One can see the sites of Auschwitz in pictures and film, but upon visiting in person the realization dawns that those pictures did not do it justice. The enormity of this death factory is shocking, and then there is the smell. Invading olfactory senses in every building even seventy years later, the smells linger there by design, a universal unwanted gift to future generations that implores all to end hatred and indifference, and remember humanity. I am told these smells are worse in the warm months, and I am immediately grateful to have been there in the cold. I stood dressed in tights, knee socks, and fleece-lined Ugg boots, a long wool coat, scarf, and gloves, yet frozen through to the bone. Thoughts of my relatives there in thin striped pajama-like outfits and wooden clogs filled my thoughts, and I felt guilty that I could soon walk away from these smells and the bitter wind and snow to retreat to a warm hotel room while they were doomed to a night in a cold hut, wooden bunks, and gaps in the roof for another bitter night, if they were permitted to live through another day. Many were not.
Too soon, it was time to return home to my normal and privileged life. I now find myself saying, “It’s good to be home but…” That “but” speaks volumes. It speaks of beginnings rather than an ending, of unfinished business and lessons yet to learn, of larger goals and far more work to do. This trip was not the final journey I needed to complete my next book and further prove Holocaust facts and lessons to students. Instead, it became the beginning of the next phase in my life, which will include as much travel with the Footsteps team as my teaching schedule and limited resources will permit, and educating through speaking engagements and the writing of more books on the importance of remembrance and fighting hatred in all of its forms so that history can never repeat itself.