As I sit in my hotel room in Warsaw reflecting on this journey, I’m struggling to find the right words to make sense of everything I’ve seen and heard. The weight of this experience is heavy, etched into the sights, the stories, the silences. There is one image that refuses to leave my mind: the display of hair at Auschwitz. I keep returning to it, over and over.
That hair belonged to real people—men, women, and children who were stripped of their identities the moment they arrived. The hair was taken not just as a resource, but as a deliberate act of dehumanization. It was a calculated step in a larger system designed to erase individuality, dignity, and connection. Hair, after all, is not just cosmetic. It protects us. It is part of our biology, our culture, and our sense of self. In many cultures, hair signifies belonging—it connects us to tradition, to family, to spirituality. To forcefully remove it is to sever those ties, to strip someone of more than just appearance—it is to steal part of their humanity.
As I stood in front of that display, I found myself thinking about the story of Samson. His hair symbolized his strength, his purpose, his connection to God. That parallel feels impossible to ignore. In cutting the hair of the Jewish people, the Nazis weren’t just trying to humiliate—they were trying to spiritually crush an entire people. It was another act meant to communicate: “You are not who you once were. You do not belong. You are nothing.”
But they were wrong.
Even in the face of unspeakable cruelty, the spirit of the Jewish people endured. Their hair was taken, their names replaced by numbers, but their humanity could not be extinguished. It is preserved in memory, in testimony, and in witness. That is why we go. That is why we learn. That is why we remember. Visiting the camps, standing on the soil where millions were murdered, is not something I will ever be able to fully process. But I do know this: bearing witness carries responsibility. I return home changed. I return home more committed than ever to teaching truth, honoring memory, and
standing against injustice in all its forms.
We must carry forward the stories of those who were lost—not just in our minds, but in our
actions. Memory alone is not enough. It must move us.