This article is from the source 'washpo' and was first published or seen on . It last changed over 40 days ago and won't be checked again for changes.

You can find the current article at its original source at http://www.washingtonpost.com/world/at-auschwitz-a-nightmare-revisited/2015/01/27/c7c00ed6-a246-11e4-91fc-7dff95a14458_story.html?wprss=rss_world

The article has changed 6 times. There is an RSS feed of changes available.

Version 3 Version 4
At Auschwitz, a nightmare revisited At Auschwitz, a nightmare revisited
(about 8 hours later)
Related stories:Related stories:
-Profiles of survivors of Auschwitz-Profiles of survivors of Auschwitz
OSWIECIM, Poland — Never forget? How could he? Years later, after the physical scars had healed and Johnny Pekats was a Park Avenue barber taking a little off the top for the likes of Mario Cuomo and Adlai Stevenson, he would still wake up in cold sweats, haunted by that moment. He hung up his golden shears. Retired to Florida. “Got out of the cold.” But still, the nightmares came, and he would see them, again, for the last time. OSWIECIM, Poland —Never forget? How could he? Years after the physical scars had healed and Johnny Pekats was a Park Avenue barber taking a little off the top for the likes of Mario Cuomo and Adlai Stevenson, he would still wake up in cold sweats.He hung up his golden shears. Retired to Florida. “Got out of the cold.” But still, the nightmares came, and he would see them, again, for the last time.
[Read: The voices of Auschwitz][Read: The voices of Auschwitz]
Miriam and Sharon. His mother and 4-year old sister, the bright-eyed little girl who was “the light” of his life. Miriam and Sharon. His mother and 4-year-old sister, the bright-eyed little girl who was “the light” of his life.
A milestone was observed Tuesday in this Polish city that, during the Nazi occupation, was known by its more infamous German name, Auschwitz. For what organizers expect to be the last time, a large group of survivors — more than 300 — gathered in frigid snowy weather at the bloodiest site of the Holocaust to mark the 70th anniversary of its liberation. A milestone was marked Tuesday in this Polish city that, during the Nazi occupation, was known by its more infamous German name, Auschwitz. For what organizers expect to be the last time, a large group of survivors — more than 300 — gathered in frigid, snowy weather at the bloodiest site of the Holocaust to observe the 70th anniversary of its liberation.
In years past, thousands of survivors faced their demons here. But not Johnny. Not until now. The dignitaries came on Tuesday — the presidents, the royalty, of both Hollywood and Europe. But after so many years of refusals, something else drew Johnny Pekats back. In years past, thousands of survivors faced their demons here. But not Johnny. Not until now. The dignitaries came Tuesday — the presidents, the royalty, of both Hollywood and Europe. But after so many years of refusals, something else drew Johnny Pekats back.
Before he dies, he said, he needed to bring his son here. The son he was never really able to connect with about those days, because he would start, and the words would somehow fail them both. That, and he needed to say a prayer, here, on this soil, for Miriam and Sharon. Before he dies, he said, he needed to bring his son here. That, and he needed to say a prayer — here, on this soil — for Miriam and Sharon.
He knew this was going to be tough. But “oh boy, is it.” He entered the camp, walked under a rebuilt replica of that lying old sign — Arbeit macht frei, work will set you free – and something within him suddenly broke. He knew this was going to be tough. But “oh boy, is it.” He entered the camp, walked under a rebuilt replica of that lying old sign — Arbeit macht frei, work will set you free — and something within him suddenly broke.
That moment was back, more vivid than in years. It is 1943 again. He and his brother are getting off the dank cattle car with Miriam and Sharon. His 36-year old mother is refusing to give up her small daughter. The two of them are taken away as the terrified brothers stand and watch, gazing upon their mother and sister for the last time That haunting moment was back. It is 1943 again. He and his brother are getting off the dank cattle car with Miriam and Sharon. His 36-year-old mother is refusing to give up her small daughter. The two of them are taken away as the terrified brothers stand and watch, gazing upon their mother and sister for the last time.
