Dachau

From the time I started planning our trip, nearly a year ago, I contemplated the idea of visiting the Dachau Concentration Camp Memorial Site, knowing we would be in Bavaria. I knew it would be difficult to visit, but it felt both important and obligatory, as strange as that sounds.

In speaking with people about it, I found that many people wouldn't even consider the idea of visiting a concentration camp, which is understandable. If asked in the past, I probably would have said the same thing. The atrocities committed at these camps are unthinkable to most of us

However, in the past few years I have made a conscious effort to face my fears and discomfort around the subject In April 2023, Garin and I visited a traveling exhibit on Auschwitz at the Ronald Reagan Presidential Library, in Los Angeles. Also this past April, the children and I visited the Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington DC, which was difficult to see, but certainly meaningful. However, visiting a concentration camp is another story. I didn't know what to expect or what it would feel like. More importantly, even if I felt I could handle going, I didn't how the children would experience it.

I read the Dachau website in detail and also consulted as many blogs as I could find, of people who had visited the camp, both with and without children. I wanted to make sure I was making the right decision for our family. After extensive research, I decided to go and put it in our itinerary for the day we departed Regensburg, en route to Munich.

Fast forward to June 26, the day Fitzy died, which was three days before we were to visit Dachau. That event left me questioning my decision to visit, all over again. I didn't know if we could handle visiting a concentration camp, in addition to the heavy burden of grief we were already experiencing. Additionally, the weather for that day was forecasted to be in the 90s (which is unusually hot for that time of year in Germany) and far from ideal for such a visit. I didn't know what to do.

As we got on the road from Regensburg, I decided not to visit Dachau, for the aforementioned reasons. Instead, we would visit Schleissheim Palace near Dachau, on our way to Munich. I felt disappointed, but also somewhat at peace with my decision.

Then something strange and unexpected happened. As we grew closer I felt this strong urge to go, not to the palace, but rather to Dachau. I explained to the kids how I was feeling and we all agreed to go. We decided we would stop by and see how we felt once we arrived. If we were uncomfortable or it was too hot we could leave. All I knew at that moment was that if we didn't at least try to go, we might never have the chance to return.

Garin reset our navigation for Dachau.

(Note: I have included only a few photos from our visit. Out of respect for those who suffered and died here, I did not include photos of the "showers," the crematorium, or some of the other areas of the camp we were allowed to see.)

It is difficult to find the words to describe being at Dachau. Countless people, most of whom are far better writers than I, have contemplated and written on this place. I am sure that nothing I write could add to their impressions.

All I can say is that it felt unreal, both when we were there and upon reflection, in the nearly two weeks since we visited. There is nothing that can prepare you for what it feels like. Bleak is the best word I can use to describe the physicality of this place. I assume the feelings evoked by being there are different for each person who visits. On the one hand, I was overwhelmed by feelings of sadness at horror, thinking about what the people who were brought there must have endured. Dachau is a place where evilness and unthinkable human suffering coexisted, at their absolute worst. Yet, there is also an unexpected, albeit, eerie peacefulness there. At least that is how I experienced it.

As far as the children are concerned, they were okay. I saw many other children there with their parents, which reassured me that I had not been misguided in going. The fact that we had recently visited the Holocaust Museum in Washington DC was also a factor in their comfort (relatively speaking of course), in visiting Dachau.

Our collective grief over losing Fitzy and the oppressively hot weather certainly made our visit more difficult. Nonetheless, I can say, without reservation, that we were grateful for having the opportunity to visit. Our visit allowed us to both bear witness and pay homage to the thousands of people who were interned and murdered there. I was grateful that in the end, I didn't let my fear of visiting, nor misplaced fear for my children, prevent me from making this important pilgrimage.