St. Maximilian Kolbe

Arbeit Macht Frei (Work Makes One Free)

 

I've heard Auschwitz experiences described different ways by different folks.  A couple of people have simply called it unsettling.  One girl came back all gung-ho to be an Auschwitz tour guide.  One very dear priest friend said it can take a couple of weeks to shake off the depression.  So I wasn't sure what to expect.

 

What bothered me most about my fellow visitors  was that many people seem to go to Auschwitz looking for an experience.  They want to be shocked, to be moved, to be changed.  I can understand this.  At some level, these desires are in us all.  I just don't know that a mass grave site is the appropriate place to go for shock factor.  The level of suffering and the immensity of tragedy seem to suggest something far bigger at play.  When I visited there were various types of individuals and groups.  Some were school groups that seemed to be there because of some duty rather than because of personal interest.  (Is there some rule that all European high school students must visit Auschwitz?  I feel as though I heard that somewhere.  It is a good idea.)  Some were there because it was an easy daytrip from Krakow and this is one of the "Top 10 Sites To See" in the area.  Some were there because they wanted to be appalled.  And some were there to honor the dead.

Before going, like a dutiful little type-A personality, I did my research.  This involved reading up on other people's reactions in my efforts to obtain correct train and bus schedules.  "Never again" seemed to be the most common remark.  I feel as though the Russian gulag, some of the massive death tolls in Eastern Asia, the Rwandan and Cambodian genocides, and the ever-increasing number of abortions all seem undermine this comment, but I digress.

I walked through the whole thing - well, really there are two parts since there is Auschwitz 1 and Auschwitz II/Birkenau.  It was beyond words.  Birkenau was absolutely huge, the train tracks are still there, as are huts, ash ponds, and the remains of gas chambers and crematoriums.  It was systematically dehumanizing and awful.  Auschwitz I had lots of things that were found in what were called the "Canada" warehouses.  Apparently the Germans thought Canada was a land of plenty, flowing with milk and honey as it were.  They soon had warehouses full of confiscated things with no owners - yes, no owners - that made these storerooms very much like Canada: perfumes, gold, pots and pans, baby buggies, and whatever else your little heart desired could be found.  Anyhow, there were rooms with photos upon photos and piles of things: glasses, shoes (so many shoes), prosthetic limbs, crockery, hair, suitcases, and more.  The point of this post is not to shock or horrify you, so we'll move on to the material point.

Which is this: 

This isn't the sort of event that you can sunnily buck up after and say: "Well, now, we all learned a good lesson, didn't we?"  Some of the tour guides kept mentioning the evils of racism or the criminal nature of the camp.  Both points are very valid and true.  My own tour guide kept mentioning that only 700 of the 7,000  people directly involved were tried after the war was over and even those weren't all punished.  He kept bringing up the injustice of it.  And he's right.  Also, what strikes you when you're there is the utter despair and misery of it all.  It was hell on earth.  It almost makes you feel guilty for the beautiful life you've got, with your plumbing and your bed and your three square meals a day + snacks + coffee.

I don't think the thing to be taken away from this is shock value.  Or simply "Racism is bad."  I also don't think it brought back a single person or healed a single survivor if guilty parties were tried and sentenced to death.  Guilt at this point is on the guilty parties' own heads and it is good that none of us are Judge in the end.  Also, the fact that these poor, poor people, many of whom were simply the wrong folks at the wrong place in the wrong era, suffered so much and had so little doesn't mean that we should feel like we need to do likewise.  Don't give up blueberry jelly because they didn't have it in Auschwitz and don't feel guilty for having access to it.  Just thank God for His goodness and the fact that you do - and maybe find someone to share it with.  The few things that did ring true with me were these: 

 

1) The inhumanity and degradation of the system allowed for nothing personal: your red shoes weren't your red shoes, your hair was cut off and put in a sack, you had a number not a name, and you wore the same unwashed striped uniform that everyone else did.  Everything was systematized and very, very efficient. Isn't there something to be learned from this . . . just on the front of personal tenderness?  Don't you run into people - especially in crowded and city environments or with your job - and get frustrated that they can't just "follow the system" or "get with the program"?  If you truly treated everyone you came in contact with as a person rather than an inconvenience or an obstacle or a number - even if they do bumble and slow the "system" down - wouldn't you have accomplished something rather beautiful and great on the front of human dignity and . . . tenderness?

