But I trust in you, Lord;
I say, “You are my God.”
My times are in your hands. -Psalms 31:14-15a
Because I never know what will happen, I know that God is in control and always taking care of me. My time, whether in Europe, Oklahoma, or wherever my feet may go, is in his hands.
DISCLAIMER: The rest of this blog is about the Holocaust---Read with caution.
I just had to get that out there. Its been on my heart and I just wanted to share it with those around me. But thats not the only thing that has been on my heart. You may be wondering about my title, "No Words", and that may sound silly since this is a blog site where I type plenty of words. But, for this post its not so much a literal no words for me but rather no words can describe how I felt after the concentration camp we visited yesterday.
Yesterday, we visited Mauthausen concentration camp in Linz, Austria. I don't think I will ever fully will be able to describe to someone what I saw and felt that day. Up until that day, the horrors of the second world war were not completely real to me. Yes, I had grown up learning about the Holocaust, seeing pictures and reading books from survivors but the reality of it never came to life until this day. Our group arrived on an air conditioned bus, with packed lunches and cameras ready in hand. Pulling up on the right, was a beautiful view of the mountain farmlands of Austria, but to the left, an ill-placed stone wall was placed. After getting off the bus, we walked over the visitors center where we waited for our tour in the shade on some comfy benches after getting snacks at the cafe. Once our tour guide arrived and began talking, I soon realized exactly where I was. And suddenly things didn't feel right. I won't spew off too many facts and statistics, but rather give my perspective of that day.
Mauthausen was built only 6 months after Austria was annexed into Nazi Germany. It was built by those who lived there and was still under construction until it was the last camp liberated in 1945. This camp was not an annihilation camp, but it was expected that those who lived there would work till they died.
Our docent that day really did something quite unique: She really wanted the experience to be ours, and would constantly ask us questions about what we thought and how we felt. We started out just the same, with plain facts about the camp and then slowly began our way into everything else. I don't even know where to start though because just thinking about it reminds me of the heaviness i felt there at that place. Just looking around outside the camp was hard enough. The more I learned, the more I felt like it wasn't right for me to be there, like I was one of the many people during the war that would go visit concentration camps for fun. I felt guilty for coming to that place the way I did in our bus; It didn't feel right to take pictures of a place that caused so much suffering and death. It didn't feel right to have my packed lunch and bottle of water. Every step, memorial, room, chamber....made me feel like I was there...as though I could feel pain inside me for those who had been there only 70 years ago.
Our journey began by walking the access road that the future inhabitants walked that led to the only gate that led to the camp itself. The road ran next to the camp on a wide ledge with the main camp above and a field below where you could still see, despite the lack of any buildings, the impression of the sick barracks and an old foundational edge of a soccer field. Step after step along this road was shared in silence with everyone from my group. I can't imagine what it must have been like for those who staggered up this before me after days of standing on dirty, packed in windowless trains. Rounding a corner on the road opened up a giant view of a large cliff and many different pieces of art which we later learned were memorials from each of the countries of those who died at Mauthausen. The cliff itself had large significance because it once was not a cliff at all but rather a giant hill that was taken out almost 60 meters down as a quarry to help construct the camp and make the prisoners work. Along the side of the mountain next to the now open area were the "death steps" because of the many deaths that happened upon them. The stories were heart-wenching...I wanted so badly to leave but I knew I needed to stay.
Finally, after weaving through monuments and many small stones upon them to signify those lost, there it was: The gate. So plain and bare. Just two giant wooden doors, surrounded by an array of stones and watch towers. As we walked through, chills ran up my spine. And as we began to learn, it wasn't what I or others had expected. The place didn't look like run down buildings with hopelessness written on them but rather just old buildings of plain nature. Most of the barracks but four had been torn down except for the steps leading up to them and in there place were rows of wildflowers and grass. it was strange looking at such a pretty scene only to look up and see a stone wall staring back at you. And as for that, the whole place seemed strange. During its day, the camp was kept up with high standards like rows of fresh flowers around the barracks, new paint on most of the buildings, and the SS there to great you with a warm welcome? No. That can't be right. How is that possible? Thats not what I learned in class growing up. How could this be? It wasn't uncommon to have constant visitors at the camp for inspections, or just for show. I was shocked. The camp may have been beautiful but that doesn't mean living here was. How could a place that looked so nice be the place where over 200,000 people died?
The living quarters were unbelievable to ever think humans, real people, had to endure such hardships and space. Rooms crammed with over 150 people each; three levels of beds with two to one bed made of straw. The camp itself was built to house 6,000 but by the time it was liberated, 27,000 people were accounted for. It was then that we moved through the small washrooms and other rooms of the barracks, seeing just how horrible life could be made for someone. But it continued. We saw the rooms where they went for showers, shaving, and medical checks. Just like the rest of the camp, during their day, they too were kept up to date with modern technology and shiny white walls. And among that, the saddest thing I saw was a single large "swastika" carved into the wall. At the moment, my heart sank, and all I wanted to do was sit down and cry. I couldn't take much more. I couldn't handle such a out-right sign of disrespect carved on the walls at the camp. Who would do such a thing?! How could they?! Why?...that question replayed in my mind like a broken record for everything I was seeing....
Why?
Among the four barracks still standing was the laundry room, prison, kitchen, and one of the crematory buildings. As we were walking to this last part of the "tour", i suddenly closed me eyes. All I could hear was the footsteps of my fellow classmates and I imagined how the footsteps of those before sounded as they walked the same ground: Silent and solemn. When I opened my eyes, we were at the chambers. Out of respect, we were asked not to say a word in the gas chamber. Mauthausen only used their gas chamber as one method of killing among many others. It was small, and looked nicer then the shower rooms we had seen before except this time, two large oval door with major locks were the only ways in and out. And here I was, just walking in and out, safe and sound. The next room opened up to another room used for individual killing and next to that was a small oven...It was said that at one point, the bodies became so many that they had to build a makeshift morgue to store the bodies. And there is was. Right in front of me. I had seen it all.
After this, our lady showed us a few more monuments and then the one dedicated to the american troops. The last thing she said before she left us was, "You all can be proud of what your country did. I on the other hand, can not." I will never forget that moment and the look of shame almost she had on her face. It was like she felt responsible for what had happened because of where she came from. I felt as though that everyone was guilty in the matter of what had happened during World War 2. It had so many things leading up to it. So much dark history that we as a world, will never forget. And this was a place I will never forget. The pain, the choking feeling, the frozen fear, the anger, the hurt, and the tears that came later once we left. This really happened. Even though it seems as though I have written a novel, literally nothing I can say can ever honestly tell you what I experienced that day. And nothing anyone who ever survived a concentration camp says will ever fully describe their experience either. There are just no words. None at all.
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