A Solo Tour of Auschwitz

January 27, 2023 Amie Leavitt

In January 2020, I attended the 75th Anniversary of the Liberation of Auschwitz as a member of the press. This was my first time visiting a former Nazi Concentration Camp.

I wrote this free-verse poem shortly after I visited the memorial on an unguided solo tour. Hopefully a little of what I felt that day is conveyed in these words.

I Wasn't Alone

Fog hung low

over icy farm fields

girthing the earth

in an eerie blanket while

a scarlet sun—

made red by thick

wood-smoke—

barely filtered its

rays

through the

heavy particulate-laden air.

The scene was

every shade

of gray—

Cinerous

Obsidian

Flint

Ash

—as I drove down the long

stretch of road that was only

occasionally

interrupted at intersections with

serpentine roundabouts.

A short fifteen-minute

drive and I was there.

Opening hour

in frigid January

equals

no crowds

and plenty of parking

near the entrance where

placards highlighting

the lives of

the murdered

stood like

tombstones—

the only collective marker

for the many millions of souls lost here.

Beyond the

security entrance,

the

dirt path towards the main gate

was bordered

by old splintery barracks

and dragon fencing

that pierced the

foggy air

with its razor sharp

electric wires.

The metal beams,

arched like snakes,

pointed inwards towards

the belly

of the insidious beast.

Just steps around the corner,

I saw it for the first time.

The gate.

That infamous gate

that I'd seen

millions of times

in school textbooks,

documentaries, and

old black-and-white

photographs.

But this wasn't in

black and white—

this wasn't a film,

or a faded photograph

from the past.

This scene was real.

I was here,

staring with

my very own eyes

at one of the creepiest

gates

in history.

Arbeit Macht Frei. "Work Makes You Free."

Those three German words

that spoke the great lie,

that there was freedom from

this factory of death if only

one worked hard enough.

I was at the entrance to Auschwitz.

I walked through the gate.

And even though

as a lifelong student of history,

I had always

wanted to visit this place to

perhaps pay some respect

to those who had lost their lives

so tragically here,

at that

precise moment as I stepped

under that infamous gate,

trepidation crept over me

like a thick, inky fluid.

My heart began to race

as the foggy air seeped deep

through my thick layers

and penetrated

my bones.

If it had been just 75 years before,

this

seemingly

simple act of

through a gate

would have ended very differently.

Afterall, most who walked into

Auschwitz

did not walk back out.

And here I was walking

WILLINGLY

into this place

that had been the site

of such hell for so many.

With each step,

I felt that dragon wire

fence

bear down on me,

the weight of the

dismal fog,

the smell of the

intense

wood

smoke,

the precipitation of

ash

from nearby homes and

their wood-burning

stoves.

If this had been 75 years ago,

that ash would have been. . .

. . .I stopped myself

in mid-thought,

my heart

continuing to race,

breath

expelling clouds of

winter smoke

in the frigid Polish air,

as I walked

further

and

further

into the site of

the Nazi's factory of death.

Early morning at Auschwitz

in January

is a

solitary

experience.

No big organized tours yet.

Only small groups who walk

through

the complex

on their own.

I was one of only a handful

of visitors

on this cold January morning.

Only occasionally did I see

another soul

—in

the

far

distance—

as I walked

alone

through Auschwitz.

The old brick buildings—

rows and rows of them

which had once been barracks,

and scenes of

unthinkable

cruelty

were now

museums.

I entered the first

on my self-guided tour.

Videos played in the background,

exhibits showing

the normal lives of the victims

before they were forced into the camp.

Photographs detailed

.....Where they came from

.......What they did for jobs

.......What they believed and who they loved.

All the basic elements of humanity

that were stripped

away

at Auschwitz.

Behind the glass in one exhibit

were piles of rusty old pots and pans,

in another was

shaving brushes,

razors,

and

suitcases marked with names

and transport numbers.

Who would want this stuff?

It was just the everyday belongings

of people.

Nothing special.

Nothing extraordinarily valuable.

Just stuff.

One floor housed

mounds of

shoes

women's summer sandals

.....men's business shoes

...........children's dress shoes

. . .

...................babies' booties.

Why take someone's old, used shoes?

Why would anyone want any of this?

In each building,

the items on display

became

more appalling.

Prostheses piled high

behind the glass in one

exhibit.

These were the most

precious belongings of

the physically challenged.

These devices allowed them

to walk

.....to move

..............to try to lead normal lives.

Some in the piles

were even the

wooden legs

last worn by German World War I veterans

who had (ironically)

fought

—and given their limbs—

for what they had always believed

was THEIR homeland.

Why take someone's prosthesis?

Why?

And then there was the

hair.

Mounds and mounds

of hair—

stolen

off the heads of the

very people

who were then

forced to make

fabric

and

stuffed pillows

out of it

like it was just

wool

........cotton

...................silk.

