I'm not going to blog about the conditions and the experiences of people who were there. If you want to know, however, feel free to ask. And here's the official link.
One particular man taking my tour caught my eye. He was elderly, and had a hard time on parts of the tour, like walking and climbing stairs. He was supported by two men, generations apart.
By the time we reached the gas chamber towards the end of the tour, I had had enough of Auschwitz, and I opted to sit out and take my headphones off. I went over to sit by the man and what appeared to be his son.
The son translated in a thick accent, "As you can see, my father does not speak English. My father was here. He is the only survivor of his family. He has come here for closure. We brought my son." Sitting next to this sweet old man with withered skin and sallow cheeks, I looked into his eyes, wise with age, and promptly burst into tears.
Later, after the tour, I found them again, resting on a park bench. I walked over to him and held out my hand. He extended his hand, eyes wide, a big toothless smile, and I softly placed into it a small, smooth, white crystal I had been travelling with. To my horror, he popped it into his mouth! "No! NO!" I shouted. He spit it out and I explained to the son that it represented goodness.
We translated and laughed and the old man wanted to know where I was from. When his son told him San Francisco, he didn't know of it, but he did understand United States. Then he smiled and asked to take a picture with me. When I got up to leave and he said, "Thank you very much."
I walked away, knowing it was really me who was thanking him.
Wow... just... wow.
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