Neshama 33

List of 4 items.

• Thursday, February 20

  Jesse:

   

  This morning, we took a short walk from our hotel in Łańcut to the Łańcut synagogue. There we met with Mirik, a Christian man who has preserved the synagogue, learned Hebrew, and studies Torah. This synagogue and greater Łańcut area were home to a vibrant Jewish community. A community and synagogue which after hundreds of years of meaningful and powerful prayer, went silent. Rob has told us a recurring idea each synagogue we visit. He helps us focus on the walls of the synagogue. Walls that haven’t heard prayer in so long. Each time we daven shacharit in these synagogues, it feels like a small revival of a lost community. Rob likes us to think what the walls might feel or how much they may have missed heartful prayer. 

   

  From there, we visited the pretty town of Tarnow, another once large Jewish town. A town whose synagogue was burnt to the ground and whose people were senselessly murdered in there homes, rounded up, and sent to their deaths.

   

  A short drive away from Tarnow is Zbylitowska Góra, the mass grave of Children. When the Nazis entered Tarnow, they brought those who weren’t killed on the spot to the Forrest and murdered them in mass graves. This was one of the hardest parts of the trip, the site of the murder of Tarnow’s children, representing the 1.5 million children killed in the holocaust. The potential of 1.5 million lives taken away. Rob brought attention to history repeating itself. This same day we visit the children’s graves, the Bibas baby’s, Kfir and Ariel, return to Israel in caskets. 80 years later, Jewish baby’s are still being murdered for simply being Jewish.

   

  After shacharit this morning, Rob asked us, through four days in Poland, what emotions we were feeling. Here is my answer: 

   

  I have felt a lot of anger in these past few days. We are exposed to this overwhelming amount of pain and death, and yet I feel hopelessly distant. I can’t help but keep thinking about a stolen potential. The potential of 6 million lives, hundreds of thousands of Jewish communities, and thousands of synagogues burned to the ground. These feeling of anger and despair have slowly turned to strength, resilience, and hope. For all of those who were silenced as a result of the Shoah, I want to dedicate a part of my life to them by strengthening my Judaism. These few days in Poland have been the best davening of my life. I have tried to wrap tefillin each day and all around be more passionate about my Judaism. As I look to college, I want to be proudly and publicly Jewish and I want to share the stories the we learned here in Poland about the Shoah, keeping a part of the 6 million souls alive.

   

  The rest of the day was much lighter than at the beginning. We got to Krakow at around 5 and had some free time to make a dent in the city's pierogi supply. Afterwards, we had second dinner and headed to the hotel for an early night in anticipation of tomorrow’s early morning.

• Wednesday, February 19

  Noga:

   

  Today was a very meaningful and emotional day on Neshama. We started our morning heading from the hotel to Yeshivat Lublin, which has been beautifully restored after the Nazis burned over 20,000 books. Standing in that sacred space, we learned about Rabbi Meir Shapiro, who passed away before the Holocaust but left behind the tradition of "Daf Yomi," a daily practice of studying one page of Gemara, spanning 2,711 pages over seven and a half years. Though he didn’t live to see the war, his teachings lived on. Many of his students, however, were tragically taken to Majdanek—our next stop of the day.

   

  A short bus ride brought us to the entrance of Majdanek, where we spent four heavy and meaningful hours learning about our people’s tragic history. It’s difficult to put into words what it feels like to enter an extermination camp. The air was suddenly colder, and a light snowfall accompanied our first steps onto the rocky path. It was as if the place itself carried the weight of its past.

   

  Walking through the gas chambers, we saw the dark blue stains of Zyclon B gas still tainting the walls and the rusted showerheads hanging from the ceiling. We continued through the crematorium, the barracks, and other preserved structures, reading testimonies of those who endured unimaginable horrors. One story that stuck with me was that of Halina Birenbaum, who was only 14 when she arrived. Her mother was torn from her upon arrival, and her sister-in-law became the only person left to look after her. Halina would pick weeds under barbed wire—risking electrocution—just to avoid interactions with Nazi guards, a small glimpse into the overwhelming fear that consumed every prisoner. The sadness and eeriness of Majdanek were raw and palpable, resonating deeply with all of us.

   

  We paused to listen to Josh's family story, which made the experience even more personal and emotional. His words reminded us of the importance of remembrance and connection to our own Jewish identities.

   

  One quote in the museum stayed with me: Piotr Kiriszczenko wrote, "You wake up in the morning, you wake your mate, and he is dead—but you are not afraid of the corpse." That level of suffering, that emotional numbness, is something I can’t even begin to comprehend. This morning, I woke up and saw Emily, alive and well, and I was struck by the sheer privilege of not having to fear for my friends’ lives. It’s hard to fathom a world where that wasn’t the case.

