Wake up 5:15. The Montreal delegation boards our 5 buses and begins the hour drive to Auschwitz. The mood is somber - a combination of anxiety, trepidation and dread. We are here to participate in the international March from Auschwitz to Birkenau along with delegations from around the world. We have already met the delegations from Argentina and Brazil, staying in the same hotel as us. Today Ernest will share his story with us from inside a barrack at Birkenau - his barrack. My heart breaks just thinking about how he must feel this morning as he prepared for his testimony.
Today is different. The kids are keenly aware that today is different. They are quiet, pensive, reflective. Usually the bus rides are lively, loud, full of chatter, giggles, music. Not this morning.
8:00 PM: leaving Birkenau. The kids are exhausted, confused, emotionally drained, and hungry. We, their chaperones, feel the same. It's been difficult supporting the kids today while managing our own emotions. Not sure how to go about summarizing the day but I'll try. I know it will take quite some time to process this day. Right now I feel empty, almost hardened. Perhaps the responsibility of caring for fragile young adults hardened us to the events of the day so that we could be fully present to address their needs.
Arriving in Auschwitz this morning was surreal. The kids immediately commented on the numerous train tracks leading to Auschwitz. They are curious and worried - what will they see, how will they react, what happens if they don't react, how are they suppose to react...
We enter the camp in silence. The tears begin to flow. I don't know why, where they came from. We begin our tour of Auschwitz with Ronen and a Polish guide. The skies darken and the rain begins - appropriately. The kids huddle close to the guide listening to his every word. We enter block four and travel from exhibit to exhibit. The kids hang on Ronen's every word. They ask questions but every answer only brings more questions. We move to the next room. Physical evidence - shoes, suitcases, children's drawings, hair... The kids cry - girls and boys. We hug, we comfort, no words. What is there to say? There are no words. Each room evokes stronger emotions. I don't know who to comfort first. So many kids need us... We move from block to block in stunned silence, in pain, in disgust. The 2 hour tour ends with the book of names. Kids look for the names of lost family members. Some find the precious names while others frantically search. We must continue but they are not ready to leave. We enter the gas chamber and crematorium. No words just tears.
We board our bus to have lunch to escape the thunder and downpour of rain. The kids have no appetite. They want answers...but there are no answers. After a short debrief, the mood lightens and we prepare to participate in the actual March Of the Living. Buses arrive from everywhere. 10,000 Jews, young and old, take their positions along the barracks and prepare to March. The mood is festive and I am uncomfortable. I thought it would be somber, serious, painful. The rain stops and the sun breaks through the clouds. The Montreal delegation is lead by our 6 survivors and representatives from each if our 5 buses. I am conflicted. Why are the kids chatting with each other and kids from other countries? The March begins. We walk in small groups, arm I arm, holding hands but the mood is still festive. Throngs of people wearing t- shirts from their respective delegations, draped in Israeli flags, carrying signs and posters walk. We walk in the footsteps of those who walked to their death from Auschwitz to Birkenau. But we are the living. We are the next generation. We are the holders of the Jewish religion, traditions and heritage. We are proof that the Nazis did not win. We are alive. Why not be festive. We celebrate life. We continue the unbreakable chain of Judaism. We honour the survivors by living, by remembering, by telling and re telling their stories.
We approach the famous gates to Birkenau. The kids gravitate to the tracks, lighting candles, saying a prayer. They touch the barbed wire and stare out at the enormous extermination camp. It is difficult to move the kids forward. They are in a trance, moving in slow motion.
The ceremony is long and the kids are eager to learn, to ask their questions. The ceremony ends in the most powerful way. The last 6 letters if a Torah scroll are completed completed with the help of 6 survivors, each holding the hand of the scribe. A Torah scroll completed in this place - the largest grave sight in the world. An act if defiance, an act if victory, an act if Jewish pride. The El Maleh Rachamim is recited followed by Kadish and Hatikvah. The children have witnessed something significant and they recognize it. Together with Ronen, we trace the steps of one transport if Hungarian Jews from their arrival to their death - 1 hour. The kids have no more questions. They are too emotional to question, to reflective to talk, too distraught to continue. But continue we do. We gather in one of the wooden barracks to hear Ernest's testimony. His story is horrific. How does he have the strength and courage to speak from inside the barrack in which he and his brother lived? He has suffered too much. How can we ask him to relive the darkest years if his life? "It is my duty," he says. Next, Teddy recounts his story. The kids can't take much more but they hang on his every word. We leave Birkenau unable to process the day.
The drive back to the hotel was strange. The kids are spent, need a release. They are resilient. Slowly they return to their normal chatter knowing that nothing is quite the same.
Right before debrief session at the hotel, Rena makes her way from group to group distributing cookies she baked at home and brought to Poland. "After today, the kids need a taste if home," she says. Unbelievable. The kids gobble up the chocolate chip cookies with smiles and tears. Tonight they asked to have the debrief session. It was their idea.
Monica Mendel Bensoussan
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