Auschwitz

There's nothing that can prepare you for a visit to Auschwitz, the work and extermination camps built and operated by the Nazi regime in Poland during WWII.

Visitors are met by a sign "Arbeit macht frei," German for "work will make you free." If you know anything about history, you know that's a lie.

There are estimates that 1.1 million people died here. Those who weren't killed in the gas chambers were shot, starved or died by diesease, neglect or medical experimentation; 90% of them were Jews. Ther others were criminals, homosexuals, the disabled, Communists and Socialists, Jehovah's Witnesses and others deemed "inferior."









What shocked and horrified me most about these camps and its subsequent museum is how much was retained. Not only were there the beds that hundreds were crammed into, but what hit me most is seeing their personal belongings. Shoes, eyeglasses, prayer quilts, labeled luggage. Photographs. Hair. All stolen by the Nazis and found in a warehouse in the complex.




I didn't cry as I thought I might. I was too numb. The reality of what had taken place on that soil was almost unfathomable. It's one thing to know that something so horrific took place; it's another thing to see it. Naturally, I thought of my enslaved ancestors and the horrors they must have faced in my home country because of their "differentness." At some point, I realized that I was standing where "Schindler's List" had been shot.




Seeing a group of Israel students holding a memorial at the site, I was moved to also pause and pray. I asked God never to allow something like the Holocaust to occur again.