 

2)  We really don't know how many people suffered and died here.  We do know that it was brutal and cruel and that even the best of us cuss or curse our so-called enemies (the man that cut us off on the highway? our ridiculous boss?  our neighbor with his aggressive dogs?) when driven to the edge of our patience.  And our enemies haven't ripped us from our homes, taken all we have, killed our families and friends, erased our identities, and are now going to end us.  Wouldn't you have a dreadfully hard time dying without an angry, hateful soul?  Could you really forgive those people . . . so you in turn could be forgiven?  So wouldn't it be kind and wise to pray for these poor souls, that God has mercy on them and, if they aren't there already, leads them into His light?  I do hope they are, but I think it is a little premature to forget about them in this sense (or in any sense).

3)  This really was hell incarnate and was miserable in every imaginable way.  There was no area of the person or of life that was not degraded and living - and dying - conditions were just horrific.  So it makes it all the more beautiful when a person takes these horrific circumstances and introduces to them God's all-powerful grace, redeeming even the ugliest of situations.  One of the cells on Block 11 (the Death Block) houses a room with a shrine to St. Maximilian Kolbe, a Catholic priest that offered to take the place of a father that had just been selected for death by starvation.  One of the policies of the camp was that whenever one prisoner escaped, ten others were selected for death, either by starvation or hanging.  Kolbe took this grim situation and transformed it, making the senseless ugliness a beautiful example of sacrifice.

I'm not a deep person, nor am I a particularly good or tender one, but I'm very, very glad I went to Auschwitz for Good Friday.

 

"No one in the world can change Truth. What we can do and should do is to seek truth and to serve it when we have found it. The real conflict is the inner conflict. Beyond armies of occupation and the hecatombs of extermination camps, there are two irreconcilable enemies in the depth of every soul: good and evil, sin and love. And what use are the victories on the battlefield if we ourselves are defeated in our innermost personal selves?"  ~ Maximilian Kolbe in the last issue of the Knight

"For Jesus Christ I am prepared to suffer still more." ~ Maximilian Kolbe

"Kolbe is the patron saint of our difficult century." ~ Pope John Paul II

A Good Friday in Auschwitz

I'm rarely hit with crazy ideas that I follow through with in their totality.  Instead, I'm usually taken with an idea, toy with it for about 30 minutes, and have satisfied myself so much just by imagining the project and its wacky completion - or am finally convinced that it really was a stupid notion anyway - that I'm through with it and never spent time, money, or effort following through on my eccentric inclination.  It is a thrifty and careful way to live . . . although I don't know whether that makes it praiseworthy or not.

So, when my Good Friday plans for this year began to teeter on the edge and dissolve, I sat down and tried to console myself.  I was feeling particularly low since it looks as though some of my post-semester European travel plans might need to be sacrificed in the name of finding gainful employment.  (Suffice it to say that I will be changing jobs soon.)  In my head, the following conversation occurred:

