As a child growing up in Greenwood in the heart of the Mississippi delta, Saturday afternoons meant I could go to a movie at the local theater. I still remember the newsreels that preceded the “picture show.” In spite of my lack of interest in world events during that stage of my life, many of the images I saw from the news coverage of World War II still live in my memory. I can see scenes from the concentration camps as they were being liberated by Allied Forces: the prisoners, clad in black and gray striped uniforms with frightened emptiness showing on their hollow faces; stacks of skeletons waiting to be moved into mass graves; living quarters filled with endless bunkbeds; and, yes, the ovens. In my adult life, I have seen actual photographs of a concentration death camp taken by an American World War II serviceman at the time one of the camps was liberated. I have read stories of those who survived and those who did not; but I had never been to a concentration camp, until recently.
During the trip to Eastern Europe with Lottie Boggan, Margaret Vise, Carol Kirkland, and Ann Barksdale, we spent three days in Prague, which is one of the most beautiful, fascinating cities I have been privileged to visit. This magical place escaped the ravages of World War II and remains as it always was, authentic and untouched. One of the optional tours offered to us on the last day we were there was a visit to Terezin, former site of a concentration holding camp, about an hour outside of Prague.
Lottie especially wanted to do that tour. Ann and I decided to join her. As we left Prague, the countryside soon became rural with fields of bright yellow canola occasionally visible in the unending green grass and trees. With mountains in the background, the bus ride was a peaceful prelude to what would be a sobering day.
When we arrived at the small village of Terezin, we went first to the museum to see a movie showing Jewish people living in the settlement (camp) there. The film was used as propaganda during the war years to show the world that Jewish people were happy at Terezin. Not shown was the separation of families with men in one building, women in another, and children in yet another. Not shown were the austere living conditions with little food. Not shown were those transported from this holding camp to the extermination camps.
There was a wall inside the museum inscribed with countless names of those who were at Terezin. The Germans kept meticulous records. A large stairway landing between the first and second floors was filled with beautiful, haunting art done by residents and, somehow, preserved by the hand of God for the world to see.
When we left the museum, we walked along a path beside a field of graves graced with a large Christian cross at one end and an equally large Jewish Star of David at the other end. It was a quiet, peaceful, sunny day; but silent voices from the graves seemed to speak loudly of days past and tortures endured.
Past the cemetery and behind brick walls that historically had been part of an ancient fort, we saw other buildings filled with bunkbeds too numerous to count. We went into solitary confinement rooms used for punishing offenders that were hardly big enough for 10 standing people. We were told by our guide that 60 or more people might be held together in one of those rooms—no place to sit, to lie, or to use toilet facilities. Disease was the norm of the day. There was a small opening in the wall through which a bowl of watered-down soup would be passed. We saw the courtyard where executions of prisoners took place.
We could not hear the sobs nor see the tears. We could not hear the screams nor see the dead. But we could feel all of it. We could see the sanitized remains of evil. Our souls were joined with those we never met yet somehow know as part of the human spirit.
Our guide left us with thoughts that I paraphrase:
In another generation, there will be no one left who was alive
when the concentration camps and extermination camps existed.
There will be no living person who can remember how it was.
What will happen to this part of man`s history?
Will it fade away? Will anyone care?
I thought he was Jewish. He spoke with deep knowledge and strong passion. He ended with saying, “I care. I am not Jewish. I am Roman Catholic. Two of my uncles are Catholic priests. I hope someone will care after I am gone.”
Edrie George Royals is a Northsider.
