Auschwitz-Birkenau

Auschwitz (1)

Auschwitz (2)

Auschwitz (3)

Birkenau (1)

Birkenau_Barracks (2)

Birkenau (3)

Typically, when people think of or hear the word 'concentration-camp' Auschwitz is what comes to mind. I myself thought that way until I read in the Lonely Planet guide that Auschwitz is one of two concentration-camps - the second being Birkenau. The latter is about twenty times greater in size than Auschwitz, it served as the train station to unload Jewish prisoners, it had two massive gas chambers and is the camp where the majority of Jewish prisoners were executed. 

The day was foggy when I visited both camps. A hazy and gloomy canopy covered buildings, grounds and all living things. After watching an introductory film on the holocaust I was put in a group of about ten people. Our guide was a young Polish lady with blonde hair hidden under a big grey woollen bonnet. She spoke English with an Australian accent, in a tone that stayed solemn for most of the time. We started the tour at around 11:20 am along with a few other groups of roughly the same size as ours. Each tour lasts three hours, starting in Auschwitz and ending in Birkenau. During those hours we were shown ruins, buildings and exhibits as our knowledgeable guide imparted on us facts and details of what went on in the camps. Throughout the tour a few people in the group posed questions to our guide, but, for most of the time, everyone kept a respectful silence, like when visiting a cemetery. 

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I must admit that after a couple of days I forgot most of what our guide said. What stayed with me is the emotional imprint of the gloomy mood and the respectful silence in the camps. However, the mind works in mysterious ways. Sometimes, information or a memory seems forgotten, but actually it is just in the dark. All it needs is a random trigger to bring it to light, and suddenly we remember. 

A few days ago I watched the film 'The Counterfeiters' - a true story about a Jewish counterfeiter working with a team in a concentration camp to counterfeit the British Pound and the American Dollar for the Nazis. In one scene one of the team-members mentions that he survived Auschwitz because of 'Kanada'. Even before the dialogue explained this detail I immediately knew what he was referring to. My mind unearthed it from somewhere: after the prisoners were unloaded from the train at Birkenau their luggage were confiscated, emptied for valuables, and dumped in a warehouse nick-named 'Kanada' - in reference to a distant and beautiful place. In another scene a counterfeiter almost goes into panic at having to take a shower with the rest of his team, screaming 'they're going to gas us!'. Again, my mind immediately dug up this information and threw it to the fore. Having just arrived at Birkenau, the prisoners, while still on the train platform, would line up in front of a Nazi that would assess whether they are fit for labour. With a gesture of his thumb the Nazi would create two lines: one to head to the barracks and the other to take a shower. The men and women heading to the shower are led to a dressing chamber where they would undress, then are crammed into an elongated shower room where, instead of water pouring down from the shower heads, a lethal gas is dropped on them from holes. A few minutes later, after the gas has done its job, fellow inmates wearing a gas mask would come in to the shower room and remove all jewellery from bodies, all gold or silver teeth and scalp the hair off women before taking the bodies to the crematorium.                      

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I don't usually like to visit museums - they define information too rigidly and drily for me, giving my imagination no room to wander. It's either that or I cannot connect emotionally to what's exhibited. However, at the Auschwitz-Birkenau museum I did not have such problems. Among the exhibits I saw was a large mound of rusted and broken eye-glasses from prisoners that were executed. In one large room, rising to a height of about 5'8 or 6' and behind a glass window that spans the length of the room, is hair from the women that were gassed or killed otherwise. Near that exhibit is a small window where we can observe something that looks like a rug - our guide informed us the item was created from the women's hair. Another exhibit shows a mountain of worn out shoes that reaches the room's ceiling, stacked behind glass windows on both sides of a narrow corridor. These displays are suggestive and interpretation is left to the imagination - a powerful way to conceptualize the horror that happened as imagination has no boundaries.

A particular exhibit that stayed with me is a long corridor of black and white mug shots hanging on both walls. Under each photo is a date range indicating the person's life span in the camp. Some lasted years, others months while some lasted not even a day. The faces all look grim, some even carry bruises. A few pictures had flowers fastened behind their frame, put there by a relative or a friend. A mug shot of a young woman caught my attention. She had short hair, her face was round and, on the corner of her lips, there was a hint of a smile. I looked up at her round eyes and caught a soft beam of light in them. She looked smart and beautiful. I imagined her an optimist, a woman who is ready to smile, to enjoy the moment and every breath of air. I looked at her dates - she lived for a couple of days. My concentration got interrupted by people bumping into me. Our guide noticed I was missing. She looked in the corridor from outside and called out to me - the tour had to continue. 

Afterwards I felt as if I should have done something before leaving. Had I a flower then I would have fastened it behind her picture, but I didn't know where to get one. Besides, I didn't want to delay the tour anymore than I already have. So, today, using my words and imagination, I return to that busy corridor and stand again in front of that woman's picture. People are bumping into me as they move forwards and the guide calls out to me with a wave of her hand. I signal to my guide with a nod of my head. In my hand is a flower. I slip it behind the photo's frame to fasten it against the wall and walk away. The flower holds and gently leans over the woman's head, its petals bright and beautiful.