On April 11, 1945, US forces entered the concentration camp known as Buchenwald, the site of some 56,000 deaths over an eight-year period since 1937. Eighteen days later, US forces liberated another major Nazi concentration camp - this one at Dachau, where over 31,000 people had died since its opening a dozen years earlier in 1933. The scenes they relayed back to the United States were horrific; as students of this time period and this subject matter, we are all very familiar with what they discovered there: surpassing the scale of the suffering they encountered was the destruction of life that had already taken place.
Now consider that if you were to combine the death tolls of these two places, you would still have to multiply it by more than 12 to approach the death toll of the place we will set foot in tomorrow. The very word "Auschwitz" is synonymous with the Holocaust, because it was here that over a million souls were snuffed out by history's worst murderers. Even now, after so much time spent studying this place, as we sit on the precipice of seeing it all up close and personal, the magnitude of what happened there eludes me. I once read a study several years back that claimed that in the course of a full, healthy life, the regular, average person will “meet” somewhere in the neighborhood of 10,000 to 20,000 people – friends, family, business acquaintances, classmates, teachers, coworkers, etc. Try to imagine every single person you’ve ever known, every person you’ve ever met, every person you’ve ever spoken with, every person whose hand you’ve ever shaken, every person you’ve ever casually chatted with for five minutes – all of them are gone…and you still have but a sliver of a fraction of the number of deaths that occurred at this obscure place in southern Poland.
We know the names of the people responsible for this. It was here that Himmler and Heydrich oversaw the execution of their plans. It was here that Eichmann’s trains carried the innocent to their death. It was here where Mengele’s medical fantasies manifested themselves into unspeakable reality. It was here that countless victims perished so that Göring could add to his art collection. It was here that Hitler’s view of the world and view of the future would be carried out. This is what we know. What we still struggle to know are the names and faces of those who died. The sheer number alone makes it something of an impossibility to ever fully know. We’ll never completely know the stories of all those who died here. We have lists of names, pictures of faces, places of origin in some cases, and large, gaping holes intermixed and in between. They came from all over Europe, from all walks of life, from all age groups and genders. They were husbands and wives, sisters and brothers, sons and daughters, aunts and uncles, young and old, parents, grandparents, children and grandchildren, men and women: they were people. They were ordinary people who did not sacrifice themselves in the name of some noble cause or so that others like them could escape some oppression; they were ordinary people who were selected for destruction because of their very essence. History’s greatest crime was carried out against those who had no say over that for which they were condemned to die.
I can’t speak for the rest of you, but our journey to this sacred place on Monday is a large factor in why I’m here. Professor Muller approached me at the end of March, inquiring about my interest in going on this trip; quite literally less than 24 hours before everything was due. I spent that next day hemming and hawing, experiencing a whirlwind of emotions and feelings about the pros, the cons, and everything that would have to be done to make this trip happen for me. As that deadline approached, the overwhelming thought was that it simply would not be feasible on such short notice. And then the question popped into my mind that changed everything:
Could I really pass up the opportunity to set foot in Auschwitz?
The answer to that question was a resounding “no,” and two months later I’m sitting in a hostel, typing at 2:00 in the morning, 5000 miles away from home, having previously never even set foot on an airplane in my 26 and a half years on this earth. I consider it a privilege to be here, surrounded by “classmates” (I put it in quotes since I’m not actually taking the class) who find as much passion in learning as I do, and accompanied by professors who care as much about this subject matter as they do about us as their students.
Monday will be, I predict, a rollercoaster of emotions for many of us. We’ve learned about this place and heard so much about it for so long, but to see it, and touch it, and set foot in it…I suspect that will take the “real” factor to another level, and give us all an even deeper understanding of what capacity our species has for evil, so that 70 years later, our voyage to this place can help us continue to ensure that such an abomination never again sees the light of day. I would hope that, as future historians, we all view that as part of our solemn duty.
“Unless the world learns the lesson these pictures teach, night will fall.”
Now consider that if you were to combine the death tolls of these two places, you would still have to multiply it by more than 12 to approach the death toll of the place we will set foot in tomorrow. The very word "Auschwitz" is synonymous with the Holocaust, because it was here that over a million souls were snuffed out by history's worst murderers. Even now, after so much time spent studying this place, as we sit on the precipice of seeing it all up close and personal, the magnitude of what happened there eludes me. I once read a study several years back that claimed that in the course of a full, healthy life, the regular, average person will “meet” somewhere in the neighborhood of 10,000 to 20,000 people – friends, family, business acquaintances, classmates, teachers, coworkers, etc. Try to imagine every single person you’ve ever known, every person you’ve ever met, every person you’ve ever spoken with, every person whose hand you’ve ever shaken, every person you’ve ever casually chatted with for five minutes – all of them are gone…and you still have but a sliver of a fraction of the number of deaths that occurred at this obscure place in southern Poland.
We know the names of the people responsible for this. It was here that Himmler and Heydrich oversaw the execution of their plans. It was here that Eichmann’s trains carried the innocent to their death. It was here where Mengele’s medical fantasies manifested themselves into unspeakable reality. It was here that countless victims perished so that Göring could add to his art collection. It was here that Hitler’s view of the world and view of the future would be carried out. This is what we know. What we still struggle to know are the names and faces of those who died. The sheer number alone makes it something of an impossibility to ever fully know. We’ll never completely know the stories of all those who died here. We have lists of names, pictures of faces, places of origin in some cases, and large, gaping holes intermixed and in between. They came from all over Europe, from all walks of life, from all age groups and genders. They were husbands and wives, sisters and brothers, sons and daughters, aunts and uncles, young and old, parents, grandparents, children and grandchildren, men and women: they were people. They were ordinary people who did not sacrifice themselves in the name of some noble cause or so that others like them could escape some oppression; they were ordinary people who were selected for destruction because of their very essence. History’s greatest crime was carried out against those who had no say over that for which they were condemned to die.
I can’t speak for the rest of you, but our journey to this sacred place on Monday is a large factor in why I’m here. Professor Muller approached me at the end of March, inquiring about my interest in going on this trip; quite literally less than 24 hours before everything was due. I spent that next day hemming and hawing, experiencing a whirlwind of emotions and feelings about the pros, the cons, and everything that would have to be done to make this trip happen for me. As that deadline approached, the overwhelming thought was that it simply would not be feasible on such short notice. And then the question popped into my mind that changed everything:
Could I really pass up the opportunity to set foot in Auschwitz?
The answer to that question was a resounding “no,” and two months later I’m sitting in a hostel, typing at 2:00 in the morning, 5000 miles away from home, having previously never even set foot on an airplane in my 26 and a half years on this earth. I consider it a privilege to be here, surrounded by “classmates” (I put it in quotes since I’m not actually taking the class) who find as much passion in learning as I do, and accompanied by professors who care as much about this subject matter as they do about us as their students.
Monday will be, I predict, a rollercoaster of emotions for many of us. We’ve learned about this place and heard so much about it for so long, but to see it, and touch it, and set foot in it…I suspect that will take the “real” factor to another level, and give us all an even deeper understanding of what capacity our species has for evil, so that 70 years later, our voyage to this place can help us continue to ensure that such an abomination never again sees the light of day. I would hope that, as future historians, we all view that as part of our solemn duty.
“Unless the world learns the lesson these pictures teach, night will fall.”