It was an hour and a half trip for the 87 of us to travel from Warsaw to Treblinka. We sat down in comfortable seats, cool air conditioning blew onto our faces and our bellies were full after a buffet-style breakfast. We were even able to use the bathroom before we left.
For the thousands of Jews who made this journey about 80 years ago — it was much more dehumanizing.
My stomach churns just at the thought of what those people endured.
They were objectified to the greatest degree. They were loaded onto cattle cars no differently than how Amazon drivers aggressively pack the absurd amount of boxes into a truck during the holiday season in America. They had no air conditioning or chairs or food in their bellies. They didn’t even have anywhere to relieve themselves. All they had was each other. And not even all of them made it.
The energy was mellow as soon as we arrived to the former death camp. The group knew what was to come.
But the spirit that emanated from the grounds was not dark. It did not feel like death and despair. If anything it felt serene. The birds chirped a pleasant melody, the wind softly flowed through the abundance of trees. The sun shined on our faces.
It was odd that such a beautiful place could be the house of so much pain. A gruesome juxtaposition, to say the least.
The power of words
Luckily, because of writings from Chil Rajchman we were able to get an in-depth look into the trials and tribulations of Triblanka. Over the past few days, I have come to find the true impact of the written word. As a journalist, I obviously know the power of people’s stories. I live to tell them. But sometimes my work can feel empty. Sometimes I feel like no one cares — that the words I work so hard to carefully craft on the page are just to be recycled the next day.
But after visiting the Ringelblum Archive, I realized this is not true. Because of the accounts and documents that Emanuel Ringelblum and Oneg Shabbat saved, so many people are able to truly understand what happened during those despicable times.
The words from Chil set the scene in graphic detail and the emotions became overwhelmingly real.
Hope throughout the pain
The dark details we uncovered clung to me. The act of undressing people, shaving their heads and having them pick the valuables from corpses. They were stripped of everything that makes them human. And I can’t stop the tears that well up in my eyes everytime I think of that.
The nazis create an industry of death without giving it a second thought.
As we moved to the monument that stands there, representing the hundreds of thousands of people that were sentenced to death on that land, I was taken aback. I weaved in and out of the stones not knowing what to think. It is hard to wrap your mind around such a tragedy.
One of the other participants, Rebecca, was putting small stones on the larger rocks. This is a way to show you care. I found a small stone on the ground, so I decided it was only right to carry on the tradition. As I placed my small rock down on a nearby stone, a butterfly fluttered past. This was a sign of life. A sign of hope. A thank you from the lives that were lost there.
Shortly after, we held a memorial ceremony to honor the innocent people who died in Treblinka. Our group was met with a wave of emotions as the tune of violins carried through the air. Our eyes were met with tears. Our noses dripped with snot. Our faces turned read. Our throats swelled up. But we joined together in song and through our tragic thoughts, smiles appeared on our faces.
We were joined in community. Something that is hard to do in this world. Not only did this trip educate me on an important past, but it gave me a group of people that will stand by me.
