Reflections on returning from Poland

Dana David
The Canadian Jewish News
June 9, 2005

Before arriving in Poland as a university participant on the March of the Living, I had several expectations.

I expected to cry all day, every day, for a week. I expected to find the answers to my many questions. I expected to understand the atrocity that occurred only six decades ago. I expected to leave Poland feeling depressed. Prior to leaving Toronto, these expectations seemed realistic to me. While in Poland however, it occurred to me how idealistic they really were.

I did not cry all day, every day. My group landed in Krakow early Wednesday morning and we were driven straight to Auschwitz. I stood by the gate and waited to feel something, but I could not. I tried to evoke emotion by thinking of the people who were there, but I still did not feel anything. More than anything, I felt like I was standing in a photo from a history textbook.

I walked into a large room where the entire length of one wall was a display of human hair. This was hair from the heads of the countless innocent people who were shaved of their dignity. I froze. My heart raced. Millions of thoughts raced through my mind. My legs did not move. Part of me did not want to move, while another part needed to see that this was real and not just another photo from a book. I was in shock. Slowly, I walked the length of the room. I burst into tears. That was the last time I cried for several days. Although I felt deep emotions that were foreign to me over the next few days, I did not cry.

I had been learning about the Holocaust since I was eight years old. I was already aware that this evil took place. I took in as much as I could using all of my senses - not just my eyes. While in Poland, I smelled the air, I listened to the wind, I touched the ground, I tasted the rain and I looked on. I found many ironies. What used to be the Warsaw Ghetto is lovely, and the birds were singing in the Jewish cemetery as I walked through. It is funny how things are not always as they seem. I am still grappling with these feelings. Is it wrong of me to think that what used to be the ghetto is pretty today? Should I not have heard the birds singing while I was in the cemetery?

Many participants in my group had been told to hate the Polish people for what they did. They were told to hate by their grandparents, who witnessed the horrid behaviour of many Poles. I do not blame them for hating. The hatred is not just a reaction to what many Polish people did, but more so for what they did not do. Personally, I feel that hate only hurts the individual who hates, but it is unfair of me to even attempt to even try to imagine how the survivors feel, as I did not suffer the way they did.

It was on the Saturday evening I had a life-altering experience when I met a Polish man named Edmund Masajada. My grandfather, Sam Levinson (Levin), insists that he and his younger brother Alex Levin would not have survived had it not been for the generosity of Edmund's mother, Felicia, who fed them soup on several occasions and gave them scissors and matches.

My grandfather and great-uncle had run away from their town Rokitno and were living in the forest of what is now the Ukraine for a year and a half. My grandfather vows, to this day, that he would not be here if it were not for the soup that Felicia fed him. Three years ago, Sam and Alex arranged for Edmund's mother to be designated Righteous Among The Nations by Yad Vashem.

Edmund addressed my group and talked about how he feels regarding what happened more than 60 years ago. I walked into the room and was brought directly to him. I looked into his eyes and realized, only then, that I would not be standing there had it not been for the courage and humanity his family displayed during the war. That is when I cried again. Only this time it was not because of sadness, but rather because of joy. It was an overwhelming feeling. I do not know of words to explain how I felt at that moment. My first cousin, Ashley Levinson, was also fortunate to be a participant on the trip with me, and I feel so lucky that we were able to share that special moment.

Edmund said his mother was not only murdered by the Ukrainian police who caught her, but tortured as well. He lost his mother as a young teenager. He does not blame the men for whom she lost her life. He blames the people who killed her - he blames the Nazis. After spending several days learning of the appalling things that happened in Poland during the Holocaust, it was heartwarming to hear about a woman who risked her own life to save the lives of others. There was not a dry eye in the room.

I gave Edmund a gift from my family - a pen with the engraving "we will always remember." I started crying again as I thanked Edmund, and told him in front of the people in the room that he and his mother are heroes and will always be in my heart. He hugged me and in broken English said, "No cry."

Edmund came with us to the Havdalah ceremony with all 1,000 March of the Living participants from Canada. Edmund's mother was recognized as Righteous Among The Nations and he addressed the auditorium. He said it is our duty to make sure that such a horrible event never happens again. The ceremony was wonderful and involved a lot of singing and dancing.
Edmund turned to me at one point and said that he wishes his mother could have seen how much spirit and energy the Jewish youth have. He told me that his mother would have loved being there. Edmund reminded me of the many people in the world who mean well, appreciate life and want to make the world a better place.

Before heading to the airport on Sunday evening my group had a ceremony on the Umschlagplatz - the platform where many Jews were rounded up and put onto trains to be murdered. We stood in a circle and one at a time we lit candles and shared with the group what and whom we would bring to Israel if we could bring anything or anyone. I explained that I would have brought Felicia Masajada with me, so that she could experience the strength and bond of the Jewish people in the State of Israel.

As for the expectation I had before I arrived in Poland - that I would cry all day, every day, for a week - I cried only twice, and at the most disgusting sight I had ever seen and at the most wonderful experience I have ever had in my lifetime.

Not only did I not find the answers to all my questions, I came home with many more questions. I have come to believe that these questions will never be answered and I will only have more over the course of time.

I do not understand what happened during the Holocaust. I have learned that it is important to make the distinction between understanding how it happened as opposed to what happened. I understand how it happened and I know what happened, only I will never understand what happened.

I did not leave Poland feeling depressed. I left Poland with hope and with a mission. I have vowed to do what I can to make sure the Holocaust does not happen again. Hate and anti-Semitism were the roots of this atrocious event. It is our duty to address these issues and to take preventative measures, as clearly another Holocaust is always possible. We can never be too comfortable or else we let our guard fall. It is our duty to keep the Jewish people strong and united, and fight for the State of Israel.

My next point I direct at the younger generation: we are the last generation to know survivors of the Holocaust. One day we are going to be the elder generation telling of our grandparents' courage and the horrors they were subjected to. We have a responsibility - to become educated, to educate as many people as possible and to never forget.

I have taken a vow: I will continue to become educated about the Holocaust, I will continue to share my knowledge with others, and I will always remember. I hope others will join me in my mission.

Dana David is an M.Ed. candidate, cognitive psychology, faculty of education, Queen's University.