An (Un)familiar Road

A few weeks ago, I went to Krakow, Poland for a weekend where I visited the Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camps. I do not think that I could adequately express the depth of my experience. I saw the gas chambers, the jail cells, the sleeping quarters, and the endless rows of barbed wire surrounding the facilities. I walked the road of death, the same road that many before me had walked only to never come back again. I saw the small cell where Father Maximilian Kolbe went without food for two weeks before giving up his life to save a fellow prisoner. And I saw the suitcases, shoes, and clothing left behind. It was a harrowing experience, but a necessary one. And being there made it feel all too real. I really don’t know how to explain it, other than to say that a certain point in that day words seemed to lose their relevance and what was left was a deep sentiment of sorrow.