I haven’t written down her name but I’ll remember her story. To know that there were Poles who helped. The more I hear during this visit, it gets difficult to remember that there were German who helped as well.
“Ariel”-Restaurant in Kraków. While the Klezmer-music is played, I read the story of Adela Schwarzer who looked for her siblings after 1945. The cute waiter can’t wait his shift to end, every second minute he gazes at his smartphone. Outside, football fans already make their ways to the pubs. Today, it doesn’t matter if they’re Christian, Jewish; the Eagle on their chest is red-white and wants to beat Portugal. (Maybe not all; across the “Ariel”, a woman in a red-yellow dress waits for about 20 minutes before leaving; without her lover).
Am I courageous enough? How would I resist? Or am I already asleep?
Vater Unser im Himmel!
Geheiligt werde Dein Name.
Dein Reich komme.
Dein Wille geschehe
wie im Himmel, so auf Erden.
Our Father who art in heaven,
Hallowed be Thy name.
Thy kingdom come.
Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.
Does God wants us to scream at little Roma boys while worshiping Edith Stein for being a martyr?
The Sunday evening after returning from Poland, I tell a friend on the phone about my experiences; Auschwitz, Kraków, … When I pause, a second passes. Then my friend tells me how tired she is, from partying last night. In the end, everyone decides how much one wants to see from the world; positively, negatively. I want to see as much as possible.