Healing and Holiness

After Majdanek, while I sat, shaken, Kyle Smith–my history teacher from Shady Side–told me something that I don’t think that I’ll forget. I’d commented on how odd, how seemingly wrong, even, it was that there should be flocks of birds flying through the camp, living their lives as though nothing contradictory to life had happened there at all. And he told me that nature has a way of healing things with time–and that there is something very beautiful in the permanent state of temporary that seems to define our universe. Nothing, no matter how difficult, lasts forever.
I can’t help but think of this as I reflect on the events of today, which seemed to ossacalte so rapidly between the deepest sorrow and what was, to me, the deepest joy. First, we went to Auschwitz today, and, naturally, this was exceedingly difficult for so many of us. Though we all reacted slightly differently, for everyone, even for those who did not directly connect as emotionally as they had thought that they would, the visit was powerful and full of meaning. But for once, I’m not going to go into detail regarding our visit to Birkenau, or our visit to the museum at Auschwitz I, because for me, the truly exceptional part of the day wasn’t either visit but rather what came afterward: healing.
We reflected to each other. Sitting in a circle in our hotel in Krakowe, we opened our hearts to one another–teacher and student alike. Tears were shed, as people revealed their innermost feelings and personal past experiences, not just about the Holocaust, some of which must have been quite painful to recall. Yet, I cannot help but sense there was something healed that was deeper than just our visit to the camps over the past few days, and for me it was the misgivings I have had about people; the subconscious judgments I’d made without my consent are, I hope, purged from me.
As the tears dried, we lit Shabbos candles, and feasted to bring in the Sabbath. There is something healing about tradition and traditional meals, but the more profound was in feasting with people whom I now trust absolutely. The meaning of Shabbat is to separate the Holy from profane, and the meal we shared–and especially that we shared it with each other– was nothing short of holy.
Does this all have a deeper meaning related to the Holocaust, some profound point I could make? Probably. I’m not sure what it is yet, though, and it’s something that I can perhaps wait to discover, at least until after Shabbat. What matters to me at the moment is that I, who used to be a self-described introvert have come to trust forty-seven people with my life–especially Tsipy–after just four days. If that’s not Holy, I’m not sure I believe in holiness.
Right before we walked into Majdanek, Avi told us not to be afraid of our reactions. As long as I’m with these people, I never will be.