Auschwitz: Visiting the Industrial Heart of Suffering
Visiting Auschwitz-Birkenau after thirty-five years of hesitation, I confronted the emotional weight of the camp’s atrocities, struggling to comprehend the magnitude of human suffering.
After thirty-five years of doubt, I visited Auschwitz-Birkenau. Finally, the opportunity came my way. Together with Vudi Xhymshiti, departing from Ukraine, we drove from Lublin to Oświęcim. The constant hesitation to visit this particular kill-factory originated deep within my consciousness. Since childhood, I have known in detail what the Nazis did, and even now, at sixty-six, I am still unable to fully comprehend the ordeal, emotionally or rationally.
In the afternoon, around four, we entered the parking lot. I still thought, “Will I be able to do it?” I felt very supported by Vudi’s presence, who was also struggling. We got out of the car and looked for the entrance to the state museum. Somehow, it felt strange to call a former death camp a museum. Even now, drafting this story, I am unsure if “museum” is the right term.
We joined other visitors, both old and young, and entered after a lady signed us in. From the entry of the museum, we passed through a white concrete corridor, open to the sky. The corridor felt like a passage to the past, a transition into history. We walked down a slope, turned a corner, walked straight, turned another corner, and slowly ascended again. A monotonous voice echoed through the space, listing the names of Jews who perished. I only remember one name Polak. The silence among the visitors was thick. No one spoke a word. I felt a wave of impotence and anger wash over me, and I shut down emotionally a defence mechanism I’ve developed over time to avoid overwhelming distress.
We took pictures on the way down and up. It helped me distance myself emotionally and brought me back to the present moment. Outside the corridor, we moved toward the actual entrance of the doomed camp. This was it. One of the places where the Germans industrialised the murder of human beings, Jews, Roma, Sinti, and other so-called enemies of the state.
At the main gate, the infamous words “Arbeit macht Frei” stood as a grotesque lie, masking the camp’s true purpose. Barbed wire, watchtowers, and barriers surrounded us. The architecture of the camp was cold, efficient, and entirely devoid of humanity, designed precisely for its dark function. It was exactly what I had expected from the Germans.
We walked slowly through the barracks, each with its own grim function. A heavy wave of past suffering overwhelmed me. I could only grasp fragments of it, like shards of pain and agony too vast to fully absorb. After an hour, we looked at each other and said, “Let’s get away from this place.”
We headed for the exit and found ourselves at an intact gas chamber. We decided to go in. As we approached, my first thought was, “They knew they were going to be killed.” I took a photo of the peephole in the door. It reminded me of a picture I’d seen, an SS soldier looking through a similar peephole, checking the progress of the gassing. To me, this was the ultimate example of a human being deformed into a ruthless, cold-blooded killer.
I felt a sense of relief as we walked back to the parking lot in silence. We decided to leave the town quickly. I made up my mind to write about and reflect on the topics that surfaced during this harrowing experience, and to connect them to the present course of the world we live in.
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