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Witnessing the Camps
Corey Eisenson

Standing on the grounds on Auschwitz-Birkenau, Treblinka, and Majdanek all felt different, and all were different.

Auschwitz-Birkenau showed me the mass scale of hate towards those Jews and others who were not the “pure German race”.

Treblinka showed me the coverup of murders committed by the Nazis, and showed how hate erased the flourishing lives of others.

Majdanek showed me how the conditions were targeted to be horrid because of hate.

Each camp was very different, but they all encompassed the pure idea of hatred.

On our final night, during dinner, we challenged ourselves to brainstorm how we will educate others on the Holocaust and the dangers of hate, making sure the lessons learned from the Holocaust will never be forgotten. Our current conclusion was to create a presentation and educate those who are our age, teenagers. But this is a small-scale idea, and does not target the main issue, hate. I believe progressively teaching individuals to look for positivity in others by exposing them to multitudes of different cultures, can work to stop hate towards anyone. Ultimately finding a true solution to stop hate is a hard way to look at it, so there is a mindset I gathered from witnessing the camps. Which is, there will always be people who deny the Holocaust, there will always be people who continue to hate, but there will always be more people willing to learn.

Reflections on Walking the Path of My Jewish Heritage 
Roger Snyder

How do you reflect on walking the same path that your family once walked to their death?

My entire life, I could hear my father say, “Your family never made it out of Poland. It could happen again. Don’t fool yourself.”

At 17, my father joined the Navy during World War II to fight the Nazis. He never finished high school, yet he devoted himself to learning about the Holocaust. He urged us, his children, to read and learn about it as well. “You need to know,” he would say.

Reflecting on my recent trip to Poland with my son Leo and led by Tamara Donnenfeld, I realized that I had not truly taken my father’s words seriously. If I had read and listened to everything I could, it still would have paled in comparison to the experience of being there. There is a stark difference between reading about history, watching films, and immersing yourself in it, standing on the very ground where it unfolded, and hearing the intimate stories of horror.

I learned about unimaginable atrocities, like the commandant of the Majdanek death camp using the warmth of the crematorium to heat his bathtub in the winter and his wife selecting Jews by skin tone for more unimaginable atrocities. I saw the massive scale of murder—not just of Jews, but also of Roma, Russians, and Poles—people targeted purely for what they were born into and not who they were.

Yet, amidst the horror, I also learned of profound bravery: those who refused to go quietly, who sacrificed their lives to save others, and whose descendants, “all of us,” carry their legacy forward. They fought in the street, the sewers, forest and even the cemeteries, refusing to go quietly.

As a Jew, I now feel an even stronger obligation to say to the world: You tried to destroy us before, and you failed. We are still here, and we will always be here.

The events of today remind us that my father was right. History can repeat itself. We must not rely solely on classroom intellect to combat hatred. We must see, feel and sometimes become a part of it. We must fight with our intellect, our hearts, and, when necessary, our fists.

This journey has been transformative. For 65 years, I thought I understood what it meant to be a Jew. But now, I know.

I urge you to take this trip with your family. You will be transformed.

What moment of site from the trip impacted you the most? How has it changed the way you see yourself, your community, or the world?
Marc Eisenson

The moment that impacted me the most on this trip, was our final stop as we toured Majdanek. As we gathered together, knowing that this would be our last site to see of indignity and horror, as the last story was read aloud, as the realization that the world would never be the same, now that we had this complete story shown to us, I looked around and witnessed love.

I saw fathers and sons and hugging, I saw mothers and sons holding hands, I saw my own tears which I desperately tried to hold back, and I felt my son lean into me and embrace me because it is ok.

No matter what the horrors were 80+ years ago, they could not eliminate us all. They could not take our spirit, and most of all, they could not take our love for one another.

Corey Eisenson

Two months ago, a group of parents, high school juniors, and a college senior embarked on the Multigenerational Holocaust and Heritage Trip to Poland. Their reflections have been both profound and moving, offering deep insights into the emotional and historical weight of this experience. As they shared their thoughts and feelings, I found myself inspired and deeply impacted. I hope this glimpse into their journey and the lessons they learned resonates with you as powerfully as it has with me.

The Holocaust revealed the extremes of human behavior in times of crisis- from the struggle to survive unimaginable suffering to the moral choices faced by those outside the camps. For victims in concentration camps, survival was a daily battle against physical and moral degradation imposed by the Nazis. For others living outside, many chose silence and inaction, fearing for their own safety and that of their families.

