Reflections on Second Kuma Orientation

This was supposed to be up two days ago, but whatever bug I've been having made its return and bit me in the ass again. I went to the doctor this morning and they took a lot of blood to test for various goodies. Hopefully, I should know what's wrong with me soon.

On Tuesday, the Kuma gang spent the day at Yad Vashem. We heard from a survivor, toured the museum, looked at "how do you return to life after the shoa?", learned a nigun for Shabbas, and had a few logistical sessions. Props to me, I made it through the museum without weeping!

The speaker was the same man I heard last week, so I expected to be bored (as horrid as that sounds). Interestingly, I was more intrigued this time than I had been the first. It was strange to see the differences between the two presentations, and how in some ways, in order to tell his story, he had distanced himself drastically from the experience. I don't blame him, but it felt odd to hear the exact same words leave his mouth as one week previous. I think I also listened more intently this time because of something one of our madrichim said before hand. Up until now, I hadn't thought about the fact that my generation is the last generation who will be able to hear first-hand stories of the Shoa. I suppose time should have made that obvious, but I'd honestly never thought about it before. What does that mean? In a world of ever-growing Holocaust denial, the loss of the people who experienced the horror is unimaginable. When a student studies the Holocaust in a classroom, the knowledge is there, but the impact is not. Reading figures in a book, it's easy to read "six million Jews were murdered" and pass it over as another fact to store away for next week's test. Hearing testimony for the first time is completely different. Survivor's words make the Shoa real in the minds of people who can't wrap their heads around that great of a tragedy. Without them, it's up to places like Yad Vashem to work tirelessly to spread Holocaust awareness, bring people to Poland, and force people to see the Shoa as modern history, even if those who experienced it have left us. It was inspiring to hear Asher Ud (the speaker) ask us to be ambassadors for the truth, and make sure that we are educated enough to stand up to Holocaust deniers with hard facts and moving stories.

Walking through the museum was a bit of a surreal experience. The first time I walked through was in the summer of 2008. I was going into senior year, was a bit naive, and while I was moved to tears by the experience, I don't think it hit me in the same way it did as an independent adult, living in Israel, and going to Poland. Everything was suddenly real. Before, walking though Yad Vashem was a bit like walking through a tragic fairytale. I knew it was real, but it was all so overwhelming that I couldn't fully absorb it. This time, every propaganda poster made me furious, every testimony video was a real person, every photo was a real moment in time, frozen to depict horror that no one in my generation will ever truly be able to understand. Walking on the cobblestones from the Warsaw ghetto, I could feel the people who walked on them only 70 years ago. Their footsteps, their memories. After my experiences with "Through Children's Eyes", "Friedl", and "Brundibar", the Terezin exhibit looked completely different. I stared at the glass in front of Petr Ginz's story for a good ten minutes, and almost broke when I saw the photo of Friedl Dicker Brandeis. The most chilling moment was a part of the museum I'd never seen before - the photos and ranks of the men who sat at a table and drafted the final solution (among them, Adolf Eichman). There was something sickeningly mesmerizing about them. These were the men who, although they may have never killed a Jew in person, organized the mass murder of millions in the gas chambers, who took away even the human connection to killing felt by members of the Einzatz Grupen by making death as easy as the push of a button - something that could be done without ever seeing the victims, something that could be done while simultaneously drinking a cup of coffee. The faces of these men were more terrifying for me, at the end of the day, than walking under the sign to Auschwitz.

After walking through the museum, we discussed how people moved on after surviving the Shoa. How does anyone move on from something like that, anyway? Do they ever really? We learned that for many, there was no way out, and they committed suicide after going back to life proved too difficult. For others, the Shoa no longer exists, forever blocked from their memories. Some were able to talk about it/write about it immediately afterwards, and for some it took almost half a century. Why? After the Holocaust survivors were liberated, their suffering wasn't over. Most ended up in refugee camps, and those who escaped to Palestine were met with disdain. The "sabras" (zionist founders) were disgusted that Jews had let the Holocaust happen to them. The resistance fighters were revered, but those who had "merely" survived the camps were almost accused. It's not surprising, therefore that many survivors never spoke a word about what happened to them. Only recently, with the publicity of Holocaust denial, have several survivors come forward to tell the truth, to stop lies from spreading into more anti-semitism (especially in Iran).

The rest of the day was standard, and was mostly taken up by logistical sessions about credits, ceremonies, and flight information. It was still fun to be with everyone, though. The closer Kuma gets, the more excited everyone seems to feel, which is fantastic because a part of me was terrified that I'd start to be nervous instead of anxious as the trip approached. I'm really looking forward to Kuma now, despite the anticipated emotional turmoil to be experienced. I think it will be fantastic!

All my love,
Rachel