:: a brutal but necessary stop ::

Up to this point, my posts have been upbeat and fun (at least I think they're fun!!), but this is not going to be one of those posts. It shouldn't be. I also didn't want this to be the last trip blog, even though it was the last thing we did before we left Germany. There will be another after this, I promise. So here it goes...

Since we spent our last night in Germany near Munich, we knew we had to visit the Dachau Concentration Camp. I know to some of you this might seem strange, but to us it was a necessity. Even Lucas, at 19, knew we needed to do it. Because even though our trip, while exhausting, was so full of beauty and excitement, this place, this horrible, horrible place is just as much a part of our history as any of the other places we visited.

After the age of about 12, I grew up with a Jewish stepmother and stepsisters. My stepmother was a teacher of Jewish history, specifically the holocaust, and was actually THE expert in the Albany, NY area. My mother, a tv producer at one time, embarked on an incredible journey to document the story of a holocaust survivor named Emmy. In essence, I grew up in my teenage and later years surrounded by Judaism and holocaust stories. I had the benefit of learning from very well educated and informed women. Even without all of that, as a human being I feel the importance of recognizing the atrocities as well as the heroism that came from such a dark period in our history. I want my child to really understand what it meant to be labeled as "different" and cast aside to make room for the chosen ones. I'd like to say that this does not apply in present times, but in some ways it absolutely does. While we will never understand the devastation that occurred, we can at the very least acknowledge it and hold those souls close to our hearts.

As we walked up to the front gate, I told them that it was very possible that I would cry. I felt it. My breath shortening and chest tightening as we got closer. I can't adequately explain what it was like to walk through the gate which says "Albeit macht frei"...work sets you free. When I crossed through that threshold, something took hold of me. I had a visceral reaction...it was as though something took hold of me that I could not control. Tears poured out of my eyes as the depths of grievous loss became all too real. You hear the stories...the sheer brutality, and because we're removed from the situation, I believe our minds go into protective mode and don't let us really delve into the details. But standing there...looking at this expanse of pain and loss, there is no getting around it. I thought of all of the steps that were taken before mine on that ground, both good and evil, and I was completely overwhelmed. As we made our way through the extensive memorial, we were faced with realities that are impossible to imagine. The pictures of those who were lost, their belongings, even their names on a list...it was a lot to absorb in a short amount of time. There were three things that really affected me (that's not fair...there were a multitude of things that really affected me, but 3 that stand out most)...first was the size of the camp. It's huge. Massive. You walk down a path with empty lots where all of the barracks used to stand. They have rebuilt two of them so that you can get a sense of the horrendous conditions in which these people were made to exist. Second was the barbed wire. For me, that was such a powerful visual. These people were treated like animals...worse than animals. Third was the crematorium. Nothing prepares you for that. It's devastating. It made me sick to my stomach to think of those poor people. It's heartbreaking. Ugh...I'm tearing up now just thinking about it and I truly could go on and on and on.

To some, it may seem an odd addition to an otherwise joyful trip. To me and my family, it was necessary. I believe that everyone, given the opportunity, needs to visit at least one of the too many camps across Europe. These were mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, grandparents and friends. These were real people who endured the unthinkable and we owe it to them and their families to not only recognize them but to honor them and those who finally liberated the prisoners who survived.