1978- Dachau, Germany
I am 23 and traveling through Europe with a friend. We are in Amsterdam, leaving Anne Franks’ house and I am moved to tears with the injustice of the world and the courage of one young girl.
“What should we do tomorrow”, my friend asks?
She wants to go to Switzerland to see the beautiful Alps. But now I want to go to Munich to Dachau, the concentration camp. That is more than my friend can bear so we part company and catch up to each other in a few days.
I board a midnight train and make my way to Munich. I spend the night reading Anne Franks diaries. By the time I arrive in Munich, I am exhausted and sadden. My eyes burns and now I am sorry I have wandered off on my own to search out such misery.
I make my way to this beautiful town of Dachau and find a pastry shop. In conversation with one of the locals, a pleasant woman, about 60 years old, she offers tourist sight for me to see. “And I hope you haven’t come to see that dreadful camp. There are so much more beautiful things to see in my country than that.” I don’t respond because it is just easier for both of us. But I wonder if she lived here during that time and did she know what was going on?
I find the camp and spend the day in bewilderment. The inhumanity is beyond comprehension. I cant take it all in. Nothing makes sense to me and I want to forget this place. Just then I hear a man call to his wife, “over here, love, come take my photo by the oven.” He stands perched against one of the crematory ovens, smiling as if this photo just might be his Christmas card photo. I want to forget this place and he wants to make it a photo opportunity. I leave, angry with him.
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