
Our colleague Shiri Sandler is in Poland for two weeks teaching cadets and midshipmen who are participating in the American Service Academies Program at the Auschwitz Jewish Center. Part of the program involves cleaning up the local Jewish cemetery. The cemetery was re-consecrated after the war, after the Nazis had used the tombstones to pave streets, among other hideous acts. Shiri and the gang had an experience this morning that she shared with a few of us, and we want to share it with you.
This morning, which began blue, sunny, and warm, the cadets/mids and I went to the Oswiecim cemetery to do some cleanup. This group took the view that any cleanup meant something, as it honored the dead and mattered to the community (which community they were thinking of, I'm not sure). They're very into Judaism and we've talked a lot about the importance of death rites in Judaism, so they were happy to get their hands dirty.
When we arrived, they started clearing paths between the salvaged and re-placed tombstones, weeding the memorials of broken grave stones, and generally cleaning up debris, both natural and refuse. After an hour or two, they'd made good headway and the cemetery was beginning to look neater. The paths had been weeded and swept, garbage was in bags, and two of the boys had cleared undergrowth so that the German bomb shelter in the back of the cemetery was accessible. Unfortunately, this also meant that the building next to the cemetery could be seen, which bore recently inscribed Stars of David with "666" written across them. Tomek will, of course, take care of this, in his direct and immediate way. Once basic clean-up was well underway, the AJC intern with us, Joanna, started pointing out gravestones that needed to be placed in the ground.
After placing two tombstones, Roarke, one of the mids and the one I referred to as the "cowboy" before the program began, decided that the fallen and rotten tree lying on the edge of the cemetery needed to go. It is next to the other bomb shelter, which is now used to store tools. As he began moving large pieces of what must have been a massive tree, we realized that the tree was covering a large number of fallen gravestones, both intact and broken (see picture above). Cadets and mids gathered around quickly and began to move the tree and form an assembly line to pass the pieces of the gravestones towards a place where they'd be stored in a more respectful fashion. Mandi, one of the West Pointers, carefully wiped each off as it was placed on the ground.
The thing was, the day had turned ugly. It wasn't the Stars of David or the destroyed cemetery. The clouds had gathered and thunder was rumbling. In Kazimierz, the Jewish section of Krakow, we always tell the groups a story about a wedding that was to take place near the cemetery in the center of the main square there. The bride couldn't get her dowry together in time before Shabbat and so the couple was married after Shabbat had started. God and the local rebbe were angry, and a lightening bolt struck the couple, the earth opened, and the couple was swallowed by the ground. In truth, the wedding was allowed to occur after Shabbat by the rebbe, who determined that human joy and life's events were more important than the laws were. The cadets began to joke today that the story was coming true, that as we were trying to undo this abomination, this act of desecrating the cemetery, that lightening would come down and strike the place where the act had happened.
As it happened, the rain didn't fall until we finished and all the grave stones had been laid out, wiped down, and the debris of the tree removed. We even had time to quickly snap a picture before the skies opened and the lightening came down.
Our time here is never simple. The things we see, from the broken tombstones to the marks on buildings to Auschwitz itself, are ugly. The things they say and the way they act, though, are beautiful. This morning, a future marine who didn't know any Jews until he met the two Jewish cadets on this program and me, unearthed gravestones of Jews who, along with their descendants, are long gone. But the human joy and life, the smiles captured in a group picture and the feeling of connection to each other and to the Jewish community that came along with today's work, live on.