Voice: Gosh, there sure are a lot of places in Europe that you wanted to visit and didn't get to, aren't there?
 Me: Yup.  I traveled a lot though (said rather defensively).  I mean, I did as much as my job, time, and money would allow.  I don't really want to talk about this.  Want some Greek yogurt with honey?
Voice: Yes, yes, yes.  But let's list some of the places you regret.
Me: Well . . . I wanted to see Prague.  And I wanted to walk the Santiago de Compostella pilgrimage through Spain.  Oh, and I wanted to see all of Ireland.  I'm sorry that I missed the Musee d'Orsay in Paris and that I didn't make it to Lourdes.  Germany would have been great to see.  I sort of wanted to stay in Munich and then take daytrips places, like Salzburg and the Neuschwanstein Castle.  There are lots of places in Poland that I wish I had seen.  I'm really sorry that I didn't go to Auschwitz when I was in Krakow.  I mean, I'm glad I used my two and half days the way I did, but I wish I had more time there to do Auschwitz.  And I wish I had been to the Alps and . . .
Voice:  Auschwitz would be a great thing to do on Good Friday.  John Paul II called it "the modern Golgotha."
Me:  Whoa.  Sure would.
Voice: You're a little slow.  Let me make this easier.  Get online and check ticket prices.
Me: Oh, you're saying I should think about actually going this Good Friday.  Oh. I see.

So I checked the prices and they were decent.  I have mixed feelings towards Ryan Air, but I must say, they have gotten me all over the place and for a fairly low investment on my part.  I e-mailed the hotel I stayed at last time and they had rooms available.  So I booked rooms and bought tickets and, five days later, off I went.

And so, tomorrow, I'll tell you all about my Good Friday in Auschwitz.

Pigs

Just a word on pig stories...

When I was a little girl, I had a very set bedtime routine.  I would take a bath, put on my blue sleepers or nightgown, drink my bottle of milk (I kept it up for an embarrassingly long time . . . I think I might have been four years old when I finally quit and it was against my will), and my dad would read me a story before bed.  After he read me a story, he would take me to my bed - which I had made a special way, with my blanket pink side down - and tuck me in before telling me my good night story.  Then my mom would come in, we'd say prayers, and I would go to sleep.  It was quite the life.

Anyhow, my favorite book for a long time was Lily Pig's Book of Colors, a riveting tale of obstacles and near tragedy with a joyful conclusion...and all that within about 14 pages.  My dad started out at least ambivalent to Lily Pig; my love of it drove the ambivalence to solid dislike and he would kindly ask if maybe we could read something else tonight.  On my gracious nights, which were few and far between, I would let him read me Ferdinand the Bull, another classic tale but one which paled in comparison to the joys and sorrows of Lily Pig.

The book begins with the words: "Today was Lily Pig's birthday and what a glorious sunny day it was.  'I think I'll have a party and invite all my friends,' thought Lily Pig..."  And so Lily Pig goes from place to place and store to store trying to find party favors and food for her friends so that they'll have a lovely time on her birthday.  If you've read The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings you already know about the idea of doing things for someone else on your birthday . . . which I think it beautiful.  Really, if life is a gift and you're thankful for yours and having lived another year of it, why not have a party and invite all your friends?

Anyhow, Lily Pig gets stuck in tar, has her balloons popped by porcupines, has pencils fall on her head, crashes her cart into an orange stand, accidentally lets all the baby chicks loose, and falls into a pickle tub.  At the end of the day, she sadly goes home to take a bubble bath . . . without any presents or party favors or food for her would-be guests.  When she gets out of the tub and wraps herself in her fluffy pink towel, though, she finds that all her friends are waiting outside and have a lovely little party, full of the things she tried to get for them but didn't.  At the end she has a chocolate cake with a candle the color of each thing that happened to her that day.  It is a beautiful story.  

Then I experienced pigs for myself via some family friends that had a farm.  They would raise them for 4-H and then enter them in the County Fair.  If they didn't go on to State, they would do what needed to be done to pigs by a butcher.  Prior to the deed being done, we would ride the pigs all over their 40 acres - there was nothing left to lose at that point, if you know what I mean.  Pigs, it turns out, are quite smart.  They would run as quickly as their little legs could carry them - and us - and then stop right in front of a cactus.  Momentum would take care of the rest and we would spend a lot of time trying to remove cactus needles from ourselves.  Hours of fun, really.  It was such an adventure, though, especially since pigs are clearly not made for riding.

