Dear Dr. Keck,
I would like to begin by telling you how much having this opportunity has changed the way I look at not only at the world but also at myself. From the moment I heard last year’s “Reading The Globe” ambassador speak about traveling to Poland during her spring break, I knew this was something I had to try my best to achieve. When I began to read Mrs. Klein’s book, I felt a connection to her life’s story. Not only because of the deep admiration and respect I was taught to have for the Jewish community, but also because I now shared that connection with my husband whose grandparents escaped from Spain to Mexico during a tumultuous time of persecution. The pain and grief I felt for the millions of people who lost their lives during the Holocaust lay heavy on my heart, but I knew that this was a place I must visit in order to share the experience with my children one day, in hopes that they realize what an important part of their past this is.
I remember taking a deep breath before getting off the bus when we finally arrived in Auschwitz. I had been anticipating this day for months now, but nothing could have mentally prepared me for what I was about to encounter once I set foot inside the camp’s walls. As we silently moved from one exhibition to the next, I noticed that most of my classmates shared the same state of deep; the pictures, clothing and belongings of those who perished made this place seem more surreal than ever, for it had once seemed too distant in time and space.
As I realized the amount of suffering and anguish that had taken place, my sadness turned to anger, and I was soon looking for someone to blame. On our way out of the camp that afternoon, we were walking next to a group of Israeli Rabbis headed in the same direction. Soon after I took notice of a trio of men who wore camouflage pants, ripped heavy metal shirts, combat boots and bore shaved heads. They were easy to spot among the visitors who dressed warmly from head to toe to avoid the freezing weather. As these men walked towards us, I couldn’t help but think about the Rabbis walking next to us, the differences between us three, and all the hate in the world that got us here in the first place. It made me question what TRULY makes us different from each other and if that is really enough to kill for. The emotional rollercoaster that day was unbelievable. At the end of the day, I was drained: physically, mentally, and emotionally.
The next day, when we visited Birkenau, we were greeted by the coldest weather yet. The sheer size of the camp left me speechless. I stood there, trying to imagine what it might have felt like to be there years ago, and as I looked around, there wasn’t much to help me conjure up any hope of ever getting out. For as far as you could see, in any direction, there was nothing but buildings and fences and trees all around. It didn’t seem like any place you could find on a map. The feeling of hopelessness was very disorienting. The major difference between the two camps, for me, was that in Auschwitz, I felt torture and pain, and at Birkenau all I could feel was stone cold death. Later in the day, we attended a workshop in which we had to put together Nazi documents in order to get a glimpse into the victim’s lives. As a history major, this was right up my alley, and before the day was over I had made up my mind about something I had never even thought about before; I would specialize in Jewish history.
The rest of the week seemed to go by so fast that it seemed like a dream. Before I knew it, it was time to come back, but I wouldn’t be leaving empty handed. I was taking with me some of the fondest memories I created with a group of people I knew very little about before the trip. They were now my friends, probably for life, and we shared a special bond that united us in a way that tragedies tend to do in families. We vowed to tell as many people as we could about what we experienced to increase awareness about similar situations which are taking place in the world as we speak. I grew tremendously as a human but more importantly, I learned to truly value my family. I realized that every moment on this planet is precious, and it is foolish to spend so much time fighting or arguing over little things. I thought about how lucky I was to still have my parents and siblings and a husband who loves and cares for me, in light of the millions of people who spent their last minutes hoping their loved ones were dealt a better fate than them: wishing for a chance to caress their hands and kiss their faces once again.
Thank you so much for this unforgettable experience which undoubtedly has and will continue to have a profound effect in my life. I will forever be grateful to everyone who made this possible: the donors, our sponsors, the faculty and staff who encouraged us to participate, and to you, for allowing the university to create programs such as this one that enable students to grow and expand their horizons.
Sincerely,
Maritza Morris