Sticks and Stones May Break my Bones, But Words…

Advertisement of “Der Ewige Jude” (The Eternal Jew), a 1940 antisemitic German Nazi propaganda film. This film was disguised as a documentary.

It has been one week since I last stepped on the grounds of Auschwitz I. Since my return from Poland, I have found myself especially sensitive to the use of words and phrases in everyday conversation, political discussion, and broadcast outlets. This stems from my shock at the absolute power of words- in forming an ideology, swaying a culture, and facilitating the genocide of millions of people.

In writing this, an old saying comes to mind: “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me!” I can recall hearing this phrase throughout my childhood. Though it may have proved true in playground interactions, this phrase could not be further from the truth when one considers the impact of words, especially propaganda-fueled, in furthering the harm of the Jews and other groups.

In considering the power of words, one should start with the impetus of the Third Reich and Nazi Party- Adolf Hitler. Hitler was unabashed in his hatred for the Jewish people; in his first written comment on the “Jewish Question,” he asserts that the presence of Jews in any community was a “race-tuberculosis of the peoples.” (Source: US Holocaust Museum) His initial comments, released in 1919, are emulated in his further written and oral statements. In 1933, Hitler produced his first speech broadcasted live on all German radio stations. In this broadcast, he proposes a resolution to the “Jewish problem”- total annihilation of all European Jews, through a world war. (Source: BBC)

Propaganda poster labeling the Jew as “a people of contagion!” This poster mirrors the content of Hitler’s 1919 written comments.

Throughout our visits to Auschwitz I and Auschwitz-Birkenau, our tour guide Lidia further stressed the impact of words on disseminating Nazi ideology. She brought to our attention the establishment of Hitler Youth in indoctrinating German children, the use of propaganda by Joseph Goebbels and other prominent figures within the Third Reich.

Before we embarked on our journey to Poland, our group visited the United States Holocaust Museum in Manhattan, New York City. Here, we encountered a variety of propaganda pieces used to spread anti-Semitism and anti-Jewish sentiment. Most notable were a row of posters depicting the Jewish people as disgusting, leering, and money-hungry monsters. These images cemented in the minds of German society the notion that Jews were nothing more than parasites and a stain on the face of Aryan purity.

Antisemitic propaganda released in Poland in 1941. This poster depicts the Jew as a parasite, likened to that of typhus.

The influence of propaganda, and words as a whole, was made evident in the words and behavior of Nazi officers and even German civilians. Alexander Donat’s memoir The Holocaust Kingdom makes tangible the power of words, as he recounts the usage and power of words in promoting hatred and harm.

In the initial liquidations of the Warsaw ghetto, Donat recalls the phrasing that Ukranian guards and German troops used to force people from their apartments: “Alles runter!” – In English, “Everything downstairs!” Donat notes that “the tone was bad enough, but the humiliating impersonality of that ‘everything’ where normal speech called for ‘everyone’ was even more shocking.” (The Holocaust Kingdom 56) This shift in language illustrates the shift in thought of Germans and Ukranians towards their fellow humans, and the dehumanization of Jews.

Other insults hurled at Jews included: “Schweinehund [pig dog],” “Dreckjude [shitty Jew],” “whore,” and “Judenschmarotzer [Jew parasite].” Donat emphasized that “obscenities were used so abundantly at Majdanek that often you did not hear a decent word for hours on end.” (173)
And what resulted from these words? In my eyes, these words ushered in a disregard for human life that did not fit the “Aryan mold." German officers treated Jewish prisoners like their insults, and in reducing them to “parasites,” viewed their lives “as essentially worthless; in fact, contemptible.” (Donat 176) The SS soldiers delighted in ousting these “subhuman” Jews, inventing new methods of torture and indulging in the “fear and the death agonies of the victims.” (Donat 173) Beyond the torture and death of millions of Jews, the words of the Third Reich held the German people in an “iron grip; they followed orders and kept their mouths shut, they submitted…” (Donat 233) With overwhelming control and sadism, the Nazis destroyed the lives of many, even as the Third Reich began to collapse. How devastating words were, in facilitating the breaking of spirits and bones of so many innocent lives.

Just yesterday, it was announced that a Holocaust denier will be the GOP’s nominee in a Chicago congressional district after running in a primary election. Candidate Arthur Jones is an outspoken Holocaust denier; his candidacy website contains pages of documentation “disproving” the Holocaust and dismissing the death of millions of Jews. Phrases from his website are eerily similar to the aforementioned propaganda of the Third Reich:

"The ‘Holocaust’ is quite a racket. Millions of dollars are made each year by the Jews telling this tall tale…
Elie Wiesel [Holocaust survivor] is simply a skillful liar…
[Survivor accounts of the Holocaust are] propaganda, whose purpose is designed to bleed, blackmail, extort and terrorize, the enemies of organized world Jewry…
Their ‘Holocaust’ [is] just an extortion racket. "
I have been made furious to learn of this news and to read these documents, and have thought- What can I do now, with what I know? How can I, and others like me, best combat this utterly false information?

As mentioned previously, words can be used to generate destructive power. I recognize that my words need to be used to generate informative, educational, and defense of those who have suffered. This is certainly, in many ways, a power worth reckoning.

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The Power of Kinship in the Camps

This blog post references The Holocaust Kingdom, a memoir written by Alexander Donat. This work was originally written in 1963; all quotes are from the 1999 edition.
"“Kinship is…being one with the other.” "– Fr. Gregory Boyle, Tattoo on the Heart

Holocaust survivors displaying their numbered tattoos as assigned at concentration camps.

During my time in Poland, I have gained a wealth of knowledge and insight with regards to the experience of prisoners within concentration camps, specifically Auschwitz I and Auschwitz-Birkenau. From my readings of survivor accounts and interaction with tour guides and information at the camps themselves, I have learned that imprisonment within these camps was the epitome of ostracization. Prisoners endured maltreatment, hatred, and were blatantly dehumanized by Nazi actions and speech. They were torn from their families, rendered identity-less, and endured abuse at every moment.

Death and defeat always loomed, and fellow prisoners died in great numbers; while visiting Auschwitz-Birkenau, our group was informed that as many as 6,000 Jews were gassed by the S.S. per day (Source: our wonderful tour guide, Lidia). S.S. soldiers and block leaders within the camps were quick to remind prisoners of the inevitability of death. In his memoir The Holocaust Kingdom, Alexander Donat notes the motto of a previous Barrack Elder during his time at Majdanek: “Don’t forget, you must die so that I may live” (161).

In considering this, I found myself asking the following question: How could prisoners survive in such a volatile, horrific environment?

Shortly after walking the grounds of Auschwitz I and Auschwitz-Birkenau, our group went to an art exhibition entitled “Photographic Plates of Memory. Labyrinths” by Marian Kolodziej, a former prisoner of Auschwitz. This exhibition, which is permanently installed in the lower level of Our Lady Immaculate Church in Harmęże, gave deeper insight into the ostracization and loneliness faced by prisoners. As our guide, Fr. Florio, led us through the exhibition, I felt deflated. Was there no way to navigate the hell of Auschwitz? Was there any hope to be found?

As Fr. Florio beckoned towards images of prisoners huddled together, he addressed their agonized unity in remarking, “kinship was crucial to surviving.” It was at this moment that I found a sense of resolve to my inner questions, and saw the truth in this statement illuminated. The concept of kinship as that which sustains another resonated with me; as a person of faith, I have found the idea of kinship echoed in various theological sources. Fr. Gregory Boyle, a Jesuit priest, alludes to the importance of kinship in his work Tattoos on the Heart. He notes that kinship brings us “closer to creating a community,” where we can “stand…with those whose dignity has been denied.” It is important to note that Boyle is speaking from his experience as a rehabilitator and advocate of gang members in Southern California. Despite this, his assertions hold validity in considering how kinship fueled prisoners in their plight to survive.

We see the power of kinship in Alexander Donat’s The Holocaust Kingdom. Kinship, in word and in deed, emerges as a conduit to survival throughout Donat’s oppression. Though there are examples of kinship between Donat and other individuals in the Warsaw Ghetto, for purposes of this post, I will refer to scenes of kinship in the camps.

Display mimicking the march of prisoners within the Polish block, at the Auschwitz I Memorial / Concentration Camp in Oświęcim.

One scene of kinship is captured in the interactions between Donat and Horowitz, a Czech Jew assigned as the Lagerschrieber of Field Three in Majdanek. Donat appeals to him, begging for help in survival: “I felt [as a journalist] I had a duty to survive tell the world about the murder of the Jewish people. I appealed to him to help me survive” (164). Moved by the similarity of their prior professions, Horowitz works to find Donat a lenient job, eventually securing him a well-fed job at the Fahrbereitschaft (the motor pool of Majdanek). Though Donat’s time at the motor pool is short-lived, Horowitz’s kinship sustains him and enabled him to gather “physical and moral strength” (Donat 172). Surely if Horowitz had not been aided, Donat could have faced a worse fate.

Donat’s interactions with the Jews after being transferred to the Radom labor camp further illustrate the power of kinship in the camps. Here, Donat and his peers received nourishment, medical attention, and compassion from the other inhabitants at Radom. He emphasizes that despite the food received from the Jews of Radom, “the cordiality shown us was even more precious than the food.” (187)

Other less-detailed but still relevant examples of kinship exist throughout the text; Donat mentions that upon fainting during a roll call, his neighbors came to his aid and propped him up. A particularly touching scene is when Szulc, a former restauranteur, would describe dishes he had prepared in his restaurant to induce a relieved appetite for surrounding prisoners. (Donat 168) How minute this seems, at first glance, yet how important these and other gestures were to Donat and his peers during his stay at Majdanek. Boyle emphasizes that “the self cannot survive without love.” In considering the kinship among Donat and other individuals in the Ghetto and camps, one sees the validity of this claim and the power that is inherent in kinship. The accounts of kinship between Alexander Donat and other prisoners moved me in a profound way, and caused me to think more deeply about the impact of human relationship in surviving one of the worst acts in human history.

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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.

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