|
||||||||||
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
||||
|
|
||||||||||
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
David Harazduk's
Reflections Return to main Third Generation Reflections page |
||
|
In the weeks
leading up to my late summer trip with the ISPH to Germany and Poland, I
was anxious. Frankly, I didn't want to go. My grandmother had died in February
and I thought that going to Germany, the country that perpetrated the Holocaust,
and Poland, the country that she was forced to leave bitterly, would be
too much for me. I had never been to a concentration camp and had never
wanted to go. I figured that my grandpa, who died when I was a year old,
had already been there for both of us. The beginning of our program took place in Washington DC, where we stayed for two days. Among us Americans, there were five other Jews, three of which were grandchildren of survivors, and four Christians, one identified with Poland and another with Germany. During those two days, we made posters about our family histories and talked about the prejudices that we felt for the different groups. The ten of us and our facilitator Bjorn, a German gentile, flew to Berlin, where we met the European students. We introduced ourselves to the four German students, three Polish, one being Jewish, and one Austrian student. In the back of my mind laid the question, "When we go to the camps, will I be able to trust these people?" Early on, a conflict emerged; the Jewish American participants were accused of taking an emotional approach as opposed to the academic method that the European students desired. I was puzzled by their accusation. Certainly I'm not the smartest person in the world, but I consider myself to be rational and logical. Bjorn later told us that this issue was actually about whether or not the European students would engage with the Holocaust. On the second day, the eighteen of us were split into two groups. The other group experienced a tension-filled session. In my group, a German student named Claudia, acted out the moment she found two pictures of Nazis that were now displayed on her family poster. She went into the closet and pulled out the trunk filled with her family's past. Her grandmother told her not to show those photos to any Jews in the group. Now, she confronted her grandmother, played by a Jewish student. Afterward, I was asked to speak with her. Claudia said that she was scared to confront her real grandmother about the photos because she didn't want to see her grandmother cry. I empathized, reluctant to ask my grandma about her experiences during the war for the same reason. We wanted to protect our grandmothers. Regardless of the past, Claudia and I were two young adults who knew and loved our grandmothers as people, not as historical figures. A couple of days later we went to Ravensbrook. Ravensbrook is covered in pebbles forcing you to walk slowly. I spent most of the day alone, trying to feel the victims' pain. I tried to put myself in their position. I leaned against the wall and stared at the guard tower, envisioning a Nazi with a gun pointed at me. I wasn't ready to trust anyone in our group yet. A few eventful days later, we were in Auschwitz. In Stammlager, which is the museum-like section of the compound, the Polish-Jewish student Patricia, found me hunched over on a bench. She told me, "I've been here many times. It's like I'm the old veteran and you're the new inmate. I will protect you." I didn't let her travel far from my side while we were in there. Later that day, we went to Birkenau, the part of Auschwitz that looks most like it did sixty years earlier. I spent the time in Birkenau alone again. After wandering around, I got lost. At that moment, I missed my grandma and my mom and I wished that I had known my grandpa better. I felt horrible. I scrambled to get back to the bus and was 30 minutes late. The next day, we were given the impossible task of trying to commemorate the Holocaust in Birkenau. After hours of frustration, we created our commemoration. One German student decided not to join the group's commemoration, believing that it would not suffice. Without him, our group had only four males. The other three, all gentiles, came up to me in succession moments after entering through the gates of Birkenau. The American asked, "Want some company?" I thanked him, but declined. The German asked, "Do you want someone to walk with?" I gave him the same response. The Austrian simply said, "I'd like to walk with you." I agreed. I walked along the train tracks next to this Austrian student named Matthias, who was about a foot taller than me and a few years younger. He recounted his philosophies on the Holocaust and I tried my best to listen, but my mind kept wandering. After a long silence, I finally said, "You know, I haven't played you in ping pong at the hostel yet." "He turned to me and replied, "Exactly. That's exactly what I'm talking about." The rest of our time during the commemoration in Birkenau we talked about American and Austrian politics, sports, and made each other laugh. It was liberating for a Jew to walk freely with a German-speaker in Birkenau, speaking in English, sixty years after the fact. After the group lit candles, Claudia grabbed one of my hands and Patricia grabbed the other and we walked back down the train tracks towards the exit. Before the exit, they let go, and I walked out alone, with my head held high. A few days later we were in Krakow. Krakow has Hebrew letters scattered about, Jewish stores, and Jewish dolls to be sold, but very few actual Jews. It felt as if the city acted like nothing had happened to their Jews sixty years before, or so I perceived. I didn't like Krakow. The Polish students in our group tried to explain that this display was an ode to Jewish culture, not a cover-up, but this conversation ended in a frustrating stalemate. At the end of our trip, the Jewish Americans were put on display. We were told to stand next to other Jewish Americans that we felt agreed with us the most. After several moments of uncomfortable posturing, the six of us stood in an awkward abstraction. We had shown the other members of the group that Jews do not hold a single unified opinion; we are stronger than that. This fact was obvious to us, as a visit to any Jewish family's dinner table will show- my family consist of three liberal secular Jews and we don't agree about anything- but it was new to the other students. They thanked us for exposing ourselves, but never explained why. So we asked the Polish gentile American student for her response. During the conversation, almost out of nowhere, the question arose, "Sounds like you're anti-Semitic?" Her response was, "I am." She was raised in an anti-Semitic home, learning anti-Semitic stereotypes. She was on the trip to overcome her anti-Semitism. Bjorn reminded us that there is a big difference between being anti-Semitic and being proud to be anti-Semitic. Going to the camps was not a life-changing experience for me. I'm not sure that there are any grand lessons to be learned by visiting a concentration camp. However, I realized that I didn't have to feel my grandparents' pain. They wouldn't want me to. They would want me to be happy. And I just want to thank them for their sacrifice in granting me such a wonderful life. |
||
|
|
||
|
|
|