Then, following college, I was a nanny for a year and the children introduced me to another childhood pig experience: Olivia the Pig.  I believe there is a whole series of these books at this point and there are Olivia posters, Olivia stuffed animals, and probably Olivia placemats and lunchboxes.  It happens.

Olivia is a very precocious young piglet that has what might be called delusions of grandeur.  She has the most active imagination ever and can see herself in Degas paintings, as a singer at the opera, or saving the world.  In no way does Olivia lack self-esteem . . . and her little, confident view of the world and her rightful place in it is totally endearing.  I recently read Olivia Goes To Venice in a bookshop and loved it.  If you have the chance, you should read it, too.  The author, Ian Falconer, does a masterful job of saying quite a bit with very few words and very apt illustrations.  If you have any little girls in your life, you can probably relate.

Well, although my bedtime routine is much less cozy that it used to be in the days of Lily Pig, I think it is time for me to buck up and do it.  Buona notte!

Into Great Silence...or not....

I sat on a woman in a movie theater once.

This is the sort of thing folks forget about after the thing is over, but I was discussing the movie with a group of people earlier today and the memory dropped right in front of me and I just had to share.

Just as a preface, the film Into Great Silence is a strikingly beautiful film about a monastery in France.  The cinematography is stunning and the life of the monks is also a luminous look at contemplation and prayer as a way of life.  The film is very quiet and has no music (other than singing), no stunning special effects, and very little talking.  On a large cinema screen in the dark theater, it was mesmerizing.  It is fairly long, though - three hours or so - which means that on a laptop or on a sunny day, it would probably tend towards the tedious side if you weren't already interested in beautiful cinematography or in the life of monks.  (If you're interested in learning more about it - which I heartily recommend that you do - please follow this link: http://www.zeitgeistfilms.com/film.php?directoryname=intogreatsilence)

So, all that having been said, my mother, brother, and I all decided to go see this film in this artsy little theater that shows foreign films or off-the-beaten-path type things.  We arrived 5-10 minutes late and so had to scurry to try to find seats in a very dark and even more quiet theater.  I headed for the front, believing that there would surely be more seats up there...and there are.  With an inaudible sigh of relief I plop down into the nearest one...and nearly hit the proverbial roof when a woman that has apparently also chosen this seat screams bloody murder.  I drop to my knees and scuttle away in the darkness. 

It truly is such a quiet, contemplative movie...and the incongruity of it all (I mean, what kind of person sits on another person in a movie theater?) just makes me laugh.  Hope it does the same for you.

Buona notte!

St. Mary's Church in Krakow

I have 15 minutes to tell you something interesting about something interesting, so here it goes.  Off to marveling more on the wondrous city of Krakow, Poland.

In the main square of Krakow, there is a lovely church called St. Mary's that is unmistakeably odd.  Its towers are different heights. I kid you not.  The story behind this is as follows:

This is the second church to stand on this site.  The first met a rather tragic and untimely end when the Tartars took a jaunt through Poland in the 1200s.  (Poland has an unfortunate geographical location regarding other aggressive countries/powers and is also fairly flat.  The end result is that the Poles have had lots of turmoil throughout the years, which they have used to turn into many opportunities for heroism.)  The present church was finished in 1397, but because it was started before the town plan was made it stands in an endearingly askew position in relation to the square.  The legend behind the different tower heights is that they were being added onto the church in the 15th century by two brothers.  One grew jealous of the other's tower and killed him.  The town found out what had happened, put the vicious brother to death, and made the victim's tower quite noticeably higher.

The inside of the church was described to me as a jewel box for God, which seems a decent but inadequate description for how beautiful it is.  The colors are beautiful - lots of blue and red and gold - and there is a truly fabulous altar piece by a man named Veit Stoss.  When watching The Rape of Europa, one of my many documentaries from Netflix - yes, I am truly a dork, I admit it - this altar piece was one of the highlights mentioned.  Apparently the Poles feared (with good reason) that Nazi art-lovers would take their beloved altar piece away.  They took the whole thing apart and gave the different pieces and figures to people to hide.  Some of them were even buried or put in stables.  After the war was over, the altar was re-constructed and hence it is there intact today.