“Oh God, oh God,” he said, unable to control a rush of tears. “This is where they died. This is where they took them from us. I can see it. I can see it! Why? Because we were Jewish? I still don’t get it. I still don’t get the hate.” “Oh, God. Oh, God,” he said, unable to control a rush of tears. “This is where they died. This is where they took them from us. I can see it. I can see it! Why? Because we were Jewish? I still don’t get it. I still don’t get the hate.”
On Tuesday, he stood among a dwindling number of survivors — 1,500, for instance, returned for the 60th anniversary in 2005 — who sought a measure of catharsis by revisiting this place, where a partially reconstructed gas chamber and crematorium still stand among the brick housing blocks for prisoners. On Tuesday, he stood among a dwindling number of survivors — 1,500 returned for the 60th anniversary in 2005 — who sought a measure of catharsis by revisiting this place, where a partially reconstructed gas chamber and crematorium still stand among the brick housing blocks for prisoners.
This year, the landmark anniversary came at an uneasy moment for Europe — particularly for Europe’s Jews.This year, the landmark anniversary came at an uneasy moment for Europe — particularly for Europe’s Jews.
Among those scheduled to attend on a snow-covered afternoon Tuesday was French President François Hollande, whose nation is still mourning a wave of terror this month that included an assault on a kosher market that left four Jewish shoppers dead. He was slated to join a constellation of dignitaries including German President Joachim Gauck and the head of the U.S. delegation, Treasury Secretary Jacob Lew. Attending on Tuesday was French President François Hollande, whose nation is still mourning a wave of terrorism this month that included an assault on a kosher market that left four Jewish shoppers dead. He joined dignitaries including German President Joachim Gauck, U.S. Treasury Secretary Jacob Lew and representatives from 46 other state delegations in honoring survivors through commemorations held in and around the railway entrance to the Birkenau section of the camp, known as the Gate of Death.
Notably missing was Russian President Vladimir Putin, who complained he wasn’t invited and, nevertheless, said he had a busy schedule. But organizers said no leader had received a formal invitation. And his absence — he came in 2005, heralding the Soviet troops who liberated the camp on Jan. 27, 1945 after more than 1 million had already gone to their deaths here — appeared to speak more about Moscow’s fast deteriorating relationship with the West, and Poland more specifically. Notably missing was Russian President Vladimir Putin, who complained that he wasn’t invited, though organizers said no leader got a formal invitation. Putin’s absence this year, after he attended in 2005, appeared to speak more about Moscow’s deteriorating relationship with the West, and Poland in particular.
Early Tuesday, President Bronisław Komorowski joined a group of survivors who laid wreaths at the Death Wall near Block 11, where prisoners were routinely shot. A prayer service was set to follow, along with speeches by three survivors, Komorowski and Ronald Lauder, a billionaire philanthropist and president of the World Jewish Congress. The event was set to close following a laying of candles by delegations of survivors and heads of state. Under a massive white tent, a documentary produced by Steven Spielberg, who sat among the audience, illustrated the militant efficiency of the Nazi camps that became an assembly line of death. During a series of speeches, one Polish survivor, Roman Kent, described his imprisonment as an eternity spent among madness. He spoke of lessons unlearned in the decades since, noting the genocides in Rwanda and Darfur. The commemorations harbored strong references to the here and now, including the rise of anti-Semitism in nations including France and Hungary.
“Once again, young Jewish boys are afraid to wear yarmulkes on the streets of Paris and Budapest and London,” Lauder was set to say, according to a draft copy of his speech. “Once again, Jewish businesses are targeted. And once again, Jewish families are fleeing Europe.” “We survivors do not want our past to be our children’s future,” Kent said.
Solemn commemorations began a day earlier. Speaking on Monday night in the nearby city of Krakow, director Steven Spielberg warned that the Jews of Europe were once again under attack. A day earlier, survivors also toured the camps — including a handful who, like Pekats, had never returned before. This is an important year, said David Dario Gabbai, a 93-year-old survivor who traveled to Poland this week from his home in California. By the next major anniversary, he said, “time will have exterminated almost all of us.”
“We are once again facing the perennial demons of intolerance, anti-Semites, radical extremists and religious fanatics that provoke hate crimes,” he said. “These people want to all over again strip you of your past, of your story and of your identity.” And that’s why, at 85, Johnny Pekats finally came back.
