The Tough Stuff

We flew into Krakow, Poland for a class trip. The blustery weathers hit us as we stepped off of the plane and were quickly gathered together by our Polish tour guide. She was not messing around. She asked us to march and told us she would come and 'collect' us for our first tour. Thus began our adventures in Polandia. I'm going to skip mentioning the tours she gave us and begin with the tough stuff.

We went to Poland to learn about the Holocaust, and that included visits to Auschwitz and Birkenau. The stories of the Holocaust have always been terrorizing and tragic, but they were also always just pictures and stories.

Standing in a crematorium, cringing as the walls and ceilings seemed to close in around me, made it real. I saw ovens. I saw a display with two tons of human hair, ponytails and braids. I braided so many heads of hair this summer, and here lay children hair, old people hair, human hair. I stood in front of the children's clothes with my jaw locked and my face in a permanent scowl. I didn't cry. I almost wanted to, but I couldn't. Auschwitz disgusted me. I couldn't understand it.

Children's drawings

Another thing that hit me hard were pictures of the people from before they entered the camps. Again, I have always seen pictures of these people with striped pajamas, shaved heads, and just skin and bones. I think the point of these camps was dehumanization, and that's the image that is portrayed to us still. These pictures brought the people to life. They were young and beautiful. They had families. They were laughing. They were in love.

I saw the book of names. There were 4 million names of people who died in the Holocaust listed, 2 million unnamed. I found a list of Bodas.

I'm glad I went to these places, but it was awful. Truly truly awful.