Eastern European Adventure Part X: No Idea

"The one who does not remember history is bound to live through it again."  ~George Santayana

In case you missed my first post on Auschwitz yesterday, click here.

My words cannot do Auschwitz justice.  Nothing I can say can let you experience the feeling of standing on that ground.  Nothing I can say can give you even a glimpse of what the prisoners suffered.   I have no idea of the suffering and horror that went on within those walls.  My own blog posts make the incredibly clear.

I complained about having to pay to use the restroom on my trip across Europe.  They were faced with group "toilets" that spread deadly diseases through the camp.

I whined about carrying my pack across the Charles Bridge in Prague.  They packed up their belongings and lugged them across countries, trusting that they were merely being "relocated."

I pouted when I had to sleep on an uncomfortable bed in a furnished apartment.  They slept on wood, straw, or the hard cement floor.

I hobbled around when my cute nude flats did not provide enough support for my feet.  At Auschwitz, I saw rooms full of shoes that were removed prior to entering a "shower" never to be worn again.

I have never been more excited to take a shower after riding on an overnight train from Prague to Vienna.  I imagine many of them felt the same way when they were sent to the gas chambers after their long train rides.

I felt lost when I was not able to talk to my parents, email my girlfriends, or text The Boy from Texas every day.  They had their entire families torn apart forever on train platforms when men went to the right into the camps and women and children went to the left into the gas chambers.

I joked about my inability to say no to dessert and the fact that I was gaining weight.  They were literally starving to death.

I didn't think twice when I waived at little boys wearing Yamakas playing in the street in Budapest, or when I went to sit shiva with my friend and his family when Bapa died.  These things would have condemned them to death.

Clearly, my words would be inadequate given my complete lack of understanding for what happened 60 years ago.  What I can tell you, however, is that what was most moving to me--the thing that I felt in my heart--was that I am no different from the people who were killed here.  I was struck over and over by how much I was like them.  I saw it when I read the professions of the prisoners:  professors, lawyers, teachers, farmers, mechanics.  There were girls who looked to be my age, with round faces and blue eyes who were torn from their families, dressed in striped clothing, and killed.  There were baby booties--exactly the same as those my mom has saved in her house that I used to wear on my ownfeet--in a glass case in memory of the innocent babies whose lives were taken for no reason.

I have no idea of the suffering that these people went through.  And maybe that is exactly the point of visiting Auschwitz-Birkenau.  To realize that we do not know their suffering, and to remind us we must do whatever we can to ensure no one else ever does again.

May that ever be our prayer.  And may their souls ever rest in peace.

*Linking up with Thankful Thursday.