   

  After circling Majdanek, we got back on the bus and headed to the grave and memorial of Rebbe Elimelech. There, we had an important discussion about Haredim, Hasidim, and the various sects of Judaism, reflecting on how the ultra-Orthodox movement had to rebuild itself after the Holocaust. We learned how Rebbe Elimelech helped guide lost Jews and played a role in the rebirth of modern Judaism. To honor his legacy, we held a small tish, eating Israeli snacks, singing songs, and celebrating our connection to Jewish tradition. As we boarded the bus, the singing continued—though the playlist took a turn to Bruno Mars, Adele, and Rihanna, bringing some lightness to the heavy emotions of the day.

   

  Our final stop was a breathtaking glass memorial honoring The Righteous Among the Nations—the brave Polish people who risked or gave their lives to save Jews during the Holocaust at the Ulma Family Museum of Poles Saving Jews in WWII. We listened to Jordyn’s touching family story and reflected on the role these individuals played in history. Seeing the glowing names of those courageous souls reminded us that even in the darkest times, there were those who chose to stand up for what was right.

   

  As we arrived at our third hotel of the trip (in the city of Lancut), we ate dinner and reflected on the day during zman mishpacha. Words like “hell” and “horrifying” were used to describe the conditions in Majdanek, and moments like seeing the heaps of shoes and cramped sleeping situation stuck with us the most. As we processed our emotions in our little “family”, we established the importance of remembrance, and connection. It reinforced the weight of our history and our responsibility to carry it forward. More than anything, it was a reminder that while we mourn the past, we also embrace the strength, resilience, and unwavering spirit of our people.

   

  Before we went to sleep, we spent time as a grade and got to know our madrichim better, forming a strong bond and sense of trust to continue to share difficult, profound feelings.

• Tuesday, February 18

  Shayne:

   

  Today was a long, busy day. At our Zman Mishpacha meeting at the end of the day, we talked a bit about how sometimes temporarily focusing on a smaller, more specific part of a massive tragedy can help you process it, and so I’m going to focus on music as a common thread.

   

  We started our day bright and early at 7:00 AM for breakfast at our Warsaw hotel, before driving two hours northeast to the town of Tykocin.

   

  Tykocin was once the site of a thriving Jewish community, and in 1642 they constructed a beautiful synagogue, with fortress-like walls several feet thick and a colorful ceiling and central frieze above the ark. Wealthy community members who had donated to the synagogue were honored with prayers, possibly of their own choosing, brightly painted onto the stucco walls inside the main sanctuary. I kid you not when I say that this was the most beautiful synagogue, I’ve ever been in. During our orientation day on Friday, we were asked where we felt most spiritual, and I answered that I don’t connect with most synagogue buildings; I typically feel much more inspired in places of nature, old cemeteries, ruins, even cathedrals and mosques. This synagogue, however, was unlike any I had ever seen. 

   

  Aly and I led a joyous Tefillah service (much less rushed this time!), and at Jesse’s request we sang Mah Tovu, which we probably have not sung as a full grade since fifth grade. We also sang Psalm 29 (Mizmor LeDavid, Havu LAdonai…) and danced the hora between the botanical patterns and Hebrew texts painted in bright blues and oranges and reds along the walls. 

   

  Those walls do not hear prayers anymore, except for when tour groups like us visit. There are no Jews left in Tykocin. In 1941, when the Nazis reconquered the village during Operation Barbarossa, the entire Jewish community of Tykocin was marched out to the Łopuchowo forest and shot beside large pits. Still in the synagogue, Katriela shared her family’s story from the shtetl of Radzilova, where, emboldened by the Nazis but fueled by long-standing antisemitism, local Poles forced all of the Jews into a barn and set it on fire. After a short visit to the poorly-maintained old Jewish cemetery, whose graves are mostly toppled and covered in grasses, we rode to the site of the death pits. We read the words of a woman who had survived a similar slaughter in another village, and who lived to testify at Adolf Eichmann’s trial in Jerusalem in 1961. 

   

  We also had Noga share her family’s story from Łódź, and Aly talked about how her family survived by hiding in the forested mountains with a partisan cell. Our madrichah Shakked, inspired by Aly’s story, shared the English lyrics of Bella Ciao, an Italian song sung by a partisan to the Nazis, telling her to bury him in the mountains if the Nazis kill him and continue the fight for freedom. 

   

  After Tykocin, we drove an hour and a half to Treblinka. We first watched a short film in the small museum describing the layout and operation of the death camp: how it was disguised as a transit camp with a mock railway station and infirmary tent to avoid mass panic, how dogs and soldiers chased the naked Jews as they walked along the “Road to Heaven” gauntlet, how at least 850,000 people were murdered there. The Nazis razed the entire camp in 1943 to hide the evidence of their crimes, so all that stands today are memorials and stone markers denoting where guard towers and train tracks once stood. On the walk to the main memorial, Solomon told us about how his Polish great-grandfather escaped to France and managed to survive there, and Maya told us about how her great-great-grandparents were slaughtered at Babi Yar, a ravine near Kyiv, after surviving the first selection. She further explained how the Soviet authorities refused to acknowledge the Judaism of Babi Yar’s victims, and how a Russian rocket damaged the memorial site in 2022 during the ongoing War in Ukraine.

