We're back from Poland. I don't know how to express how I felt, except to post two poems I wrote while I was there. The first one is called

Tears of a Doomed Woman.

The first time I cried was when my dog died
He was fifteen and I was only five
The second time my tears fell, Daddy took the road to Hell
He wasn't a good man, I cried just as well
The third time tears fell from my eyes
I thought I had love; twas just a disguise
But the final time my eyes ever watered
We were marched like lambs to our slaughter
I tried to console my only daughter
As I took one long last look at her father
Tears fell like bombs and rain as we left
This last time I cried, on the road to death

The next one is called Majdonek. It's the name of the first death camp we went to. It's pronounced "Mydonik."

The endless Marches
The concrete Stench
The Thousands that entered
The too Few that came out
They didn't need to do It

The Scratches on the Walls
The Creak of the Floor
Too loud to bear
Too loud to hear
And the Shoes, the Shoes
Too many, too many
One is too many
I can't stand the Shoes
They didn't need to do it

That wretched Sea of Tears
Don't -can't!- look at the Ground
Keep my Head up
But it's hard to keep my Head up
When every prisoner's Face I see
Belongs to my Father

The Betrayal of Trust
Family, Jews, People
The Beds lined up
Three high, three wide
Too many deep
The Odor of rotten Sleep
It was not necessary

It's desolate here
A vast Expanse of Death
The Wind tears at my Flesh
Inside the death House
The Bricks of the Furnace mock me
The sinister Ovens glare at me
Doors on the other Side
Three times smaller, just as scary
A Mockery of Life
It was unnecessary
They didn't need to do It

A Pile of Ash
Too big to be real
Too big to be fake
Too real to be real
And the Friends, too good to be true
Too real to forget

But I'm tired of crying
Tired of weeping
I'll never turn my Back
On the eternally Sleeping

I can tell you, I've never cried so much in my life. One day, we went to a spot in the forest where thousands of Jews were taken, stood by huge pits, and shot. There was a ceremony given by our counselors. They sang a song that shook my heart and made my legs tremble. Then all seven of our counselors took a handful of dirt and held it out. Then, Chen said, "These were the Jewish people in eastern Europe before the war," and one of them dropped a handful of dirt. Then, "These were the people who died from illness." Another handful. "These were the people killed in the gas chambers." Another one. "These were the people shot by the SS." Another. "These were the people buried alive." Another. "These were the people killed in their attempt to run away." Another handful of dirt. "These are the survivors." And Chen dropped her handful. After each person dropped their dirt, they sat down. Finally, Yoav was the only one left standing. He said, "These are the people who you owe them your life." Then he dropped his dirt and I broke down in tears.

A couple days later, we went to Majdanek, a death camp. As we stood at the entrance, some Polish people walked by, giggling and laughing, and that's when I realized that I hate Poland. We walked through a gas chamber, where my people had walked before. I saw the scratches on the walls, where people had died trying futilely to escape. Then I did something that thousands of people couldn't; I walked out of the chamber. I sat down with my back to a building and cried. Then I stood up, thinking I was done. I saw my friends walking out and crying, and I turned my face to the building and cried again. Then I felt like I was completely drained, so I walked away. Turning around, I saw Ezra, who is fifteen, but looks twenty. He's one of the strongest people I know, so I went to him and hugged him, and cried some more. He hugged me back, saying "It's ok, it's ok." But it wasn't ok, because we were alive and they weren't.

We went to one of the barracks, which had been filled with rows and rows of cages containing shoes. Thousands of shoes. Big, little, old, new, brown, black, RED, leather, plastic. My friend asked me, "How many do you think there are?" and all I could say was, "Too many. There's too many."

We made it to the second gas chamber in the camp, which also had a crematorium. I walked through it, numb, disbelieving. When I saw the ovens, they seemed to mock me, to mock life. There was a door on one side, big enough for a body, and a door on the other side, shockingly small. Like that was what humanity had been reduced to. A door only big enough for ash.

The last stop was when I died. There was a sort of gigantic stone dome. I climbed the steps and when I reached the top, what I saw shocked me beyond anything I had ever seen. It was a pile of ash. Humongous. The size of a small house, would be my guess. These were the ashes of thousands and thousands of people. They say one person is a cup full of ash. I can't count the number of cups this pile would have filled.

At Birkenau, there was another ceremony. Three counselors (Chen, Gali, and Yarden) sang another song and it made me cry. Then we sang Hatikvah, the Israeli national anthem. It means "the hope," which I guess is all that the prisoners had. Hope. We walked out on the railroad tracks. I walked with Amy, arms around each other, still crying as we left. Then I found Ezra, and hugged him.

I think it's necessary that you go to Poland. You won't be the same afterwards.