PLEASE NOTE - I intentionally split up today's blog entry into two separate posts. I think you will understand why after reading both sections.
"David! David! Can you hear me?"
"Of course I can hear you!"
"David, take my hand... Let me show you my room!"
And with that she grabbed me by the arm and dragged me up the stairs into her room... "Here is my newest doll! Isn't she beautiful? Do you like the picture I drew?" And before I could answer she grabbed me by the arm again as she pulled me out of the room. "Come! Let me show you my sister's room!"
Can you hear her calling? Is she speaking to you, too? Four months ago, as my family stood in the house where Sophia van Hasselt lived with her family in the north of Holland in a small town called Waskemeer, I heard her calling. Sophia is Carly's Holocaust twin, a young girl who never had the chance to become a bat mitzvah because of the Nazis. A young girl who, through Carly, read Torah on November 23, 2013 at Temple Adat Elohim. As I toured the house, now owned by another family after she and her family were taken to Auschwitz, I could hear Sophia, a precious 9 year old girl full of life calling to me and my family. And I felt her take me by the hand and show me each of the rooms where she lived. I could envision her playing in the back yard of the home, I could see my daughters playing with her and Hermi, her sister. There was music and dancing and great joy. That day, that visit with Sophia, was one of the most meaningful visits I have ever had with any person.
"David!!! David, can you hear me?"
"What? Who is that?"
"David! It's me!"
"I wasn't expecting to see you here, not yet..."
"David, come and look at this chair."
And she took me by the hand and walked with me to the center of the Podgorze, the former Jewish ghetto in Krakow, to the place where the ghetto was brutally liquidated. My eyes teared up as Ron, our educator shared with us the brutality of that day, the true stories so unthinkable that it must have been fiction. But this horror story was totally true. I think she saw me crying.
"Don't be afraid, David... I am here with you."
I didn't think I would see Sophia here. Auschwitz, maybe. But here?
Can you hear Sophia calling you?
This memorial, where the liquidation of the ghetto happened, is a bunch of empty chairs facing in two directions. One is to where the Jews lived in the ghetto and the other is towards the trains that would transport them to the death camp. Empty chairs representing the emptiness of the ghetto, the total lack of humanity, the extermination of 90% of the Jewish population of Poland. And as Sophia took me to a special chair she wanted to show me, I noticed others from our group had found special chairs as well. I wonder who picked the chairs for them.
Sophia climbed up into one of the chairs and said, "Let me tell you a story, my story. And be sure to tell others, because they won't believe you. They won't think I am telling the truth. Make sure they know I am telling the truth."
The story is the saddest story I can ever imagine. There is no happy ending for Sophia, for so many. The weight of this feels like there is no happy ending for humanity.
Sophia joined me on the bus ride, about an hour and a half away from the square with the chairs, as we drove towards Auschwitz.
This is a pilgrimage I knew I had to make in my lifetime. I knew it as early as 7th grade, when I saw that flyer in my locker and my rabbi, of blessed memory shared with me his visit to Auschwitz. I knew I had to make it as Carly was given Sophia van Hasselt as a bat mitzvah twin and we were able to discover that Auschwitz was where she breathed he last breath. It felt strange to be actually in Poland, actually going to this place of total darkness.
The numbers are staggering. So staggering that we cannot possibly comprehend it. It numbs you to the brutality of it all. So I was glad to have Sophia with me, although I prayed and prayed that her story would end differently this time, that she could have her happy ending.
As we rode on the bus, I became aware of the train tracks running along side the road. Sophia saw me looking at the tracks and said to me, "I didn't come to Auschwitz by bus." While we were driving in a luxury bus, she went by cattle car. While we were complaining about traffic, she was complaining because she had no room to breathe or even sit down. While we were complaining about the weather, she was nearly freezing to death in the February chill of winter. While we would be able to leave Auschwitz, she wouldn't.
We drove past a few Christian cemeteries, each grave decorated with colorful, beautiful flowers. It really seemed to show the beauty of life. "We don't use flowers," Sophia said to me, "we use rocks."
I think as Jews we are searching for permanence. In a history where time and again people tried to make us temporary, we need to feel permanence. Flowers are beautiful, but they are temporary. Rocks are permanent. All Sophia wanted was to be like a rock and not like a flower.
Auschwitz is actually 43 camps. We would be visiting the two best known, Auschwitz 1 and Auschwitz 2 - Birkenau. We first went to Auschwitz 1, which does not look like what you would picture a concentration camp to look like. Someone from our group said it almost looked like a college dormitory, brick buildings, roads... My tracks were stopped when I looked up and saw the infamous sign that shows you without a shadow of a doubt that you are at Auschwitz.
As I stood there, tears rolling down my face, Sophia grabbed my hand again and said, "Don't be afraid, David. I will be here with you. I will show you the camp." And we walked through the gate together.
Our Polish guide Marcelina led us through this complex of buildings with great care, but not letting herself feel the emotion we were all feeling. We learned about the history of the camp, and how it worked.
"David! Come this way and let me show you this..." Sophia took my hand and guided me into a building where many items from the victims of Hitler's killing machine were preserved.
"David, do you see my father's Tallit? Do you have one, too?"
"Yes, Sophia, I have a couple of Tallitot, some that look just like this one." More tears. Do you see your Tallit there?
"David, do you see my cup? It is the light blue one..." Is your cup there, too?
"David, is that your name on the suitcase? My suitcase is here somewhere."
And then the unthinkable, baby clothes and a broken baby doll. "Isn't that the doll I showed you at my house?" she asked me. It might very well be.
"And do you see my high heel dress up shoe?" She was proud that her mom let her wear high heels when she dressed up. "Where did they put my other one?"
I wonder which one of these is her hair brush. As I walked through these massive displays of stolen items from victims I really tried to focus on one at a time rather than looking at the whole display. I tried to notice each detail, as I felt that every victim deserves to be remembered individually. What was their story? Their hopes and dreams, their potential? Rather than say that 6 million Jews died during the Holocaust, I learned that one Jew died. 6 million times. Sophia died, 6 million times. I could hardly see through the tears. I could hear others in our group sobbing at the reality of what they were witnessing.
We went into a room where we were not allowed to take pictures that had an enormous display of human hair shaved from the heads of victims. A sea of hair from countless people. Thousands of people. I could see some in braids, some blonde, some red, some dark haired... I tried to find Sophia's hair.
After leaving this building that really brought the reality of the Holocaust to the forefront we walked to a reconstruction of the gas chamber and crematoria at Auschwitz 1. Again I was stopped in my tracks. Here, in front of me, were my community, people I love so much walking into the gas chamber.
"Don't be afraid, David. I am here with you." And Sophia grabbed my hand and we went inside.
As we left Auschwitz 1, I noticed that I was alone. Sophia was not there with me. I really wanted to thank her for helping me to get through that museum, especially the display of items stolen from the victims.
Today, I chose to wear a Kippah. I did so with great intention. After Auschwitz 1, we went to tour Auschwitz 2 - Birkenau. I wore a Kippah because we were visiting the largest cemetery in the world. More than 1.2 million souls were lost there. Every step we took was a holy step as we were stepping on graves. Everywhere we looked death was staring us in the face. I also chose to wear my Kippah as an act of defiance, wearing it where Jews were forbidden to wear them during the war. I often caught myself reaching up and holding onto my Kippah, almost as if I were afraid someone would take it off my head.
The first stop we made in the camp was the barracks. We learned about the sanitation issues and water issues they had in the camp. We saw the toilets the prisoners were forced to use. The Nazis regulated when they could use the bathroom. Marcelina explained how this added to the dehumanization of their victims.
And then we walked alongside the infamous train tracks that brought prisoners into the camp. I have seen so many pictures of this very location. Every step I took got heavier and heavier. We walked until we got to the cattle car in the middle of the platform.
"David, can you hear me?"
"Yes, Sophia, where are you?"
Can you see her among the many people on the platform?
"Over here! Take my hand and help out of the car."
I felt myself reach up and touch the wood of the cattle car in order to help 9 year old Sophia out safely. We waited in a line as we approached the monster Dr. Mengele. He was playing God, literally deciding who would be selected for work or who would be selected to die. He looked at Sophia and me and turned his thumb to the left. There were many in this group, including all of our travelers from Temple Adat Elohim. We were guided to walk down the path to the end of the platform at the far end of the camp. We had been selected to be gassed in one of the gas chambers at Birkenau.
"Don't be afraid, David. We'll walk together." And dear, sweet Sophia took my hand and we walked towards the end. I saw Sophia's family with her. Her sister Hermi, who I remember playing with my daughters in Holland was there as were her parents. Were you there, too? Was that your grandmother in front of me?
After reaching the end of the platform we approached the gas chamber and crematoria.
We gathered in a circle to offer a prayer. We chose to recite the Kaddish, our prayer for mourning. The Kaddish is all about praising God for life. How could we say these words? How could we praise God for life where there was no life? This place defines the absence of life. How could we praise God? This was, without question, the most difficult Kaddish I have ever said. I couldn't say Kaddish for Sophia or any of the other victims there. The ruins of the gas chamber and the crematoria were like a light blinding me from reality and preventing me from seeing anything.
After spending time at the memorial (pictured above) we started the long walk back to our bus. How fortunate we were to be able to leave this terrible, dark place. We went to near by Oswiecim to a pre-Holocaust Synagogue where we could open our hearts in prayer.
The synagogue was not in service any more, but we felt like we were able to breathe life back into this building through our music and prayer. It was here that I was able to say Kaddish for Sophia and the other victims. It was here I could thank Sophia for being with me today, for holding my hand and helping me to not be afraid. It was here I could honor her life and remember her not as an Auschwitz victim, but as a beautiful little girl who had everything to live for. I promise, Sophia, I will never stop telling your story, or the stories of the countless others who have no one to speak for them. I promise I will do more to help those today who have no voice. I promise to try to be the humanity in an inhumane world.
As we walked outside the synagogue we went by a beautiful river. It turns out that this is the river that the Nazis would dump ashes of their victims in. Every tree, every leaf, the grass is constantly fed by those who were lost at Auschwitz. Every step is covered with ashes. The dirt is filled them. Can you see them? Can you hear them? They are calling to us all. I will remember every step I took today. I will remember the cold, the silence, the tears, the fear, the smell. I am changed because of Auschwitz, and I am blessed in so many ways.
The last time I saw Sophia was when I watched her and her family walk down the stairs into the gas chamber. She turned to me as she was walking inside and waved. May her memory, may the memory of each and every soul lost be for all of us a source of blessing and a constant reminder of the work we need to do for our world.
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