Terezin: Never Again

Sometimes when you travel it is important that you do things you don’t necessarily want to do.  Terezin is one of those things.  You see, Terezin is a concentration camp.

Terezin Crematorium

Originally built in the 1700's as a fortress to keep out the Prussians, the compound was later repurposed by the Nazis to keep the Jews in.Terezin is both a town and a camp. The Nazis moved out the original 7,000 town residents and replaced them with 60,000 Jews into what they termed a “resettlement area.” To keep the settlers content, when they took neighbors away to the fortress to be transported to extermination camps, the overseers told them they were going off to visit other family members and shared “stories” of other friends that were waiting for them. This town was an important tool for the Nazis in early days, serving as their model Jewish town and was used for propaganda purposes.  They even produced a video, The Fuhrer Gives a City to the Jews, laden with happy settlers enjoying soccer, sewing and concerts. 

How the viewers could miss the haunting stares of the residents is beyond me. Similarly, the nearby camp was prepared for an imminent Red Cross inspection with a carefully planned tour, new paint, and improved bathroom facilities (the sinks, installed just for show, didn’t even have working plumbing.) Camp residents were forced to build railroad tracks ostensibly for supplies, but really used to move prisoners on to Auschwitz without attracting the attention of the townsfolk. Sadly, the site passed the brief Red Cross inspection.

Although over 300 Jews were hanged or shot at the camp, the dire conditions in both the overcrowded town and camp were the real enemy. Disease was rampant, sanitation lacking, and medical care unavailable. Of the 155,000 that passed through the facilities, over 35,000 succumbed from the conditions. Fewer than 100 of the 15,000 children in the camp survived. Others were shipped east to the extermination camps for the Fuhrer’s final solution.

For me, a particularly difficult sight to see was the crematorium and cemetery. In the earliest days, at one end of the cemetery, the dead were buried side-by-side with small gravestones. As time progressed, each site held 20 or more remains with a small stone marker. Finally, one end of the field remains bare as they gave up marking remains buried en masse in huge pits. The crematorium still holds the scent of the oil used to run the ovens. Sadly they had turned the process into quite a production line and ran around the clock to meet the burgeoning needs of the camp.

Throughout our visit I couldn’t help but think of the quote by Martin Niemoeller featured at the Holocaust Museum in Washington:

“First they came for the Communists but I was not a Communist so I did not speak out. Then they came for the Socialists and the Trade Unionists but I was not one of them, so I did not speak out. Then they came for the Jews but I was not Jewish so I did not speak out. And when they came for me, there was no one left to speak out for me.”

Grand- And She Knows It!

I was actually a bit afraid to meet Prague.  Everyone raved about it. “It’s one of my favorite cities,” I’d frequently been told. It was as if it was my duty to fall for this historic Czech capital. What could be so special about this place that made so many folks wax poetic?  What if it didn’t measure up?

Honestly, for the first day, I didn’t know what to think about Prague.  I needed time to let it sink into me.  So many things about it reminded me of Paris- the numerous bridges that cross the river linking the city neighborhoods, its quaint restaurants with colorful window boxes, and its many urban parks serving as quiet oases in the midst of everyday life.  In other ways, it reminded me of Barcelona with its odd mixture of architecture.  Its looming castle and many cathedrals made me think of Romania.  Its youthful vigor brought to mind our recent trip to Croatia.

Finally, after a second evening walking home along the riverfront it washed over me that Prague was just Prague.  It isn’t Paris or Barcelona and frankly, it doesn’t try to be.  It reminds me of a society matron putting on her best finery and jewels to get ready for a ball. There may be a few cracks in her makeup, her corset may be a bit too tight, but she will demand and receive attention from the moment she enters the room. Prague is a proud city with a rich and powerful heritage that for the grace of God was never flattened by the war and upheaval that surrounded it.  Its grandeur is resplendent from the huge castle looking down on the city from a nearby hill (the largest in the Czech Republic) to the Charles Bridge serving as a hub for its many admiring visitors. Her residents take time to enjoy the finer things life offers- a lingering coffee and croissant, an evening organ concert or just strolling the cobblestone streets. Every meal we enjoyed was al fresco- most along the riverside.  A classical guitar concert provided a wonderful evening interlude- especially after a mug of local beer. A favorite moment was a lovely lunch up at Belle Vista, a tiny hillside café overlooking the castle, vineyards and the city down below- again, with a local beer in hand.  Now I “get” Prague.