Birkenau, Annex to Auschwitz: Repost on 70th Anniversary of Liberation

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Today’s post title comes from Landscapes of the Metropolis of Death: Reflections on Memory and Imagination, written by Otto Dov Kulka, 80-year-old professor emeritus of history at Hebrew University in Jerusalem.  Kulka spent his childhood imprisoned at Auschwitz-Birkenau.

From Elie Wiesel's memoir, Night: "And as the train stopped, this time we saw flames rising from a tall chimney into a black sky. Mrs. Schachter had fallen silent on her own. Mute again, indifferent, absent, she had returned to her corner.   We stared at the flames in the darkness. A wretched stench floated in the air. Abruptly, our doors opened. Strange-looking creatures, dressed in striped jackets and black pants, jumped into the wagon. Holding flashlights and sticks, they began to strike at us left and right, shouting: “Everybody out! Leave everything inside. Hurry up!”   We jumped out. I glanced at Mrs. Schachter. Her little boy was still holding her hand. In front of us, those flames. In the air, the smell of burning flesh. It must have been around midnight. We had arrived. In Birkenau."

From Elie Wiesel’s memoir, Night:
“And as the train stopped, this time we saw flames rising from a tall chimney into a black sky. Mrs. Schachter had fallen silent on her own. Mute again, indifferent, absent, she had returned to her corner.
We stared at the flames in the darkness. A wretched stench floated in the air. Abruptly, our doors opened. Strange-looking creatures, dressed in striped jackets and black pants, jumped into the wagon. Holding flashlights and sticks, they began to strike at us left and right, shouting: “Everybody out! Leave everything inside. Hurry up!”
We jumped out. I glanced at Mrs. Schachter. Her little boy was still holding her hand. In front of us, those flames. In the air, the smell of burning flesh. It must have been around midnight. We had arrived. In Birkenau.”

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Birkenau, (also known as Auschwitz II, a 171-hectare sister camp to 20-hectare Auschwitz I), was overwhelming to me not only in its grisly outfittings and haunting stories, but in its sheer vastness. Otto Dov Kulka’s choice of the word “Metropolis” is clear and precise, clean of melodrama or exaggeration. Horizon-pushing is the impression, and bone-numbingly bleak.

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The day our family visited, the ice-snow was scratching laterally, metallically, across our faces.  We clutched our down-filled coats to our chests, stamped our lined boots, and tugged down on our thermal hats while our guide explained that prisoners, dressed in thin cotton shifts, crude wooden clogs, and weary from exposure, malnourishment, the 12-hours days of forced heavy labor and from perpetual beatings, died mostly at this time of year.

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Had our family been deported to Birkenau, our 17-year-old Dalton would have probably been the only one to survive.  We parents are too close to age 50, considered too lod for productive labor, and Luc is younger than age 14, which was generally the cut-off age for "best workers."

Had the members of our family who were with us on this visit actually been imprisoned at Birkenau, our 17-year-old Dalton would have probably been the only one to survive. We parents are too close to age 50, considered old for productive labor. We would have been gassed or killed on the spot.  Luc is younger than age 14, which was generally the cut-off age for “best workers.” He would have probably been disposed of, too.

The following are excerpts from Thomas W. Laqueur’s review of Otto Dov Kulka’s memoir.

Kulka and his parents came to Auschwitz-Birkenau from Theresienstadt [a smaller camp close to Prague] in September 1943, and he left the camp, by then a strange ghost town, in the infamous death march of 18 January 1945. He and his mother were spared the wholesale annihilation of the first 5,000 in March 1944 because he was in the Birkenau hospital recovering from diphtheria and she was nursing him. A hospital was only metres from where thousands were murdered every day; surreal. He was sure that he would die that June when he was stopped at the gate by an SS guard – “Bulldog” (we see his picture) – and prevented from joining a group of men who had been selected for labour.

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Upper bunk. As few as five, as many as ten bodies slept stacked chest to back on one level.  Sleeping on one's dies, one could not turn in the night without all the other bodies turning with you.

Upper bunk. As few as four, but more often as many as ten bodies slept stacked on their sides, chest to back on each bunk level. One could not turn in the night without requiring all the other bodies to turn at the same time. Sometimes there was a thin layer of straw. More commonly, prisoners slept on the bare planks.

