My Precious Ones

“And we were carried off, killed, exterminated. Not a trace remained of my precious ones! Woe unto me, woe.” – Yitzhak Katzenelson

My time in Poland thus far defies words. In three days, I have experienced such an array of emotions that it has left me both speechless and bursting with thoughts. I have so much to express, and yet at times, I feel that my vocabulary is useless in describing what I have witnessed and felt. What words can capture the atrocities of Auschwitz I and Auschwitz Birkenau? Despite this, I write still.
I have entered this immersive, academic experience equipped with the lens of a student, yes, but also a woman, a daughter, and an extension of the Gallagher-Kealty family lineage. The relationship that I share with my family- though complicated- is the closest to my heart. Though leaving the United States was exhilarating, I have felt a pang of longing for my family each day. I have set aside time each night to communicate with my mother and share my thoughts and experiences that have come and gone. We speak, and listen. We pray. We trade perspectives (as she has been to the Dachau concentration camp in Germany). It is in these conversations that I feel gratitude for her, and the pang of separation fades with thoughts of returning home.

It is also in these conversations that I am reminded of those who would never return home, whose pangs of separation were infinite, agonizing, and beyond their control. Auschwitz I and Auschwitz Birkenau have triggered within me a multitude of thoughts, feelings, and words. In this context, I can only think of the separation that ran rampant throughout these death camps.
My exposure to this separation began in my personal readings. Since middle school, I have immersed myself in Holocaust literature capturing the stories and experiences of survivors. In each work, there was an element of familial separation. Every book and every story contained these separations- sometimes intentional, other times unintentionally, never controlled. More recently, I encountered familial separation in Alexander Donat’s [Michael Berg] The Holocaust Kingdom. Donat’s detailed recalling of being separated from his wife, unsure of her fate but convinced of her demise, is almost too agonizing to read:

“I had been hit at the core of my being. Night descended and I had no will to live. Every night I died with Lena…I mourned her with all of my heart, reliving our life together, regretting the moments of separation.” (pp. 201)
And yet, I could not fully grasp the element of separation until I stepped foot onto Auschwitz I and Auschwitz Birkenau. Upon entry to Auschwitz Birkenau, one is greeted with the concept of familial
separation in an unlikely form- a cattle car.

A cattle car looming over the train tracks at Auschwitz Birkenau. Cars like this were used to transport Jews to various camps throughout Poland

Hundreds of Jews were crammed into these cars for hours, even days at a time, in their transportation to concentration camps. This on-site cattle car symbolized, for many families, the last instance of unification. Upon the car’s arrival at its designated camp, people would be sorted into two groups. Placement in each group was determined by the German guards, based on physical fitness, health, and ability. Those who were deemed unfit (either too old, with child, too young, or disabled) were sorted into one group- and immediately executed. At Auschwitz I, I encountered a photo of these two groups, which has been burned into my mind. Hearing accounts of children torn from their mothers, spouses forcibly separated, and elder family members being herded to the slaughter made this photograph more unbearable.

Above: Men separated from women and children prior to medical selection.

Unfortunately, avoiding initial execution did not imply an eventual unification. If anything, it furthered the separation. Unsure of the fate of their family members, “fit” prisoners were sorted into various barracks based on gender, race, and status. I witnessed this as I walked through the barracks for men, women, children, and ethnic groups such as Roma (dubbed “Mexico)- all separated from each other.

Prisoners were even separated from memories and intangible connections to their family. Belongings of prisoners were forcibly surrendered and confiscated at arrival. This included photographs of beloved family members. Any shard of “home,” of life before this hell and bearing a reminder of their family, was separated from each person who arrived. A final act of this separation materialized in the dehumanization of prisoners. Prisoners were forcibly shaved, stripped of their garments, and given a new identity in the form of a tattooed number. In Auschwitz I, I encountered a room containing myriads of human hair. Hair not only symbolizes a connection to one’s personal identity, but also family lineage. My red hair calls to mind the red hair of my mother and relatives, my family, and my heritage. Similarly, my Irish Gaelic name calls to mind my parents naming me, and its relation to my family. In losing one’s hair and name, the familial separation that defined Auschwitz I and Auschwitz Birkenau was furthered.

Partial display of items confiscated from arriving Jews at Auschwitz Birkenau. Here, family photographs were removed from arriving prisoners and either preserved or destroyed.

In encountering these elements of separation, I think of Michael’s longing for Lena and Wlodek- his “precious ones,” in the words of Yitzhak Katzenelson. Throughout his time in the Warsaw Ghetto and the Lublin concentration camp, Michael is separated from his family multiple times. These times of separation are sometimes intentional (e.g. in bringing Wlodek to a Gentile family, and deciding Lena should stay in Majdanek), but overwhelmingly unintentional (e.g. initially being separated from each other, sorting into various barracks, and Lena’s transport to Auschwitz Birkenau). Each time is more agitating than the next- the sense of anxiety that comes with no promise of reuniting is made palpable in his accounts.

“My mind was in turmoil, my thoughts filled only with self-reproach for having left Wlodek with Lena instead of taking him with me. I had committed the unpardonable sin, and I felt suicidal.” (pp. 74)
The Holocaust Kingdom, coupled with bearing witness to the atrocities found in Auschwitz I and Auschwitz Birkenau, highlighted the inescapable separation- and agony that followed- of families. The account of Donat illuminates how it is only through eliminating that separation that inner peace is restored. I wish to close this personal reflection with a striking quote.
In Donat’s writings, he shares the story of a mother and son, forcibly separated within the Warsaw Ghetto by SS soldiers:

“One ten-year-old boy called out hysterically but determinedly, ‘Mama, Mama, keep right on going. Don’t look back on me.’ And then he ran out of the ranks, hoping…to save his mother’s life. But unable to accept his sacrifice, [she] ran after him. Clinging together, they rejoined the column and walked on, released from all fear, possessed of a new peace.” (pp. 79)

This anecdote captures how, in spite of this boy being sent to his death, unification defied primal fear. I am moved by this display of unity and the freeing nature, despite imprisonment, of the unification of family. In closing this, I think of the universal longing among the victims of the Shoah for their precious ones- a longing that, for many, never ceased.