Day 2, Lublin & Majdanek Death Camp: posted by Linda & Steve Jacobson, Sharon Schwartz, Leonard Borman, and Bonnie Seligson

Posted by Linda & Steve Jacobson
A world in black in white seems dreary and surreal. That is the way I have always pictured Poland, probably because that is the only way I have ever seen it . . . in newsreels, documentaries, books, pictures, survivors’ photographs. The real Poland is quite different. It’s in living color, not unlike the countryside in Canada along the 401, and not unlike other big cities, with beautiful hotels and large buildings where people go about their daily lives. Underlying it all, though, is this image that I can’t shake, that of the black and white which makes things look just a little unreal.

We began our tour of Warsaw in the Jewish cemetery, larger than 100 football fields, over 200 years old, preserved and untouched, mostly because the Nazis weren’t concerned with those that were already dead, so they left it alone. It is here where you can see the only testament to Polish Jewry in Warsaw, because, quite frankly, there isn’t much else that remains from WWII Warsaw. We saw graves of religious and secular alike, graves of Yiddish theater actors, famous poets, Cohanim, everyday folk, rabbis, and mass graves from the lucky Warsaw Jews who died “natural deaths” (by starvation and disease in the ghetto conditions) early on in the war. We saw the remaining part of the ghetto wall, the spot of Mila 18, and the various monuments that have been erected by Poles to mark significant “uprisings” not only of the ghetto fighters but the non-Jewish Poles who also rose up to liberate themselves from the Nazis. You can stand on a sewer monument marker and imagine small children, younger than some of our own, running back and forth for food to try to save their families, keep them alive yet another day. You can look up into the courtyard by the remaining part of the wall of the ghetto and imagine an apartment that originally housed a family of 8 or 10, being overrun with a second family, maybe a third, all being crammed into one space to confine the Jews. You can picture the streets teeming with Jews from all over Poland being thrust into the ghetto. Then you can stand on the Umshlagplatz, looking through the memorial wall at the train station and imagine the terror of the second set of daily transports who were sent to Treblinka. Why the second transport? Simple, the first transport always left with a train full of people and returned with their belongings. You have to believe that the first transport were almost the luckier ones, they, perhaps, didn’t know that fate that awaited them, but the subsequent transports that left that day weren’t quite as fortunate. It didn’t take them long to figure out that the train was one way, and that “resettlement” didn’t offer the promise of work and food, but the finality of death.

You can see the courthouse which divided the Christian Warsaw from the ghetto, and wonder, could I be the mother that could send my little girls into that courthouse to go with an anonymous “aunt” to be saved, knowing I would never see them again? Would I have the courage to try to save my daughters over my circumcised son who could be more easily identifiable? Could I ask my 10-year old to scrounge through the sewers with hopes of finding food on the “other side?”

Standing in these places, walking these paths, you can’t help but wonder where you would be in the picture. You also can’t help but wonder how it was so easy to overrun a country in less than 3 weeks and set the wheels into motion that would become this living hell.

Then there is the silence. The inability to truly describe in words what you are seeing, or not seeing. These words are inadequate, inconsequential, and they are only the tip of the iceberg.

Our trip to Majdanek was proceeded by a visit to Lublin Yeshiva, founded in 1930, taken over during the war as a hospital, then used as part of a medical school. It was only recently given back to the Warsaw Jewish community as part of restitutions from the war. Why the Warsaw Jewish community? Quite simple, there is no Lublin Jewish community. It’s gone. The yeshiva is being renovated once again, although only 45 or less Jews live in Lublin and since many are women, there is not even enough for a minyan. The synagogue in the yeshiva is being restored, as is the original mikvah. The legacy of Rabbi Meir Shapiro, its founder, is being retold. But, its halls echo of an era cut tragically short not long after its glorious opening.


Then there is Majdanek itself, second in size only to Auschwitz. It is less than a mile from Lublin, and you can’t help but wonder how so many unspeakable horrors could occur so close to the populace. True, there were those locals, memorialized on the walls in the barracks, who tried to help by throwing food or medicine over the fence, but it seems like trying to cover a severed limb with something less than a band aid. How can I describe a place that I am walking through in living color, not a black and white newsreel? How can I really tell you what it’s like to stand inside a gas chamber, see the “view” from the commander’s booth? Witness the “bunks” where the “inmates” lived? How can I begin to find words to describe a crematoria where I know I am walking on hallowed ground? How can you describe a mountain-like grave of ash from the final 18,400 inmates all killed on one single day and give justice to the enormity of the atrocity? How can I give words to saying kaddish each place we go for those who will never have anyone to do it for them? How can I describe how it will feel tomorrow evening to say kaddish for my mother on her yahrzeit in a place where so many have no one to say it for them?

