TRAVEL MEMOIRS
An Emotional Pilgrimage to the Site of My Grandparents' Suffering
An emotionally draining yet necessary travel experience
The warmth of the spring sunshine couldn't thaw the chill in my heart as I walked the grounds where my grandparents endured endless suffering decades ago. Auschwitz was never spoken of at home; the name reawakened terrible memories too dark for words. But I needed to see this place. I wanted to try to glimpse the hell they managed to survive if only to understand their remarkable resilience better.
Standing before the cruel lie of the inscription "Arbeit Macht Frei," translating to "Work Makes You Free," I was overwhelmed trying to envision the horrors that still haunted their dreams at night.
As other tourists shuffled past, I wondered how many of them had the same connection and had relatives who had been here. The camp had a hauntingly eery, silent emptiness, and I took a deep breath as I entered. I was visiting as a tourist, a vastly different experience to my grandparents, who were transported here as teenagers, terrified for what lay ahead.
I grew up a closeted Jew. Attending a religious Christian school, I read the Lord's Prayer every day, sang hymns, and hid my religion as my classmates told offensive…