One last interesting tidbit about St. Mary's.  Every hour on the hour, a trumpet blows part of a signal.  This call is known as the Hejnał mariacki and is played from the top of the taller of St. Mary's two towers. The tune ends abruptly mid-way through to commemorate the watchman that was shot in the throat by an arrow as he tried to warn Krakow of another approaching invading army.  At 12:00 PM, the hejnał is broadcasted all over Poland (and also internationally) by a Polish national radio station.  If you'd like to hear it, follow this YouTube link (which I in no way venture to claim as mine): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WVQbxXvyG7A 

Alright, off to work I go!  Ciao!

Over the river and through the woods . . . to Poland

I haven't written - or rather, I haven't posted, which is rather a different thing - for a while and I am rather ashamed.  Suffice it to say that when it rains it pours . . . I don't think any more details are needed than that.  One of my goals in this blog is to only talk about the good and the universal concrete of things.  Basically, this means that I only want to put up things that folks might find interesting or enriching and that are personal insofar as everything that has a living, breathing, loving human source must be personal.  This is in no way meant to be a place to pour out my feelings or angst, discuss the somewhat confused details of my personal life, or seek solace in the readership of the unnamed and largely imaginary crowd.  St. Paul's words in Phillipians 4:8 sum it up nicely:

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things.

Right, so on to the grand thinking!

This past weekend I went to Poland.  Why?  That is the only consistent response I've gotten from the folks I work or interact with when I mention my trip.  Why Poland out of all the available spots in Europe?  Now if you, like my former self, tend to think "cold," "gray," "Auschwitz," and "iron curtain" when you think of Poland, then yes, I can see the reasoning behind the instantaneous why.  Good news, though!  Poland - or at least the city of Krakow - is so very much more than all of the above associations and was one of the best European sidetrips I've taken.

A couple of the things that struck me were the following.  Poland is ardently and steadfastly Catholic.  In fact, it was Catholic in a way I've never seen in Europe before.  There was Adoration in lots of the little churches around Krakow and the people attending were of all ages brackets: children, elderly, students, young mothers, working men.  There was real devotion as well.  I didn't see sloppy genuflections or people popping in to take a picture and then leaving.  One of the most touching occurrences was when a school group touring a church was trying to sneak out the back during Mass.  The Consecration began and instead of continuing to file out, they all dropped in one floppy, back-pack laden movement to their knees and froze.  When the Consecration was over, they scuttled out as quietly as a herd of 30 second-graders with all their lunch boxes and school gear can.  No one told them to do this; the teacher had already left the church.  It was just plain adorable. 

Also, the churches were just lovely.  After all the baroque and paleo-Christian art and architecture of Italy, Poland's colorful, candle-filled, and gold flecked interiors were a huge relief.  And while they are meant to impress you with their grandeur, they are made for prayer.  In fact, woe to the tourist that tries to come in and snap some photos indiscreetly!  A couple of favorite churches: St. Mary's (of course) which I will talk about further in another post, the Dominican church, the Franciscan church, the Wawel cathedral, St. Florian's, and St. Barbara's.  And were these churches empty?  No.  Were confession lines wrapping around the church on a regular Thursday, Friday, and Saturday?  Were they lovingly protected from thoughtless photo-happy tourists?  Were they beautiful places of prayer?  Yes, yes, yes.

God bless Poland.  Alright, well, I've tarried long enough and must go staunch the tide, but I have lots of lovely Poland photos below.  I will do my best to write a bit more later in the week.

Just to let you know how far you are from...everywhere!

The Cloth Market in the center of Old Town Krakow

A sign...that seemed worth photographing

St. Mary's in Krakow along with its outdoor flower market

 

A model of Wawel Cathedral and Castle

A glimpse of Wawel Castel from both the outside and the inside

Beware children carrying abnormally large candies

The Vistula River running through Krakow