Hair.

Human hair.

Hair?

Why?

The answers

to all my questions

were clear

—and

one that I had obviously

known my entire life.

The Nazis involved

in these crimes were

CRUEL,

DIABOLICAL

PYSHOTIC

MONSTROUS individuals

who were

drunk

with

gluttony

and pure evil.

They wanted it all.

Everything.

Anything.

ALL

IT.

First it was the beautiful belongings

..........the art

..............the jewelry

..................the silver

Then it was the everyday belongings

.............the old rusty pots and pans

.................the clothes, shoes, razers, brushes, eyeglasses, prosthesis

Then it was the people themselves.

The Nazis wanted it all.

And they wanted to control who "deserved" to live.

In most of these buildings,

I walked

alone.

No other visitors.

No Auschwitz employees.

No one.

All alone in buildings where

unthinkable hell

had occurred.

It was like visiting the

most terrifying

haunted house

you could imagine

all

yourself.

The feeling of doom—

that heavy weight

from the evil cloud

that hung over Auschwitz—

never

ever

left me

during my entire visit that day.

In fact,

.........in each building,

..............along each path,

it only intensified.

At one point,

in one building

where some of the

most despicable things had

happened at Auschwitz,

I immediately had the

urge to

To get out of that

building

as fast as possible

"I need to get the

hell out of here,

NOW!!!!"

Out the door,

out the window,

I didn't care.

I just had to get out of there.

I had to escape

the evil that was all around me,

suffocating me.

And I did.

After rushing through

the mazelike rooms and exhibits,

I finally found my escape.

At the far end of the dark

corridor,

stood a rectangle of light

that framed the

outside door

of the

building.

As soon as I saw it,

I instinctively

N!!!

I pushed my way

through the

thickness

of the air in that

doom-filled structure

and

flung open the heavy

wooden door.

I was outside.

I kept on moving

all the way to the main

entrance

and through

that

infamous gate.

As soon as I passed through it,

I knew the imposing fence

with its razor sharp

dragon

wires were finally

beyond reach,

and so was the eerie

creepiness

of all that had happened

at Auschwitz.

I was free.

I had always wondered what

Auschwitz would feel

like.

I assumed it would feel

like a cemetery.

That I would be surrounded

by a sense of

sadness for

what had occurred

and the people

who had died in this

horrid place.

Yet, on that day,

sadness never had a

place to find room

in my heart.

All I could feel

was

profound

FEAR.

I imagine

those are the exact

same feelings

that all those

poor souls

who were

brought here

more than 75 years ago

cattle cars and

separated from their

beloved families

on a dead-end

train platform

would have also felt.

And in that way—

with these shared emotions—

I was not alone

that day at

Auschwitz.

I had been with each one of them.

Postscript

Within 24 hours of having this experience, I was walking on the soil of Jerusalem. At the time I made the decision to go to Israel after Poland, I didn't realize what a profound choice this would be. At Auschwitz, I had visited the deepest depths of hell on Earth, and then without even a night's sleep between, I was strolling through one of the most peaceful, comforting cities I had ever visited. It made my heart happy to see this thriving country of Israel, built mostly after the hells of the Holocaust, and in some ways because of it. Many survivors became leaders here and helped build Israel into one of the most amazing countries on Earth. The Nazis and their hatred and despicable goals did not win. This is a profound example that in the end, good always triumphs over evil.

Two years after this experience, I was invited to attend a press workshop at Auschwitz. At first, my heart raced at the very thought of returning. It wasn't something I ever planned on doing. However, the educational opportunities offered by the press office looked so interesting and thoughtful that I ultimately decided to go. I wanted to experience Auschwitz from a different perspective, and a group press tour would be the most ideal situation I could imagine.

It seems odd to say this, but my second visit to Auschwitz was actually a positive one. The press office made sure they provided enriching educational opportunities for us during our three-day workshop. They showed us how the staff at Auschwitz strives to preserve the site in an effort to keep the memory of what happened here alive, and by so doing, keeping the memory of the victims alive. I was comforted to see these behind-the-scenes efforts because it helped me realize that this truly is no longer a camp, but rather a memorial striving to remind the world of the horrors of hate. When I visited Auschwitz-Birkenau—the part of the camp that I didn't get to see on my first visit—I felt the deep sense of sadness that I thought I would experience on my first trip. Because I was no longer alone, I could take in everything in a safer space and really feel the sadness that permeates from the barracks walls and the environ itself.

In the end, I'm glad I had both experiences at Auschwitz, the scary and the sad, because both feelings really were part of the victims' experience, too.

Would I recommend going to Auschwitz or any of the other former Nazi concentration camps?

Yes, I would. I think it's really important for people to experience these places.

Just go in fully aware of the strong emotions you will feel there. And, honestly, I would suggest going in a group. The solo venture here is so intense and overwhelming that I wouldn't fully recommend it.