Dachau Concentration Camp- 2012

Dachau Concentration Camp
Dachau, Germany
January 2012

I am in Germany, visiting friends with my 20 year old nephew.  William wants to go to Dachau but he is afraid this interest in this bleak moment of history for Germany will offend my friends.  I assure him that they view this time as a very sad moment as well and they won’t be offended.  So we go off on a cold, wet, windy, snowy day.

William tells me we can wait for another day, for better weather.

“No, let’s go today and get the full effect. Let’s try to imagine how awful this place was for them on a cold, snowy day.”

We got to the gate and I told William to take the time he needs.  

“When should we meet?” he asks.  

“When you have had enough,” I tell him. We part company at the entrance and I don’t see him until the end of the day, when the museum is closing. 

Since my visit, almost 25 years ago, so much more documentation has been added, so I stayed inside the museum and read every letter, every directive, every memo, every newspaper article displayed.  And after all of that, I still can’t get an inkling of understanding as to how one man could have convinced so many people to prey on the spirit and souls of so many innocent people.  

I am numb by the time I run into William.  He is wet and cold and dumfounded by the day’s experience as well. On the train ride home, I ask him what he thought of the gas chambers.

“What, I didn’t see them.  Where were they?  Damn, I didn’t see them.”

Later in the evening, we mention the chambers again and again, he laments that he missed them.  It’s as if this journey is now incomplete in his mind.  There are unanswered questions.

“Then let’s go back tomorrow to see them.” I offer.

“No, that’s ok.  We don’t need to do that.”

But I can tell this oversight is bothering him.  So I convince him that we should go back so he can see what he needs to see.  “Take the time you need to soak in this horrible moment.”

I go with him to the chambers.  It’s a big cement room with shower faucets up too high on the wall.  There are several entrances and both of us don’t dare to actually step inside the chambers.  It’s too ugly, too scary, too sad.  We stand in silence for some time and then he says, “Ok, I’m finished.” And we leave.