While the Nazis’ brainwashing and genocidal ideology represented the darkest depths of human immorality, there were individuals who defied this corruption, risking their lives to save others. Their bravery-a shining example of moral courage in the face of overwhelming evil- reminds us of our responsibility to stand up against injustice. These stories must be shared with future generations, ensuring that we honor the heroes and learn from the bystanders, striving always to choose action over apathy.

Leo Snyder

On the bus ride to Auschwitz, I began to process the weight of where I was going—a place where over one million of my people were murdered. I could stand in the exact spot where they stood, just 80 years ago. The Holocaust feels like distant history, but it’s not. As the generation of survivors fades, every story must be told before it’s too late.

The ride through the nearby town set the tone: late November, gray skies, bare trees, cold but not snowing. The old, unremarkable buildings contrasted sharply with the vibrancy of my hometown, Miami. I imagined the orphaned children liberated here with no families to return to—how did they survive? Passing ditches along the road, I wondered: Were people buried there?

Arriving at Auschwitz-Birkenau II, the scale of the Holocaust hit me. The camp seemed endless. I saw crematoriums, their ruins destroyed to hide Nazi crimes, and walked through a gas chamber, learning about the guards’ manipulative cruelty. Our guide shared a chilling story of two Jewish prisoners, deceived into believing their skills would help the Nazis, only to be led to their deaths under the pretense of delousing.

A recurring thought haunted me: This could have been me. My dad’s words brought me perspective: “We’re still here, and they’re not. We won.” His reminder to embrace my Jewish identity felt even more powerful in today’s world.

One significant moment came when my friend and I took a photo holding the Israeli flag in front of the Auschwitz entrance. At first, I posted it casually, but soon, others reached out asking about my experience. Later, I reflected on its deeper meaning. We—Jews—stood alive and thriving in a place where we would have been murdered. That flag symbolizes our resilience, our survival, and our promise: Judaism will endure, not just for 80 more years, but forever.

This idea reminded me of a quote I once saw on social media:

“If Taylor Swift has a million fans, then I am one of them.

If Taylor Swift has 10 fans, then I am one of them.

If Taylor Swift has only 1 fan, then that is me.

If Taylor Swift has no fans, then I am no longer on Earth.

If the world is against Taylor Swift, then I am against the world.”

While I’m not a Taylor Swift fan, the sentiment resonated with me. I once adapted it for Lionel Messi, but it fits even better when applied to my Judaism:

“If the world has a million Jews, I am one of them.

If the world has 10 Jews, I am one of them.

If the world has 1 Jew, then that is me.

If the world has no Jews, then the Earth has ceased.

If the world is against Jews, I am against the world.”

I will never give up my Judaism.

Danny Mazer

One of the most striking things I learned during my trip to Poland was how many people stood by and did nothing while the Nazis carried out their crimes. In places like Auschwitz, I realized that many people either remained silent or even supported the Nazi regime, contributing to the suffering. This made me reflect on the role of bystanders and what we can learn from their actions—or lack of action. We cannot be silent bystanders in a world where hate thrives. Indifference and willingness to accept cruelty or turn the other way, whether blinded by fear, power, or convenience presents an existential crisis for our world. The lessons of bystanders during the Holocaust are especially relevant today. Just like in Poland, there are moments in history and in our everyday lives where we might witness something wrong and choose to do nothing. For example, during the Holocaust, many Polish citizens knew what was happening but didn’t speak out for fear of retribution. I also thought about how the righteous risked their lives to help Jews escape or hide, even when it meant putting themselves in danger. The stories of their courage inspired me and helped me understand that standing up for others is not always easy, but it’s necessary. In our world today, whether it’s speaking out against bullying at school, fighting racial injustice, or helping refugees, we all have a responsibility to act when we see people being harmed. The Holocaust taught us that being a bystander is never an option if we want to build a more just and compassionate world. This was the “vacation” of a lifetime and one I am so grateful to have taken. Not skiing or relaxing on a luxurious beach but standing hand-in-hand with my family thinking of my unlimited future while honoring my heritage of the past. I have never visited a place where I “felt” more. Our days of difficult learning were followed by nights of laughter and fun. Thank you, Beth Am, and Tamara for being my life-long teacher and making this trip a reality. I hope every single member of our community takes this trip in the future – my soul is better for the experience. I will never forget; I will not be a silent bystander in this world. I will take these lessons on my journey to do good in this world and always speak of our people, our remarkable heritage, and the future they were denied. I will always continue to give their memories a voice and ensure that it is heard.