Day 3

The bus ride to Auschwitz was different from the very beginning. For many of us, it was the first time there, the first day, and you could tell. We talked on the bus, but the conversations were different than usual. A lot revolved around our expectations: what will it be like? But also still around very normal things, like what we had for breakfast. You could tell that everyone was trying somehow to prepare themselves, even though it was clear to all of us that this was hardly possible.

The first image many people have in mind when they think of Auschwitz is the inscription “Arbeit macht frei.” To stand directly in front of it was a moment that can hardly be described. It suddenly became real. No longer just an image from the internet or from class, but directly in front of us. Tangible. Close. And that was exactly what made it so terrifying.

The thought that people saw this sentence and perhaps even believed it is almost unbearable. The fact that they only gradually understood what was really happening stayed with me deeply.

At first glance, the buildings appeared almost harmless, almost normal. Yet at the same time, a dark and oppressive atmosphere hung over the group.

Only when we stood inside the fences did it become truly clear how enormous everything is. I kept thinking over and over that at almost every place where we stood, people had died. And even if they did not die physically there, they were broken mentally and psychologically and thus died inwardly.

The fact that the people there were used systematically probably only became clear to many of them gradually. You could also see that later in the museum, because people arrived with suitcases, with personal belongings, some even wearing sunglasses. Hardly anyone cried. Many simply did not know what awaited them.

At the same time, the question of guilt also came to my mind. The thought that my own great grandparents may have supported this system was hard to grasp and very distressing. At the same time, the Israelis made it clear to me that it was not my fault, but it also became clear to me that I am responsible for making sure that it never happens again.

During the tour, we went through several buildings and saw under what conditions the people there had to survive, deliberately not live, but truly only exist. They were at the absolute minimum of existence. To this day, it still makes me ask: how did some people survive there for so long, and how did they manage mentally not to take their own lives?

We learned how little food there was and that it was nowhere near enough. Hunger was always there, which caused all the victims to become emaciated and physically too weak to have any energy left. With every room we entered, the atmosphere became more oppressive.

Over time, one understood more and more how extreme the situation at that time had been, and at the same time it became increasingly unimaginable.

One moment that has stayed with me in particular was when one of the Israeli students was carrying an Israeli flag around himself. That made me think. I asked myself how it was even possible for things to go so far that Jews were excluded in such an extreme way. Or people of other religious beliefs.

In one building, there was a quotation that touched me especially:

For me, this quotation summed everything up once again. It shows that the victims were human beings with feelings, with lives, with an identity.

I think that is exactly what we must remember again and again whenever we see someone and have prejudices or judge people based on their origin, religion, or appearance.

At the end of the tour, we stood in front of a huge book with hundreds of pages, each page as large as a person. And every page was filled with names. Names of victims. Victims of a crime that will outlast generations and must remind us again and again how important respect and love of one’s fellow human beings are.

Many of the Israeli participants found in this book the names of relatives who had been murdered.

Despite this situation, I was also able in that moment to build better contact with some of them. Three of us stood together and talked about how extreme and unimaginable all of this is.

Together, we kept a minute of silence as a sign of respect for the approximately 11 million people who were murdered.

If one were to keep silent for one minute for each of these people, that would amount to 20 years, 11 months, and 3 days. Or 7,638 days. This number once again showed the scale of this crime.

On the bus ride back, the atmosphere was different again. There was more talking than in the morning. Many exchanged thoughts about their impressions, about what they had seen and, above all, what they had felt.

Nevertheless, there was still a certain distance between us and the Israeli participants. A strange feeling remained, the thought that perhaps my great grandfather was part of the system that murdered the ancestors of others here on this bus.

That thought was hard to bear and at the same time important in order to understand what responsibility history still carries for us today.

In the evening, the German and Israeli students met again in smaller groups in the city to talk about the day, since it was easier to process things after some time had passed. You could clearly feel that the mood improved again and that everyone gained a sense of what would await them the next day. There was also the feeling that, as a group, we could get through it together. Manage to comprehend what happened. Manage to understand how it can be prevented in the future.