The Solitude of Humanity and Memory

One of my photos of Auschwitz II (Birkenau)

A bit of a departure from this is an article/reflection I wrote about a trip I partook in during March 2016 that had "elements of the Holocaust interspersed here and there" to quote a line from the article. This is "The Solitude of Humanity and Memory" 

What is humanity, and where did it go during the Holocaust? It was questions like this that one couldn’t help but ask walking in places that will forever be scarred by their pasts. This past March I was among a group of thirty-one students and four teachers that went on a trip of a lifetime to Germany, to the Czech Republic, to Poland. And to Dachau, to Plaszow, and to Auschwitz.

Everything you experience  molds you; afterward there are always ghosts in your heart, memories that you take with you., but this trip held within its core an undercurrent of a more powerful weight, something fundamental to take back and hold onto.

We had the time of our lives. The awesome chance to explore Europe and the deeper meaning from being in places where, to quote the teacher-librarian at my high school "some of the most profound moments in history happened", worked together better than most may think. The trip was like a flower, the elements of the Holocaust interspersed here and there brought more petals and a profundity; it was a rose rather than a daisy, still beautiful, perhaps even more so.

A shot of Munich's City Hall

We started off in Munich, admiring the ice cream sweater worn by our tour leader, Daniel, while falling in love, through the jet lag, with this absolutely beautiful city. We sat in the very beer hall Hitler delivered his first speech, learned about the perversion that was brought upon the soul of the city, and the resistance from the very start in the way people went through 'Dodgers Alley' to avoid having to salute the Nazis. We learned about the way Munich has rebounded, how today at its heart is trust and kindness.  

We went to Dachau and came face to face with the chilling reminder of just what people are capable of, the industrialization of horror.

Then it was off to Prague. We were wowed by
the beauty of the city of one hundred spires perched high up in Prague Castle, and enchanted by the well-preserved medieval flair of this city untouched by World War II. Wandering the maze-like streets that are full of surprises, we felt the art at the center of this city's soul nourish ours (along with some great Czech treats).

A shot I took of Prague

Next, it was time for Poland. First came Krakow, another city undamaged by the war. We shopped in the beautiful markets, ate some of the best food of the trip (pierogies right from the source, anyone?) and were swept away by the legend of Krakow’s Dragon which has turned dragons into a sort of mascot for the city. We visited Kazmierez the old Jewish quarter and saw some of the places Schindler's List was filmed, learning that it's not uncommon for people to be unaware of their Jewish heritage because of the war.

A student looking up at a Memorial at Plaszow

We went to Plaszow, a "forgotten" camp, that has only a few monuments and signs to memorialize what happened there and came face to face with the deep-seated sense that peace can be brought back to a place that was once without it.

We went to Auschwitz and felt the ghosts of what happened there make the place come alive. Faced with the reality of what had occurred and how severe the situation became, life takes on a surreal quality and one couldn't help but wonder HOW? How does one move on from this? How did the world do it?

The Entrance to Auschwitz

With hearts still full of these new questions, we went to Warsaw. From the raised ground due to rebuilding on top of rubble, to the numerous monuments, honouring outstanding groups as well as people, there will always be echoes of the war in this city.

A picture I took of Warsaw's Old Town

We got a taste of life in Poland buying everything from clothes to chocolate in a huge Polish mall.  We learned about Janusz Korczak, who ran an orphanage and refused to abandon the children when they were deported, even though he was offered freedom.

Finally, we went to Berlin. We saw the ghosts of Nazi times in some of the city’s planning and looked the past in the eye standing before an original building the Nazis used. In a city once divided, we thought of all there is to bring everyone together walking among the different monuments there. We got some of the best chocolate one could ask for at the famous “Fassbender & Rausch” and were enchanted by “Ampelman” the iconic stop/walk duo of the city while we made friends with Buddy Bear, the bear statues all over the city.

We found out about the turmoil World War II

A section of the Berlin Wall

brought to the German identity and the comfort in and pride of the transparency, of having owned up to it. Standing before the Berlin Wall, we saw the manifestation of the ways people are divided, the ways we still are, to some extent, and the slow process of healing and mending those rifts among us.

***

"They suffered together, they died together, they survived together, but still, they refuse to be together" Daniel, our tour leader expressed his frustration over the way there were no memorials at Dachau for everyone, that they were separated by group.

This really made me wonder WHY? Have we not learned? Was going through something that terrible not enough to make us want to show a united front, solidarity? Why was the biggest construction there a cross, why was the Jewish monument to the side, how was there a hierarchy in how we are allowed to mourn those who were lost?

The Jewish Memorial At Dachau

Maybe it has something to do with, as my group’s teacher-supervisor said, “the solitude of humanity and memory”.

I've come to realize that as people... we want to feel special, and we want to be able to have things that are ours alone, FOR us. But the solitude of humanity is that in our search for special, for ours, we forget the things that are fundamentally the same, and that IS humanity. And WHEN there is solitude in humanity, that is a dangerous, dangerous thing.

Looking back, in some ways separate monuments makes a lot of sense. Memory is a solitary thing, because no two people experience the same. And the Holocaust was a lonely experience, those going through it probably never felt more alone in their lives, despite being surrounded by people.

The Denkmal Memorial

Like the sense the Denkmal (the Jewish) Memorial in Berlin seems to try to recreate, it must have felt like you were the only one that exists, that you were suddenly swallowed by shadows, walls put up by all the ways others tried to control you, define you. The reminder that you aren't alone helped you through, it might even be what got you through, but in the end you made it out, alone.

So perhaps the separate memorials are an unconscious nod to that loneliness but, don't we want to show that that’s no longer the case and we are no longer alone?

It is so, so important to recognize and celebrate differences, but perhaps ''never again'' keeps happening again because we don't use our solitary memory to create a more whole humanity.

We climbed towers, fought dragons and made friends for life. And now that we're back we're bringing with us more than just chocolate and teddy bears. Walking in the footsteps of who I used to be, I look at things with a new perspective, with a more in-depth understanding of life and a deep set knowledge that time passes, and the world moves on, but We. Will never. Forget. In the end, that is all we can offer, our memory, in whatever solitary form it comes, and in the wake of horror that seems to transcend reality, in many ways it is nothing, but it is also everything.