
Footsteps of Everyone
Footsteps of everyone
From Participants of our 29th Zen Peacemakers Bearing Witness at Auschwitz/Birkenau (November 2024) Written by Ewa Orczykowska
Details made a difference. Prayer shawl, winter boots, warm wind on a cheek. He came to Auschwitz bracing for horror. Here is what he discovered.
Geoff, Canada
I never looked at the back of my grandparent’s grave. But that day with my little dog along with me, I did, and found names of all my ancestors who died in Auschwitz. I think I need to go there – I told my wife at a very touristy Mexican restaurant near Niagara Falls shortly after. And then I started crying. I signed up for the retreat that same night. The day before getting on the plane, I had lunch with my mom. She said: just so you’re clear, if your grandparents were still alive, they would be horrified.
Surprised concern is the look I would get from others. Oh, you’re going to Poland in November? After hearing Auschwitz, there would just be silence and warm embrace. I packed carefully. I’m not that religious, but I took my Jewish prayer shawl with me. On the first day of the retreat at Auschwitz Museum, I cried. I didn’t feel comfortable, could I just bawl my eyes out? By Wednesday I felt like I don’t ever want to leave this place. From the back of my grandparent’s grave, the names of my family members came out loud and proud on the arrival ramp of Birkenau death camp. Reading them at first felt like heaviness and obligation. I wanted to do it. I didn’t feel like doing it at all. For some reason I printed out two copies of them. And I read them twice.
I have an Auschwitz gap in my life. When I first got interested in it, I was nineteen years old. I began consuming everything I could about the Holocaust. Every movie, every book. Six months just on suffering, death and darkness. I had to stop. From that time, until I stepped foot at Birkenau last year, Auschwitz was a fable. A dark hole of evilness and sadness. Not a beautiful place on earth where a deer can run among the barbed wire fence. How can you feel joy there? Or have a nice chit chat over a bowl of soup?
There is a forest in Birkenau where on day four of the retreat I found justification for my happiness. Families sat there before they went into gas chambers. I sat there before dinner for an hour. Them – together and horrified. Me – alone and calm. With almost a century between us, both hoping for relief. Can I feel what they have felt?
I had my shawl with me. I brought it every day, hidden in my bag, being very self-conscious about wearing it and finding everybody staring at me. I spread it on the ground. Electrical shock, physical connection with a silent noise of a giant quantity came through the material. At the museum, I was just connected to the tragedy. There and then, I found real beauty.
I spent most of my time there just holding things. Hands on the tracks, fingers on the fence, knees on the grass, feet on the dirt. Making it real in my mind. And when I came home to Toronto, I wanted to do the same. Touch the earth on my way to work. I found myself very grounded after being in Auschwitz. I feel different, and I share differently.
It was a rough landing coming back from Poland. The week after, it just seemed to all hit me. What the fuck? For a moment I wanted to burn everything down and I was glad I didn't quit my job. Now I’m finding my ways. I've been reading a ton. Catching up. Doing all these things that I probably in hindsight should have done before going. My journey began the moment Zen Peacemakers appeared on my computer screen. I know how much more work I have to do. I don’t think it will ever end.