   

  Rob also told us the story of how a Modzitzer Chasid, a sect known for their niggunim and songs, invented the popular melody to Ani Ma’amin while in a cattle car en route to Treblinka, and we sang the eery hymn as we walked to the main Treblinka memorial. The memorial features hundreds of upright stones, representing various Jewish communities destroyed at the death camp, with the exception of a single stone dedicated to the educator Janusz Korczak, who bravely marched to the death with the children of his orphanage despite being offered a chance to escape. In the center stands a tall stone monument, with bas-reliefs depicting Jews packed into the gas chambers, as well as a menorah on the back. I shared the story of my great-great-aunt Chaja Sura, who was murdered at Treblinka alongside her husband and five of her eight children, as well as the story of her son Moishe, who survived seven concentration camps and whose own son is the famous rock musician Geddy Lee. After strolling between the markers on our own for a few minutes, we gathered for our memorial ceremony, where Itai’s mishpacha read poems and prayers, holding Israeli flags. 

   

  Before reciting the Mourners’ Kaddish together, we sang the song Eli, Eli, written by Hannah Szenes, a Hungarian Jew who had made Aliyah but who returned as a paratrooper to support Jews in Nazi-occupied Europe, before being captured and executed by Nazis. The song describes her hope that even as humans do great evil to each other, that the beauty of the natural world is never destroyed:
  
  

  My God, my God,

  may it never end –

  the sand and the sea,

  the rustle of the water,

  the lightning of the sky,

  the prayer of man.
  
  

  I found this song strangely fitting: throughout our visit to Treblinka, flurries of snow sporadically fell from the sky, which was colored gold by one of the most vivid sunsets I have ever seen. 

   

  After leaving Treblinka, we drove three hours to Lublin, where we had dinner (much better than I expected!) and Zman Mishpacha. When we entered the city, the bus speakers began to play Bella Ciao again, and I thought about how even though over 850,000 souls of our people were murdered at Treblinka, we survived. We could still dance the hora to David’s psalm in ancient synagogues; we proclaimed our continued belief with Ani Ma’amin; we witnessed the juxtaposition of mass murder with a beautifully snowy sunset as we sang Eli, Eli; and with Bella Ciao, we expressed our dedication to freedom and the constant resistance that is Jewish life.

• Monday, February 17

  Noam:

   

  First Day:

  Our journey began yesterday when we arrived at school alongside our parents, we came together in the Lower Schol Beit Knesset for a short sendoff tekes, and saying our final goodbyes before embarking on our three-month trip. As our parents departed, we took a moment to wish our classmate Noa a happy 18th birthday, with delicious cupcakes provided by her family.
  
  

  Following this, our grade gathered in our designated classroom, where we reviewed the historical context leading up to the Holocaust and the persecution of Jews. This session provided essential background knowledge before our upcoming visit to Poland. We explored various geographical locations where persecution occurred and examined the differences in the number of murders across different countries. One point that stood out to me was that, despite Germany being a central hub of Holocaust atrocities, it was not the country with the highest number of Jewish deaths.
  
  

  We also engaged in a thoughtful and meaningful discussion about the roots of antisemitism, which particularly resonated with me. After this lesson, we had lunch, which gave us a chance to relax and connect as a grade.
  
  

  Following lunch, we reviewed the expectations and rules for our Neshama trip and had the opportunity to ask any remaining questions. As a group, we discussed what aspects of the trip we were most excited about. These conversations strengthened our sense of community and helped us recognize new elements of the journey to look forward to.
  
  

  Before we knew it, it was time to head to the airport. After the long process of passing through security, checking our bags, and boarding the plane, we finally settled in for the nine-hour flight.

  Upon landing in Poland, we picked up our bags and, despite feeling tired, were excited to meet our four new madrichim: Itay, Ravid, Shakked, and Yuval.
  
  

  Our first destination in Poland was the Warsaw Jewish Cemetery, where we visited several significant memorials. The first was the grave of Dr. Ludwik Zamenhof, the creator of the Esperanto language. The second was a memorial honoring Y.L. Peretz, a renowned Yiddish writer. Some of our classmates had taken a modern Jewish literature course the previous year, where they studied Peretz’s short stories, allowing them to connect their learning to our visit.
  
  

  After visiting a few more sites, we visited the Nozyk Synagogue where we davened Ma'ariv. Following the service, we had dinner and concluded the evening by meeting in our mishpacha (family) groups, led by our madrichim.
  
  

  Overall, the first two days of our journey were a period of transition, helping us set the foundation for the next three months. We gained a deeper understanding of expectations, bonded with our madrichim, and began adjusting to the balance of traveling and visiting significant historical sites.