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But as his group of boys was marched back they were not directed toward the gas chamber but to another part of the camp to pull carts. Boys were cheaper than donkeys. Again, he survived. The child was spared the depths of torment felt by adults in the murderous Auschwitz universe because, the historian tells us, there was less dignity and autonomy to strip away.

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The bunks were tilted to allow for human waste or vomit to drain off the lower edge. Dysentery was common, and prisoners were only allowed two 30- second toilet pauses a day. The "toilets" were a long wooden plank with holes. Beneath was an open trough.  This ran down the middle fo the bunk house.

The bunks were tilted to allow for human waste or vomit to run down and drain off the lower edge. Dysentery was common, and prisoners were only allowed two 30- second toilet pauses a day. In some barracks,  “toilets” were no more than a long wooden plank with holes. Beneath the plank was an open trough that ran down the middle of the barrack.

The flames of the ovens rose several meters high above the chimneys, but he lived a life in which the world of European high culture still mattered. An older boy, with whom he shared a hospital bunk, gave him a secreted copy of Crime and Punishment; a conductor organised a children’s choir that sang Beethoven/Schiller’s “Ode to Joy” in a lavatory barrack where the acoustics were good. Did he choose this music as an absurd, purposeless protest, meant to hold on to values that Auschwitz radically denied, or was it an act of sarcasm, “the outermost limit of self-amusement,” Kulka asks.

"Sei Ruhig!"  Be quiet!   A barrack warning.

“Sei ruhig!”
Be quiet!
A warning stenciled on a barrack wall.

"Eine Laus ist dein Tod" A louse means your death.  Another ironic barrack warning.

“Eine Laus ist dein Tod”
A louse : your death.
Ironic warning on barrack wall.

As a boy he did not know; he sang. And as a man he says that he has lived by the first explanation, an illusion perhaps “greater than the fierceness of sarcasm”. Having sung Beethoven opposite the Auschwitz crematorium is, perhaps, part of Kulka’s “private mythology”, but is also, as readers know from the ending, evidence of the continuity of culture in hopeless circumstances.

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…Why, after … any illusion of escaping death had gone, did Jewish communal life, and indeed cultural life more generally, persist? There were efforts to save the sick; there were concerts, theatrical performances and schools. In a world in which death was a certainty, people acted as if there was a future. Men thought about going to their deaths bravely, as if it mattered to posterity, as if there would be a posterity.

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From the depths of the gas chambers they sang the confessions of “three secular movements of political messianism” – the Czech national anthem, the Zionist anthem, Hatikvah, and the International. A 20-year-old girl wrote poetry in the shadow of the crematoria that demonstrated her “abiding commitment to humanism” and to a moral ideal that rejected all violence and bloodshed. It survived; she was gassed and burned to cinders. We do not know her name.

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The boy [Kulka] grows up and becomes a historian. As an adult, he and his father visit the site of the Stutthof concentration camp, now a featureless field at the estuary of the Vistula. He includes a picture of them in front of a map of the camp that attempts to evoke what had once stood on these empty fields. What now remains is only meaningless landscape. The author’s mother had arrived there in September 1944 after a deadly march from Auschwitz; she worked at searching shoes, sent there from other camps, for valuables and then repairing them before they were forwarded to Germany. The men – father and son – had learned from a survivor the circumstances under which their wife and mother had died. Arriving pregnant with a child conceived in Auschwitz, she gave birth to a healthy baby that her attendant women then strangled to avoid detection; she used a hidden diamond that her husband had given her to buy food for a critically sick comrade; the comrade lived; she then became ill; she did not live. Kulka says Kadish near where she was buried. He had seen his mother last when she marched out of the Auschwitz-Birkenau gate and, unlike Orpheus, she did not look back at him.

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Nearly all of these images courtesy of Dalton Bradford. Thank you, son.

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© Melissa Dalton-Bradford and melissadaltonbradford.wordpress.com, 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Melissa Dalton-Bradford and melissadaltonbradford.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

13 thoughts on “Birkenau, Annex to Auschwitz: Repost on 70th Anniversary of Liberation

  1. Thanks to you and Dalton for this. We made a similar visit to Dachau on Christmas Day in 1994, when our two youngest were 13 and 11. I felt that Christmas Day was a good time to juxtapose the joy of our current lives with the misery of those imprisoned therein. A cold, bleak day.

