Madam Speaker, as we vote today to recognize the 60th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz, it is worth noting that the number of Holocaust survivors who bore witness to the atrocities at the German camps is dwindling. One, respected…
Madam Speaker, as we vote today to recognize the 60th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz, it is worth noting that the number of Holocaust survivors who bore witness to the atrocities at the German camps is dwindling.
One, respected lawyer, Samuel Pisar, wrote an impressive op-ed piece several days ago in the Washington Post. It is hard to imagine witnessing--let alone surviving--the horror. Mr. Pisar movingly describes the last time he saw his mother and sister.
Some, like my father, were more fortunate. A graduate of medical school in Germany, he was able to immigrate to New York in 1935. But he taught our family well: never to forget.
I also want to take this moment to celebrate the life and achievement of the only survivor who serves in Congress--our esteemed colleague from California, Mr. Lantos, who brought this Resolution to the House floor today. I thank him and ask unanimous consent that Samuel Pisar's article be printed in the Congressional Record.
[From the Washington Post, Jan. 23, 2005]
Will We `Never Forget'?
(By Samuel Pisar)
Sixty years ago the Russians liberated Auschwitz, as the
Americans approached Dachau. The Allied advance revealed to a
stunned world the horrors of the greatest catastrophe ever to
befall our civilization. To a survivor of both death
factories, where Hitler's gruesome reality eclipsed Dante's
imaginary inferno, being alive and well so many years later
feels unreal.
We the survivors are now disappearing one by one. Soon
history will speak of Auschwitz at best with the impersonal
voice of researchers and novelists, at worst with the
malevolence of demagogues and falsifiers. This week the last
of us, with a multitude of heads of state and other
dignitaries, are gathering at that cursed site to remind the
world that past can be prologue, that the mountains of human
ashes dispersed there are a warning to humanity of what may
still lie ahead.
The genocides in Armenia, Cambodia, Bosnia, Kosovo and
Rwanda and the recent massacres of innocents in the United
States, Spain, Israel, Indonesia and so many other
countries have demonstrated our inability to learn from the
blood-soaked past. Auschwitz, the symbol of absolute evil, is
not only about that past, it is about the present and the
future of our newly enflamed world, where a coupling of
murderous ideologues and means of mass destruction can
trigger new catastrophes.
When the ghetto liquidation in Bialystok, Poland, began,
only three members of our family were still alive: my mother,
my little sister and I, age 13. Father had already been
executed by the Gestapo. Mother told me to put on long pants,
hoping I would look more like a man, capable of slave labor.
``And you and Frieda?'' I asked. She didn't answer. She knew
that their fate was sealed. As they were chased, with the
other women, the children, the old and the sick, toward the
waiting cattle cars, I could not take my eyes off them.
Little Freida held my mother with one hand, and with the
other, her favorite doll. They looked at me too, before
disappearing from my life forever.
Their train went directly to Auschwitz-Birkenau, mine to
the extermination camp of Majdanek. Months later, I also
landed in Auschwitz, still hoping naively to find their
trace. When the SS guards, with their dogs and whips,
unsealed my cattle car, many of my comrades were already dead
from hunger, thirst and lack of air. At the central ramp,
surrounded by electrically charged barbed wire, we were
ordered to strip naked and file past the infamous Dr. Josef
Mengele. The ``angel of death'' performed on us his ritual
``selection''--those who were to die immediately to the
right, those destined to live a little longer and undergo
other atrocious medical experiments, to the left.
In the background there was music. At the main gate, with
its sinister slogan ``Work Brings Freedom,'' sat, dressed in
striped prison rags like mine, one of the most remarkable
orchestras ever assembled. It was made up of virtuosos from
Warsaw and Paris, Kiev and Amsterdam, Rome and Budapest. To
accompany these selections, hangings and shootings while the
gas chambers and crematoria belched smoke and fire, these
gentle musicians were forced to play Bach, Schubert and
Mozart, interspersed with marches to the glory of the Fuhrer.
In the summer of 1944, the Third Reich was on the verge of
collapse, yet Berlin's most urgent priority was to accelerate
the ``final solution.'' The death toll in the gas chambers on
D-Day, as on any other day, far surpassed the enormous Allied
losses suffered on the beaches of Normandy.
My labor commando was assigned to remove garbage from a
ramp near the crematoria. From there I observed the peak of
human extermination and heard the blood-curdling cries of
innocents as they were herded into the gas chambers. Once the
doors were locked, they had only three minutes to live, yet
they found enough strength to dig their fingernails into the
walls and scratch in the words ``Never Forget.''
Have we already forgotten?
I also witnessed an extraordinary act of heroism. The
Sonderkommando--inmates coerced to dispose of bodies--
attacked the SS guards, threw them into the furnaces, set
fire to buildings and excaped. They were rapidly captured and
executed, but their courage boosted our morale.
As the Russians advanced, those of us still able to work
were evacuated deep into Germany. My misery continued at
Dachau. During a final death march, while our column was
being strafed by Allied plans that mistook us for Wehrmacht
troops, I escaped with a few others. An armored battalion of
GIs brought me life and freedom. I had just turned 16--a
skeletal ``subhuman'' with shaved head and sunken eyes who
had been trying so long to hold on to a flicker of hope.
``God bless America,'' I shouted uncontrollably.
In the autumn of their lives, the survivors of Auschwitz
feel a visceral need to transmit what we have endured, to
warn younger generations that today's intolerance, fanaticism
and hatred can destroy their world as they once destroyed
ours, that powerful alert systems must be built not only
against the fury of nature--a tsunami or storm or eruption--
but above all against the folly of man. Because we know from
bitter experience that the human animal is capable of the
worst, as well as the best--of madness as of genius--and that
the unthinkable remains possible.
In the wake of so many recent tragedies, a wave of
compassion and solidarity for the victims, a fragile yearning
for peace, democracy and liberty, seem to be spreading around
the plant. It is far too early to evaluate their potential.
Mankind, divided and confused, still hesitates, vacillates
like a sleepwalker on the edge of an abyss. But the
irrevocable has not yet happened; our chances are still
intact. Pray that we learn how to seize them.