Thread: Concentration Camp of Dachau: A Paradoxical Experience

I’ve been lucky enough to visit the Holocaust Museum and the Anne Frank House. Both places are highly effective in communicating their message to the visitor and leaving a mark in people’s psyche that some rather not have in the first place. Some people would rather not know the capabilities we have to destroy each other, the lows we are able to hit when trying to find the top. Yet some things can’t be evaded or forgotten, even if we try. So once again I go, to a place filled with a history I can’t digest anymore; resigned I got up and off the motor coach.

It was a cold, gray, rainy day; fitting of the place I was visiting, “too fitting” I remember thinking. While walking towards the camp entrance I had the bad luck of stepping in a puddle of water caused by the morning rain. I immediately proceeded to look around for a better area to walk in, but when I caught sight of a sign with the words “Dachau Concentration Camp” I stopped looking, and thinking of the thousands who walked this same road with their feet wet, I moved on. “At least I’ll get the chance to walk this road again when I get out”, I thought. Wanting to experience it alone I quickly made my way to the entrance and passed it without a second glance.

I made my way to the museum like I’d been advised. It was a very long building that served as offices for the German. Once inside I start looking at the old cement walls, the 70 year old desks, utensils, letters, not caring about most of the information that now decorates the place. I’d seen it all before, the pictures, the stories, the deaths, saturated to the point of numbness by the mass exposition of it all… the glasses used by a Jewish man 66 years ago were more fascinating. Tired of the same thing over and over I decided to stop listening and reading, I decided to finally live it.

Outside, I started walking through the main “square” of the concentration camp and headed towards the two barracks left standing. I saw where they slept, where they bathe, where they pissed, and walked out feeling like I had done something I needed to do. I saw, I lived, but all I did was prove with my own two eyes that what I already knew existed, the numbness still remained.

Heading down the main road to the far end of the camp I found myself walking through beautiful sets of trees on both sides of the road marking the places where the other barracks once stood, at the end I could see a tower-shaped chapel in memory of those who died in Dachau. At that point I couldn’t help but notice how nice it all looked; “too nice, it shouldn’t be this way” I remember thinking. Running low on time I followed the path to the area I was most looking forward to visiting, the crematorium. After spending years reading about it I was finally going to be inside a gas chamber, a crematorium, an execution range, for the first time that day I was actually exited. Call it a morbid curiosity.

I will say with all honesty that the area of the crematorium was one of the most beautiful places I visited during my stay in Munich, and one of the most romantic places I saw outside of France and Italy, history aside. The area most resembled a log cabin in the woods. The main structure that included the crematorium and gas chamber turned out to be smaller than I imagined, being only a little larger than the barracks and with a higher pointed roof. A large amount of trees surrounded the area along with a few memorial stones, the far smaller first crematorium, a passage through the woods that lead to the eaten-by-vegetation execution range, and a couple of beautiful graves for the ashes of thousands of unknowns. I was amazed and overwhelmed by the horror and beauty of it all, shocked to be standing inside the gas chamber one minute and walking down a lover’s lane the next. I felt frustrated and cheated, “how can a place like a concentration camp be so beautiful and peaceful? It’s mockery to what happened here.” Yet I wasn’t angry, this place in which I expected to feel and see death and pain had instead provided me with beauty and peace, finally something I hadn’t read in books or seen in museums.

While I strolled back to the entrance I started looking at the concentration camp in a different way. I looked at its beauty instead of its past, looked at what it is instead of what it was. When I got to the entrance and opened the gate to leave I realized there where words written there that I hadn’t seen when I entered. The words, “Arbeit Macht Frei” or “Work Shall Set You Free”, will forever be remembered by those who survived the concentration camp. When I read those words I imagined once again the thousands of people that once walked through those gates, but this time I didn’t pretend to imagine how they must have felt. It is impossible to feel that way, the place has changed, the times have changed, and the way you feel as a unique individual is different from everyone else's. I glanced back at the gates for the last time as I walked away, thinking about how I didn’t get to visit a concentration camp because it doesn’t exist anymore, but I did get to visit a place of memories, of history and contradictions, worthy of the sun that was just starting to creep in between the clouds. Dachau had succeeded, it left a mark just as strong as the other places I had visited, but this mark is one I rather not forget. On the road back to the parking I see the reminder of a puddle of water caused by the morning rain and this time I gladly step on it, “for all of you who didn’t get out and couldn’t wet you feet in this road, this is my tribute.”

Definitely not what I expected, even with the word "paradoxical" in the title. Actually, I find it refreshing that even the horrors of mankind cannot forever kill what is beautiful, serene, and peaceful. There is still hope yet for our future.

The first draft was quite awkward since I wasn't sure exactly how I was feeling. It felt unfocused. I wrote this when looking at the pictures from my trip after I got back home. I knew since the day I visited that I needed to express how Dachau made me feel, but I didn't have the chance until I got back home. Even though the current version isn't perfect I'm quite proud of it since I think it successfully expresses my emotions and my message. That said, I'll gladly accept any critique anyone might have.

I apologize if this seems like a thread bump, I just thought it would add to the topic if I added a couple of pictures I took while I visited Dachau. Both images are described in my work.


Main road, with the line of trees representing the barracks.


Dachau's "Lover's Lane" (starts outside the Crematorium building, passes by execution range, and loops back to the crematorium area entrance)


Entrance gate. Behind it the main "square". Work Shall Set You Free

I can also provide a map of the Crematorium area at request.

It's a moving piece, and I think it has the potential to be a good deal more powerful than it already is. I read your comment that you know it's rough / "awkward", so I may be pointing to things you already realise need work. I'll offer them anyway.

Firstly, I like what the 2nd sentence says, but I think it could be better expressed, particularly its ending: "that some rather not have in the first place". The other part of the piece I think particularly needs attention is the pivotal 2nd-last paragraph, especially its 1st sentence. It very directly states that you saw beauty there. You may have wanted to be very direct here, or maybe less so. I think it's important to pay attention to the poetic beauty of this sentence itself (or ugliness, if you prefer). Another thing is your use of the word "romantic" in this sentence. What you mean by this is not clear. If "romantic" was intended to be unclear/ambiguous, the various readings or suggestions which come to mind don't seem to strengthen the work. "Romantic" is a vague word with lots of baggage: love (emotional &/or erotic), sentimentality, Romanticism &/or any of its values such as raw, wild, untamed nature. My best guess is that you were referring to the flavour of the sentiments the beauty gave, but without necessarily involving a lover. Maybe the word in this context gives a lot more than you intended.

I remember hearing an work on the U.S. firebombing of Japan during WW2. The situation on the ground was a horror among horrors: people bursting into flames, etc. A Japanese person gave a personal account of the events witnessed, and told of being on the roof of their house with their father, watching their home neighbourhood burn. The father commented that it looked beautiful. This was presented as an example of the persistence of Japanese attention to beauty in even such a personal tragedy, but the ability to notice beauty despite (or perhaps mentally isolated from) accompanying horror seems also to be a universal human quirk.

Anyway, I hope I've helped in some way. Thanks for sharing something so intimate & meaningful. It's enriching to read even in its current unrefined state.

That is what I needed, something constructive. Thank you very much. I'll work on it considering your points and see how it goes.