Ghosts of East Berlin (Now available on Amazon)

Sachsenhausen - visiting a concentration camp

Sachsenhausen 

In my three and half decades around the sun there have been exactly four times in which from the moment I opened my eyes in the morning to replace the darkness and peaceful bliss of sleep with the chaotic light of day, I instinctively knew that the events that were to soon unfold would transform my life and change me on a most fundamental level. With this prophecy of foresight, I remained still for a few minutes, almost paralyzed, afraid to face the coming day, yet paradoxically, eager to embrace it. I don't know how or why I get this feeling, which is both mental and physical, but the heightened sense of awareness imprinted a sense of clarity in my memories of these days that, years and decades later, has never faded. Perhaps they were an accident, an unexpected ray of morning sunshine illuminating my eyes at precisely the time they opened which altered my perceptions of the day. Or perhaps the events in my life had been building to a climatic apex and subconsciously I realized that this day would bring a resolution which closed one chapter in my life while starting another. Or, maybe I didn't really have this knowledge of foresight at all, but the events of these days were so critical in the writing of my own story, that I have simply chosen to remember them in this manner. In any case, my visit to Sachsenhausen, the World War II concentration 20 miles outside Berlin, was one of the four. 

It was the middle of May and we only had a few weeks remaining before our journey was to end. I distinctly recall rising from bed and looking out the window to observe a colorful spring morning lighted by an immense blue sky. The gray blanket of the GDR winter had finally been removed. As we sat down to breakfast, my mom had a serious look in her face and she began to tell me that today the two of us were going to visit Sachsenhausen, which was now a museum. She added that she had been thinking about this for a few weeks and finally decided that at nearly 11 years old, I was old enough to handle whatever we may see. It was important to her that I understand what actually happened in World War II as it was a part of my own history, with the last name of Friedman and having a grandfather who received a Purple Heart in the War.  

Before I knew it, the two of us were exiting the S-Bahn station and began the ten minute walk to Sachsenhausen. To this day, the walk still fills me with wonder as we were heading to a place of death yet those ten minutes was so full of life! The beauty of the morning, the green emerging on the trees, birds chirping, the picturesque cobble stone streets in front of vintage houses lining the neighborhood. Then we made the last turn and the mood suddenly changed. At the end of the last row of houses there was a large gate. Upon seeing it, I became sense of fear entered me. Just the sight of this gate told me that if I stayed were I was, in the warm light of this beautiful day, I would remain safe, but if I crossed this gate, I would enter into a new world, full of darkness and knowledge I didn't want to possess.  

We approached the gate and looked inside. We paused for a moment before crossing the line into the grounds. At this moment, it was like we were in the Wizard of Oz, but in reverse. Behind us was the world of color and in front of us the land of black and white. There was no vegetation, no life, nothing. Just brown dirt and fading grey structures that were preserved to keep the story of this place alive so that all who visit would never forget. As I sheepishly peered inside, without stepping over the line, I watched as East German Soldiers walked around the grounds with their large German Shepherds. I noticed the perimeter wall around with barbed wire lining the top with a large skull and cross bones painted on one section. I looked back, at the street behind us, and wanted nothing more than to run to the nearest house, only meters away, for refuge. But I was here with my mom, having agreed to join her. I was here to learn about history, world history, my own history. I had a responsibility to continue. With great hesitation I took that fateful step forward.

As an adult I have visited the National Holocaust Museum in Washington D.C., twice. Both times I cried. But neither visit compares to my experience at Sachsenhausen. Looking back, I realize that at ten years old I was at an impressionable time in my life. It was a time where I was transitioning out of early childhood and just beginning to understand the immensity of the world and the concepts of history and time. Specifically, in traversing Sachsenhausen, I met its ghosts, which is an experience no museum can provide. To this day, if someone tells me they don't believe in ghosts, the rational part of me agrees, but there another part of me that wants them experience Sachsenhausen as I did. For this is what I recall: