Several weeks ago at the Pittsburgh airport I rushed off the plane, ending our return trip from Poland, and stumbled bleary-eyed back into my “normal” life. I awoke the next morning to dogs wanting to be fed, my daughter needing breakfast, and a stack of mail to be sorted. So mundane. So normal. So unreal. One week before I stood in a barracks in Auschwitz, walked the road into Treblinka, stared in horror at tons of ashes that had once been mothers and fathers and children, sisters and brothers and cousins, best friends, lovers, teachers, doctors, artists, carpenters, shopkeepers… How can anyone not be changed at the deepest level by experiencing such things? And how can anyone look at the daily life we take for granted, about which we so often complain, as anything but spectacular? There is nothing normal or mundane in our lives – every second that we do not feel the oppression of our government, the hatred of our neighbors, the barrel of a gun pointed at our heads is a glorious gift to be cherished. Not just another day to get through.
As a teacher and parent, I couldn’t look at what was done to the children during the Holocaust without seeing the innocent faces of my daughter, my niece, my students. What evil has God allowed to exist in this world, I thought as I stood in front of the seemingly endless rows of empty shoes? But as we learned more and met and talked with people who survived the atrocities or whose families saved people from the Nazis, I realized that it wasn’t the existence of the evil that is attributable to God. Rabbi Beth, as she has a knack for doing, said exactly what I needed to hear as we stood in one of the camps: God didn’t do this or allow this, it was human beings who did this. (Forgive me for paraphrasing, Rabbi.) I started then to look for the flickers of goodness and hope amid the evil, seeing instead of only death and despair the capacity for hope and goodness in people. A child’s drawing of flowers that said “for Momma” found in Auschwitz, Anna’s grandmother who was recognized as a Righteous Gentile for sheltering people at the risk of her own children, and especially Howard Chandler, the survivor who traveled with us. Howard, who survived as a worker because his papers lied and said he was 14 years old not 12, who watched his mother, sister, and little brother go to the train that took them to their deaths. Howard, who didn’t talk about hatred or revenge, but shared his grief and loss with us, then would stun everyone with his twinkling, grandfatherly grin.
I was eager to go to Poland, to increase my knowledge and experience, and to learn first-hand so that I could be a more informed teacher. I achieved that. But on a deep and spiritual level, I was changed, too. I saw the strength of goodness and faith that helped people like Howard survive and thrive after his ordeal, and that spurred people like Anna’s grandmother to live her faith and help save strangers. The world could sorely use more examples of kindness and strength like these. My goal now is not just to impart the knowledge of what I learned, but to use these stories of faith and strength to inspire, to show my students that yes, there is evil in the world, but here is proof that God exists, too. And that we all have the ability and responsibility to keep our heads high, to not be broken, to do what is right in our own “normal” lives. As a teacher, what greater lesson can I offer my students?