As our guides have said, silence speaks volumes here. There is silence in the cities where Jewish life is gone, there is silence in the countryside where underneath the beautiful greenery I know lies the graves of countless, there is silence in the unspeakable places where so many live no more, and silence is the best descriptor for what we have seen.

Posted by Sharon Schwartz
We traveled through Lublin to Majdanek Death Camp. It was the first of several we will visit. The day was extremely cold, windy, and the sky was gray. We were all bundled up in coats, hats, gloves, sweaters, and even blankets. I was glad we went through the camp under these conditions. Yes, we were uncomfortable. But I could not have imagined being there under pleasant conditions. To me, there was a bit of a parallel, although absolutely nothing could compare to what we were about to experience.
No amount of cold and no amount of wind could really make me know the pain, suffering, and inhumane treatment that was inflicted upon those in the camps. Having already been to several Holocaust museums, I thought I was prepared. But no one can be prepared. It is horrifying and painful. It is darkness at its worst.
Today, I truly know I will never forget why we must make sure no one else ever forgets. It is our obligation.

Posted by Leonard Borman
We traveled to Lublin. Lublin, like Warsaw, had a thriving Jewish community. Rabbi Shapiro started the Chochmei Lublin Yeshiva. It was a high level of traditional learning. Students who sought admission needed to be proficient in 200 pages of Talmud. Rabbi Shapiro started the Daf Yomi movement (the coordinated study of one page of Talmud per day over a 7 year cycle), which is still practiced all over the world. The Yeshiva, dedicated in 1930, was captured by the Nazis and converted into a hospital. The building was reclaimed by the Warsaw Jewish community in 1997. Parts of the building interior have been restored. As a bit of trivia, a Chochmei Lublin Yeshiva existed in Detroit on Linwood and Elmhurst. It speaks of the worldwide Yeshiva influence. Rabbi Shapiro discouraged immigration to the United States, calling it the “Godless Medina.”

The afternoon was spend in the Majdanek Death Camp. The camp was well preserved, as the Nazis did not have time to burn it. Besides Jews, Polish political prisoners and gypsies were killed. However, many buildings from the site were razed, it being difficult to maintain the voluminous number of barracks. The camp is also a Polish state memorial. We encounter many other visitors during our time there.

We visited the barracks that housed the showers and gas chambers. Other buildings contained 3-tiered wooden beds, and some were converted to display items and information, including one full of an unimaginable number of shoes taken from prisoners upon arrival. I estimated its size at 7,500 square feet. The camp housed a crematoria and a mausoleum which contained the ashes of burned bodies.
Each building was emotionally straining. Outside, we listened to our guide. Inside, the entire group observed in silence. We held a memorial service near the ashes of 18,000 Jews who were killed and burned in one day. Having visited the Holocaust museum in Washington, D.C., and Detroit, they are effective in explaining the events of the Holocaust. To visit a Death Camp where 300,000 were killed and burned is to elevate the promise to “never again” allow this to happen, especially in a word where many are trying to deny that the Holocaust ever happened.

Posted by Bonnie Seligson
Dear Beloved family and friends,
Our hearts are very very heavy from our time at Majdanek.....none of my words can sufficiently capture the horrors we witnessed today, so I will not try. Rabbi Berkun said that "silence" may be the only or best response as we left the camp. My thoughts seemed to drift all day to the survivors of Majdanek, for unlike other death camps, this concentration camp did have some survivors. These ordinary people had to find the will, the stength, the determination, and the courage to pick up their lives after being a part of this unimaginable nightmare. They had to continue their lives without mothers, fathers, children, brothers, sisters, friends. I found this reality the hardest for me. Only the likes of an Elie Weisel could be their voice. I see now why it is so important to end this journey in Israel. The darkness of our time in Poland will be so obviously contrasted with the joys in Israel. I am anxious to lift this weight from my heart.....and I realize how fortunate I am that I was able to go to dinner, tavel to Krakow, and surf the web at the days end. Again, I find myself thinking of those survivors who never were/are able to relieve that burden they always carried in their hearts.
Promising to someday share these feelings with my grandchildren.

Here is a link to photos from Day 2: http://picasaweb.google.com/jonberkun/Day2PolandMay1LublinMajdanekDeathCamp