  2. Thank you for posting. I have often wondered, is the sadness of visiting these camps outweighed by the learning and appreciation? I am asking sincerely. I love history, but don’t know if I could handle it up this close. I am not a wimp, but do have a hard time processing this kind of thing. I’d like to visit someday, but wonder if I shouldn’t (not because I want to remain ignorant, just because I know myself.) Thoughts?

    • It was invaluable and more than worth it as a watershed moment, a landmark of bleakness to which we still refer today as a family. Exposure to atrocities —yes, we were just touristing genocide, crass as that sounds — is essential to carving out greater space for connecting with at least some of the frayed, bruised, scarred limbs of humanity. You process slowly. You carry the weight in the nape of your neck, and maybe that helps us turn our head away more slowly from all the sorrow inherent in life. If we don’t look away, we’ll discover more human connection, and more humanity in ourselves, and with that, more joy.

      Go, if you ever can.

      • As a teen my family visited Dachau and Auschwitz – indeed, touristing genocide. I would often have my friends ask questions similar to the one posed by jensmith00. Your response, Melissa, hit the very center of my intellect and my heart. It is exactly how I feel about these kinds of experiences. I wish I would have had the understanding and ability to convey it’s importance and further encourage my friends to go. In substitute, I am emailing said friends a link to this post. It is absolutely heart-wrenching, beautiful and important. I love your blog. Your writing is inspiring and always thought provoking. Thank you.

  3. I appreciated both of these posts and the pictures as well, particularly those of the prisoners and the grounds there. We have a holocaust museum here in Richmond, started and funded by a man who also survived the concentration camps (he was only 5 years old). Most of his family did not live.

    http://www.va-holocaust.com/

    He’s done an incredible job of conveying all of it and how it affected more than the Jews. He has one of the train cars there – very claustrophobic. He recreated the Nureumburg trials and we listened to them for a while. On the wall at the back were pictures of the accused and their verdicts. Behind that the other wall is the wall of fame and shame – those who helped and those who didn’t.

    Back at the front, he acknowledges the other genocides happening in the world today and that this is not a one-time event that happened to only the Jews. It is well done and something everyone should see.

    Nancy

  4. As a 16-year-old exchange student, I was taken to Dachau shortly after it opened to visitors. I would not have chosen to tour this place, but I felt it important to be able to bear witness, to the extent possible, to the atrocities that occurred there. Now, fifty years later, I have never forgotten what I learned during that visit. It left me with a lifelong baseline of sadness and empathy for living beings.

  5. Yesterday I visited Terezin.. A transportation concentration camp in the Czech republic..seeing and hearing what went on there, even without gas chambers & burnings was heart wrenching enough. Most were transferred to Auschwitz and had no idea what awaited, we saw propaganda films making it out to be a holiday camp. Such a horrific chapter of history

  6. Melissa – one of the things I love to do is introduce my blogging friends to each other. I left Naomi a note about your two posts here. She wrote today about a concert held in Seattle to commemorate the liberation of Auschwitz, using music composed by the prisoners there. It was a good post and her last sentence put it all into perspective. I pass it along as something you might find interesting.

    https://naomibaltuck.wordpress.com/2015/01/30/depth-perception/

    Have a good weekend!

    nancy

  7. Thank you for this post! I, too, have been reflecting upon the 70th commemoration of Auschwitz. I discovered your writing, Global Mom, a year and a half ago and I check your blog from time to time. I am in constant awe of your writing, as it always stirs emotions of different kinds and causes deep reflection. My family and I are currently living in the south of France, in a small village, Sanilhac Sagriès, 20 km north of Nîmes, 7 km south of Uzès. We are going to be visiting Dachau in a few weeks. Thank you again!

  8. and … continued unbelievability –> holocaust deniers (such as Mel Gibson’s father). my spouse, like some of your respondents, has a history which makes us closer to this than anyone would like. thanks for the scholarly yet emotional exposition ~

  9. I lived in Poland for almost 30 years and I just recently moved to the US. I’ve never been to Auschwitz though. Taught about my country’s history from a young age and living with the unspeakable past of my grandfathers, I don’t know if I could bear a “visit” in the camps. I always think about the individuals in Auschwitz, even if I see numbers and statistics. It’s physically painful, nauseating, revolting and indescribable.
    I appreciate your post, this place should never be forgotten.

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