On the Road to Majdanek: 1993 or 1943?

I am Beverly Miriam Debra Chazan, 2nd Generation to 2 Holocaust survivors William and Rose Chazan, who emigrated to America after the war.

I made Aliyah with my 4-year-old daughter Michelle and 2-year-old son William and had a sabra Yair Amichai.

My grandchildren are 5th generation survivors in our family.

In 1993 I was the head of the delegation to Poland from the school I had been working at.

I wrote this poem on the bus from Auschwitz to Majdanek.

On the road to Majdanek 8 am March 1, 1993? March 1, 1943? By Blumah Beverly Miriam Devorah Chazan

We are headed for Majdanek.

There is zero visibility just as we can’t see what we are about to encounter in Majdanek.

I couldn’t sleep last night in Cracow anticipating the journey to Majdanek that awaited us at dawn.

The fulfilled day we had spent in Zakopane yesterday threw me off balance.

Suddenly I saw a beautiful shining light in the dark hole which is how I had thought of Poland.

The snow sparkled and glistened. The sun shone brightly and the sky was crystal clear. It gave me glimpse of resort life before the war. A resort life that Jews had also participated in. I can really understand how it was for the Jews before the war now. From there it seemed like Poland was like every other place in the Diaspora not really any better or any worse.

Now we are going to Majdanek. We are on the bus. Suddenly the sky is filled with fog and mist-signifying the unknown. We are one with the Jews who were plucked from everyday life into a wild and seemingly endless tunnel of fog tossed into another world. The people of this country weren’t facing this fog. The picture was quite clear to them, they were getting rid of ‘their’ Jews at last.

The fog is lifting on the road to Majdanek. We are packed into the train at his point. We have begun to see what is ahead at least for the near future. We can’t breathe, the children can’t cry for lack of air. My children are next to me and I can’t do anything to help them. My little boy is crying, “mommy, mommy help me I can’t breathe” could this really be happening? People are dying all around me and there is nothing I can do about it. The smell in here is unbearable.

I have walked out of Auschwitz, but will I walk out of Majdanek at the end of this track?

8 am March 1, 1993?

March 1, 1943?