Hate, Hope, and Healing

Hate.
In the Fall of 2006, I researched possible study abroad trips to go on in the upcoming Summer. My eyes flashed at the likes of going to Romance language territories such as Italy, or Spain. Or even our mother country, in hopes of understanding the culture that ours so closely bores its resemblance to and that we were once apart of. However, I finally reached a trip that as soon as I read over the description and the destinations, I immediately knew it was the one I wanted. Seventeen days, four countries, two classes. Hungary, Austria, Germany, and the Czech Republic. Why did I choose this one? Because it was out of the ordinary. Not that I am downplaying the typical countries many students embark upon during study abroad atrips, but even the thought of going to a country with a slavic language in itself was intriguing. It included destinations that most students would overlook, and I LOVED the idea that I can go there, because these countries too, do have fascinating stories to tell.

The trip occurred during May 2007 and our first stop was to a terror museum in Budapest, Hungary. Budapest happened to be part of the Nazi occupied territory prior to World War II, where thousands were literally trapped inside the city and persecuted. The museum displayed torture rooms, stories of pain and execution, and images that would make your worst pain feel like a warm breeze. On the first day, and the first stop, I was already completely in shock.

Then there was the shoe memorial that lined the Danube River within the city of Budapest - the river that originally split the city into two separate entities of Buda and Pest. Our tour guide Arthur told us that the Nazis would force their prisoners to line up on the bank of the river, and they would make them take off their shoes before killing them, usually by shooting them into the water. He said that some would hopelessly try to escape by swimming across the frigid waters, but most were shot down and killed. I looked at the Danube that day and I no longer saw the sparkle of the sun on the water in May, I saw blood.

The most touching and alarming of all the visits in my mind was a day excursion we took to Mauthausen Concentration Camp in the rural parts of Austria. Now, I have been to the Holocaust Museum in Washington D.C. when I was younger but this was the real deal, cliches aside. It was the setting of thousands of lost lives put through perilous and merciless torture and death, all within the confines of warehouses set by a backdrop of a beautiful Austrian countryside. I was numb. We first traveled inside of the camps and walked through the cell chambers. I saw more blood. This time I could physically see it though, as the sixty years that had passed had not done much to rid the stained walls of the painful reminder. We saw the gas chamber rooms, the small cells where they all packed into rooms to live, if we can even call that living. This was undeniably the most horrifying site I have visited, yet alone saw, smelled, or felt, in my entire life. And it wasn't over yet. The tour guide led us outside to only present us with another terrifying piece of such a hateful puzzle. He took us to the cliff overlooking a small, and wondrous, shallow body of water below. He told us that prisoners were forced to push each other off of the edge to their gruesome fates below, as the Nazis watched in laughter and amusement. How could death ever be so comical? We then quickly noticed to the right an exceedingly steep set of stairs that curved almost around the gates of hell before finally reaching the bottom below. I, myself, am not too afraid of heights, but I felt extremely uncomfortable walking at the slowest pace down these stairs. We finally reached the bottom before our guide spoke any word to us about the significance of these stairs. Hindsight, he probably wanted us to hear nothing but silence, so we could literally feel the presence of prisoners walking down these stairs sixty years before us. I looked up in awe, as the stairs seemed infinite. To our right now was the cliff that bore a drastic and lengthy fall to the water below. Behind us was a watch tower. The serenity of the surroundings mixed with the creepiness of the immediate area sent chills up my spine. These people were prisoners of their own kind. Other humans trapped them. Other humans prevented them from living free in the beautiful countryside that lurked beyond the camp. The story was that the Nazis would drive trucks near the bottom of the stairs where they would unload bricks and stones. These heavy 'burdens' had to be carried by the prisoners up the endless flight of stairs. Unfortunately, they would pack thousands of prisoners against each other while doing so. The purpose was the likelihood that a few would inevitably lose their footing, thus causing a domino effect and sending others to their deaths. The prisoners had to make this ill-fated climb on a diet of one tablespoon of food every three days, making it even more difficult for them to stand their ground while carrying heavy weight. As we headed back up the stairs, I took step by step into thought, trying to imagine the pain and fear that they endured, especially after hearing the full story. For me it was a tour and I had been well fed, but for them it was relentless cruelty placed on their innocent lives. Not only was I more thankful for my life, but this gave me a new appreciation for an even simple and dauntless task of having to walk up a flight of stairs.

Hope.
We experienced so much of the history of hatred on our trip, yet what was most intriguing to me were the survival stories. Hearing our Jewish tour guide at the Synagogue in Budapest tell us stories of what people did to survive, and how they came together, surpassed any heartwarming life saving stories I have ever heard. And not only did they live for the day when they were free from Nazi occupation, but they gave hope to their country and went on to experience a transformation of individual and country. After seeing the excruciating sites at Mauthausen, we walked further into the museum site and found stories of hope. On the walls bore stories of survivors who broke free after the camp was liberated, and went on to be devoted citizens and promote peace and raise families. These stories are the ones we want to remember - the ones we want to picture in our minds when we think of these countries. But we cannot forget the stories of persecution and victimization that burn a hole into our hearts, because they are the background for what made these countries stronger and wiser.



Healing.
Today the countries I visited have luckily flourished after such a horrifying period in history and have evolved into developed nations, for the most part. They are free of mass killings and their citizens are able to live freely and without such grandiose fear. This gives the rest of the world the hope that they too can heal from war, genocide, and hate. If anything, my experience that I am sharing with you should encourage you to read, research, or and/or go visit places such as these. I really used this trip as a personal revelation - a moment where my rose colored glasses were put aside, and I realized I had been blinded from this history of persecution, which ultimately had an impact on every one of us regardless of race and background. This trip did confirm my belief that it is truly difficult to empathize with the unfortunate events that others have gone through, and currently go through, until you physically see it. Coming from a citizen of the most powerful country in the world, a country where I can be anything depending on the level of effort I devote, it is easy to forget others misfortunes. And after seeing the stained blood on the walls of Mauthausen, and the layout of the shoes where young men and women such as myself once stood alive before being shot to their deaths, it gave me a new outlook on the world around me. Not only did this trip teach me to be more understanding of the history behind other cultures, it taught me to be more accepting and open to each and every individual from a different background. The quote that we are familiar with says it best "be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle."