that we were at the mass graves of Ano Ticho. The entire 1,000 Jewish populated town was beneath our feet. over 60 years ago these 1000 peoples had been shot simply for being Jewish. Ano Ticho was the first town to have this happen, and many more had the same fate. Our Poland experience was filled with many moments like this, where we know that right below our feet are our people, innocent people who were ruthlessly murdered. Yet, we left the forest after lighting candles, praying, crying, and knowing we could walk out.

Though I would love to write about every place we went in Poland, I will spare the reader from sore eyes of staring at a computer screen. The next place I am writing about is Majdonik, and then Krakow...

Majdonik is the remanents of a death camp. We got there by bus, on a bright, sunny day. It was strange, because it lies on the border of a highway, with apartment buildings close by. The first thing I thought of was, "How can you drive by every morning to work, or wake up and go to sleep with a death camp as your backyard?" We entered the camp, the barbed wire staring at me, recognizing my heritage as I recognized it's barriers from my people's escape. I felt sick, my stomach turned and a lump made itself comfortable in my throat. I am a very emotional person, but the moment my foot stepped into the camp, my emotions turned off. We walked through and then stopped in front of a building labeled in German. We walked in, and suddenly, the squeeze of my friend's hand made me realize where we were. I looked up, staring at the shower heads above me. Little over 60 years ago these shower heads had sprayed gas throughout this room, and the floors that I walked through were littered with the souls that never left it. 118 young Jewish students walked out of that gas chamber, where hundreds of thousands of people had not exited. We continued our walk, my friend Jordy and I held hands as we saw the shoes, hair and small tokens left with the memories of Majdonik. I saw the bunkers, and thought of the countless people who slept, and only some woke up in them. Still, I had not shed a single tear, my emotions were gone. I simply stared, because in a place like this, the haunting feeling of knowing everywhere you stepped was drenched in the blood and ashes of your people is imprinted in your thoughts. You want to cry but can't, it's too overwhelming. It wasn't until the creamtoriam that it hit me. That I really felt where I was. I looked into those ovens, into the chimneys, and I started to cry. I cried for the family I never met, and for the millions of people whose deaths were humiliated by these God awful ovens. We walked out of the crematorium and walked up to what looked like a mountain. What it was was a mountain of ashes. These ashes once breathed, talked, sang, laughed, cried, and finally, screamed. And now they sat, without shape of any human form. These are my people, this is what became of them.

I never realized how my grandfather could have survived this. I have heard his story over 10 times, read his book 3 times, and I thought that I slightly understood what he went through. I thought that the pictures he painted in my head made me understand emotion, but being in a place like this, actually being there... it added on even more. I have never felt so lucky and so afraid at the same time. How, at one point, thousands of people died in front of you and you can continue on, with a work camp or death camp as your childhood playground. I just can't wrap my head around it, even after being there. It is truly incredible, and I have never been more proud to be a Jew, to be the grandaughter of a Holocaust survivor than when I was there. My grandfather was marched and herded into those camps, and in the end, he struggled but got out. I stepped off a coach bus, walked in, and walked out. It wasn't easy to see the remanents of what happened, but it's impossible to think of seeing what actually happened. To see the living and the dead there. Papa, I know you're an avid reader of my blog. I just want to reitterate how much I love you and how much your story means to me, you're one of the strongest people I know, I knew that before... but I wanted you to know that too.

All in all, I didn't leave Poland with hatred. In fact, when not focused on the destruction, I really like Poland. Especially Krakow, there was something about that city. I understand why so many Jews had settled there before. There was a lot of culture, including a 1,000 person pillow fight, which was quite a sight to see. But I can't say I wasn't happy to go back home. When the wheels of the plane touched down, the plane, full of 118 American Jewish teens, and 140 Israeli teens, rang out with songs of "Am Yisrael Chai" and "Hatikva". There was cheering and clapping, and I know that what Poland taught me the most was how to appreciate. How to appreciate life, Judaism, the stories, and above all: Israel.

This land began before the destruction, but also from the destruction came this land. And now I had the priveledge to spend Pesach there as well.