Majdanek....

Today we visited what I feel comfortable calling hell on earth. What we witnessed today with all of our senses will forever be etched in the memories of every single one of us. The sight of Majdanek-- one of the only concentration camps that remains completely intact because it was the first one liberated and the Nazis did not have enough time to destroy the evidence of their mass destruction-- the sight... Let me describe. We drive down a neighborhood road and there on our right situated slightly below the road, in full view is a concentration camp-- a whole camp that we can see in its entirety-- uniformly aligned barracks and chimneys and of course, barbed wire and watch towers surrounding. And, the smell... perhaps burnt rubber, someone else said burning cedar, another person said burnt ash-- but the smell comes in waves and the smell is echoed with ashes. The feel... of destroyed tombstones from Jewish Cemeteries lining the rocky pathways... Pinchas spoke to us, for he had been in this very camp. It was in this camp that this poor man lost his mother, his father, and his twin sister-- whose long blond braid is all he can still recall of her... The memories he shared with tears in his eyes were the basics of his time in Majdanek-- but certainly, he assured us, there is much he is unable to recall. The mind needs to protect sometimes...
Immediately, we walk into the gas chambers-- with nail scratches from people trying to escape this gaseous fate...
We held each other tightly-- we held hands and hugged, wiped tears, and some of us were simply in a nearly stoic awe... Walking through administrative offices and barracks, one barrack full of shoes, another in which we saw the hard thin slabs of wood that served as beds for 800 people in one small barrack....
While walking from one barrack to another with gray layers of clouds blanketing the sky, we pass adjacent backyards of neighboring houses and watch as a young man works on his garden less than 100 yards away...
Into the crematorium-- the darkness, the dampness, the brutality could be felt-- but really, it was when we stood beside the ovens that one of our team mates let out a terribly painful cry, asking "Why?" while the remainder of us in there, nodded our heads in agreement of this pertinent question for which I fear we will forever have no answers.
We then left the Crematorium and headed up to the trenches where thousands were shot to their deaths upon digging their own graves. Up stairs to an enormous dome-like structure. No one was sure of what this structure signified, however we knew that our MRH Majdanek ceremony would be held there. And, the rain began to fall... We climbed the stairs and looked down into this monstrous hole in the ground to find a mountain of human ashes. It was around these ashes that Pinchas mourned his family as he chanted Kaddish, and Ani Maamin.
This was a day of pain. This was a day that I know none of us will ever forget and one that I pray gives us strength to teach not only to never forget but strength to teach what it is we should each remember.
We drove to Warsaw and had dinner at our hotel. After dinner, I began our debriefing by telling a story that I will share with you tonight.
When I was a sophomore in college and was studying at Yad Vashem (the Holocaust Museum in Jerusalem), I found myself one day crying after a long day of learning about Holocaust Revisionists (deniers). There I stood, overlooking the hills of Jerusalem and finally my tears came after 3 weeks of very intensive Holocaust study. All of a sudden, an arm draped over my shoulders and I looked up to find Jack Fuchs, the first Holocaust survivor to ever go through this program.
"Jennie," he spoke, "what is it? What happened today?" For his group was one week behind our group in terms of the material. I wanted to tell him but couldn't bring myself to, afterall, he suffered in the Holocaust -- he was forced to play his instrument as he watched his entire family shot and killed before his very eyes. When Jack saw my hesitation, he said, "do me a favor, and meet me for coffee back at the hotel."
So, back at the hotel, we sat together in a booth at the coffee shop while rain poured outside. "Jennie, tell me. What is it?"
"Jack, how can I complain to you after the horrors you have witnessed?My pain cannot begin to compare. It isn't fair of me."
And that is when Jack told me "Listen to me, your pain is real. My pain is real and your pain is real. Neither is more real than the other. Our pain is all relative to what we have experienced in our lives-- so today was painful for you. Let me tell you a story... After liberation, I was on a train going to a refugee camp and oh, was I in pain. I was sick in my heart and in my body... And, then I looked out the window and saw the most magnificent sunset that I have ever in my life seen. I have never seen beauty like it to this day and I did get married, and I did have children and grandchildren-- and those events were beautiful but nothing like that sunset. See it is all relative-- and I had just been in hell and then saw the sunset and nothing has ever been that beautiful. So, be true, Jennie, to your pain. It is real."
And, with that story, we began debriefing-- some read poems, some cried, some talked, and some simply didn't have words yet.
With that, I will end my description of our day at Majdanek--
Thanks for reading. I will be finishing our Birkenau day and Sally's story-- but for today, Majdanek is all I can handle writing about...