As I scrolled through the Dachau website to see if it was worthwhile to visit, my phone lit up with notifications from Syracuse University of several racist and antisemitic events that occurred throughout the last week. I remember pulling up tabs to the Daily Orange and Syracuse.com to see what was happening on campus. As I read about each incident, I felt upset. I was angered that the sentiments that existed throughout history are creeping back into a place that I call home.
I didn’t know if I would be ready to visit Dachau, nor if my weekend trip with my friends who didn’t grow up in a Jewish household would be the right group for this place. I wondered if we’d even have time or if my friends shared an interest in visiting Dachau. We were planning to visit the Christmas Markets and Neuschwanstein Castle, so our schedule was already a bit hectic. However, if I waited until I was ready, would I ever be? While I love living in Italy, I doubt I will ever have the opportunity to spend an entire semester living and traveling throughout Europe again. I may never head back to Germany, and it felt important to acknowledge this space, especially with the rise in antisemitism. As I scrolled through the Dachau website, I had the tabs from Daily Orange articles minimized below. It was as if they were both centered around the same period in time, as they each mirrored one another. Yet, it’s been 86 years, and these ideas still exist. It was for this reason that I needed to be ready. If I waited, I may never have an opportunity to visit Dachau and reflect on a space that has become the epicenter of antisemitism that is sadly still present today.
When we arrived in Munich, I told my five other friends that it was truly okay if they’d rather do something else, and we could meet back up later. However, I was amazed and surprised that this place that was so culturally significant to me because of my connection to Judaism, could spark an interest in people who didn’t share these ties. My friend Brittney said it best, “This place is really important to you, and we all want to be there with you.” We dropped off our luggage and headed to Dachau. There was no English tour going on at the time, so we grabbed some information and headed inside.
I began to notice that I knew a lot more about the Holocaust than my peers. As we walked through the doors of the camp, I explained the significance of the sign that states, "Work Will Set You Free" and how this was never a true intention. As we headed towards the main building, I shared my grandparents’ story. Only my roommate Brittney was aware of this prior, but my other friends didn’t realize how close of a connection I had to this space and more upsetting, how many people share ties to the Holocaust.
I remember walking through the museum and reading the brochures and signs. Most of this information was not new to me. I had seen similar photos and grew up with an understanding of this tragedy and honoring it each year on Yom Hashoah. It’s different to be surrounded by information in space that served such a horrific purpose. I remember my stomach hurting and a feeling of tension. It was the opposite of comfort. Yet, the pain I felt was different. It wasn’t of surprise, as I knew what had occurred.
I remember reading The Diary of Anne Frank in elementary school and being so proud to share my Papa’s story in my kindergarten class during our Yom Hashoah ceremony. It was this knowledge that prepared me for this visit. But nothing can truly prepare you to stand in a space with acts that were so inhumane. As I walked through the building, I was reminded of my supply chain courses on efficiency. I was horrified and appalled at how a place that had such a terrible outcome could become so efficient. This is how Dachau, the first concentration camp, set a precedent for others.
I expect the experience of visiting with people who shared in a connection to Judaism would have added a slight bit of comfort in such a horrific place. While all of my friends brought a level of support to me, it was the knowledge that I shared that came as a surprise. I remember thinking about my friends. Each of them came from a different place, all of which exhibited a desire to learn. Yet, for all of my friends, this was their first time realizing the true magnitude and horrors of the Holocaust. It was this that granted me a purpose, one of educating my friends who didn’t grow up sharing in this knowledge about what had occurred.
Telling these stories of survival to my friends, who some of which never even had a Holocaust unit as a part of their school curriculum, was what inspired me most. My friends both opened their hearts and minds as we walked through. I watched as each of them became deeply touched by the anecdotes, statistics, and monumental places that defined the Holocaust.
I discussed the stories of Anne Frank, Elie Wiesel, and of course my own family’s tales during this time frame. Yet, nothing could truly prepare me for standing inside a gas chamber, as those are the anecdotes that we don’t hear since they were always fatal. I remember walking through the cremation area in silence. As I wandered through the building, I didn’t realize that it was connected to the gas chambers, but when I entered and looked around, I knew where I was standing. I felt numb and empty. It is incredibly strange and uncomfortable to be in a place where so many people were horribly murdered. It’s hard to fathom the horrid acts that occurred in this space. As I headed towards the door, I felt so much gratitude for being able to leave a space where so many of my ancestors were trapped. I was even more thankful for the strength of my own grandparents. Somehow in all of this chaos and madness that defined this time period they maintained the strength and willpower to survive. I certainly wouldn’t be here, and now sharing these stories with my friends if it weren’t for them.
I remember my friend Katie trying to fathom how could this possibly happen? How can 11 million people (including 6 million Jews) be so brutally murdered? How is it that there’s a beautiful neighborhood just outside of Dachau? How could one live in this society and not do anything while being surrounded by so much injustice?
By the time I was in third grade I knew the word “propaganda” and its correlation to the Holocaust. Yet, there’s so much more. It comes down to knowledge; understanding injustice and being able to identify it when it occurs. I did not realize that growing up with a plethora of knowledge on the Holocaust was a privilege, as it becomes a catalyst in recognizing the antisemitism that exists today. My friends, who are all brilliant, learned the tragedy and magnitude of the Holocaust in one single day nearly 10 years after I first read Anne Frank’s diary. I truly admire their strength and open minds, as it is more difficult to comprehend at 20 years old than as a child. By the time you’re an adult, you have gained a sense of what is right and wrong. You understand much more and have seen the good that one can do, but are now witnessing the worst of humanity.
Whenever I see a tragedy, I always think back to Mr. Rogers, who famously said, “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’” As I walked through Dachau, I didn’t see signs of helpers. There were no posters on the righteous gentiles, the individuals who risked their lives to save people during the Holocaust. Yet, while few and far between, they existed. I shared the story of Miep Gies, one of the righteous gentiles who aided Anne Frank and her family during the war, with my friends as she truly epitomized the good that can lie in the epicenter of tragedy. She is the unsung hero who not only provided basic necessities to the family, but she preserved Anne Frank’s diary, leading to the accessibility of her story.
As we begin to move farther from this time frame, it becomes our responsibility to share this knowledge. There are 613 commandments in Judaism, but it is rumored that remembering the Holocaust is the 614th. I think there is an obligation that comes with being the granddaughter of a Holocaust survivor. I have the privilege of learning at such a young age, both the micro and macro effects of the Holocaust. It is now my responsibility to educate those who don’t share in this opportunity. The knowledge that comes with telling these stories creates a ripple effect, especially when those who witnessed these events can no longer explain their own experiences.
It would have brought a slight sense of ease to visit such a difficult place with people who came from a similar space. Yet, the only closure I would have gained would have been internal; I would have felt the pain and emptiness of standing in these horrid spaces, but I wouldn’t have discovered my purpose. I would not have recognized what a privilege it is to grow up with this knowledge, as I would have been surrounded by people who shared in this understanding. Instead, I found my responsibility to impart this knowledge onto others.
I am thankful for the opportunity to travel and see such monumental places, but I am even more grateful for the friends who allow me to share in these experiences. They opened themselves as I visited a place that I was unsure if I would ever be ready to visit. It is only through these times of vulnerability that we as humanity can begin to move forward together.