Survivors also toured the camps — including a handful like Pekats who had never returned before. This is an important year, said David Dario Gabbi, a 93-year-old survivor who traveled to Poland this week from his home in Brentwood, California. By the next major anniversary, he said, “time will have exterminated almost all of us.” The retired barber walked the cellblocks of Auschwitz on Monday morning, arm in arm with Todd Pekats, his 49-year-old son, a technology executive who Johnny, in his Eastern Europe-meets-Manhattan accent, calls “the smartest guy around.” Yet, on this onedoozy of a subject, he had always found it easier to communicate with his daughter, Marcy Pekats Bratman.
And that’s why Johnny, 85, and not as spry as he used to be, finally came back.
The retired barber walked the cellblocks of Auschwitz on Monday morning, arm in arm with Todd Pekats, his 49-year old son, a technology executive who Johnny, in that Eastern Europe meets Manhattan accent of his, calls “the smartest guy around.” Yet, on this one big doozy of the subject, he had always found it somehow easier to communicate with his daughter, Marcy Pekats Bratman.
“When I was 13, 14, he would bring it up, but I think he would get frustrated because I wouldn’t respond the way he wanted,” Todd Pekats said. “He took that to mean that I didn’t care, that I wasn’t interested. The truth is I cared too much to really process it.”“When I was 13, 14, he would bring it up, but I think he would get frustrated because I wouldn’t respond the way he wanted,” Todd Pekats said. “He took that to mean that I didn’t care, that I wasn’t interested. The truth is I cared too much to really process it.”
For Johnny, the dates are a blur to him now, lost, or buried, somewhere underneath all that pain. His father, also a town barber, was taken from their home in Czechoslovakia in 1942; a year later, they came for him, his brother, and his mother. His most vivid memory is getting off the train. Someone was calling out, “Leave your children, leave your children,” Johnny ­Pekats said. “And I thought, ‘What, leave your children? That can’t be.’ ” Instead, he tightened the grip he had on his young sister’s hand. But as they approached the Nazi with the stick in his hand, the one who separated those who could work from those who could not, his mother finally turned to him.
His most vivid memory is getting off the train. Someone was calling out, “leave your children, leave your children,” Johnny said. “And I thought, ‘what, leave your children?” That can’t be.” Instead, he tightened the grip he had on his young sister’s hand. But as they approached the Nazi with the stick in his hand, the one who separated those who could work from those who could not, his mother finally turned to him. “ ‘Let me take her,’ ” he recalls her saying. “ ‘You go with your brother.’ ” Hours later, others in the camp told him what had surely become of them. “You could smell it, the death coming from the chimneys. It was horrible,” Johnny said. “They told us — I was 14 — and they told us, ‘Your mother is not coming back.’ ”
“’Let me take her,’” he recalls her saying. “’You go with your brother.’” Hours later, others in the camp told him what had surely became of them. “You could smell it, the death coming from the chimneys, it was horrible,” Johnny said. “They told us — I was 14 — and they told us, ‘your mother is not coming back.’” He paused before the darkened entrance to a gas chamber and crematorium at Auschwitz, as if unable, at first, to go in. Then, clutching his son tightly, he stepped through.
He paused before the darkened entrance to a rebuilt gas chamber and crematorium at Auschwitz, as if unable, at first, to go in. Then, clutching his son tightly, he stepped through. He stopped in front of the furnace, at first not really registering the device before him. His eyes went wide, and then another flood of tears. He has kept a portrait of his mother under his pillow, sleeping with it, he said, every night for decades. “My mother, my mother; my little sister,” he said, unable, for several moments, to say more.
He stopped in front of the furnace, at first not really registering the device before him. His eyes went wide, and, then, another flood of tears. He has kept a portrait of his mother under his pillow, sleeping with it, he said, every night for decades. “My mother, my mother; my little sister,” he said, unable, for several moments, to say more. His son, who both men said had never before wept over his father’s ordeal, suddenly broke down, too.
His son, who both men said had never before wept over his father’s ordeal, suddenly broke down too.
Supporting each other, they left the darkened chamber, stepping together into the light of day.Supporting each other, they left the darkened chamber, stepping together into the light of day.
“This is terrible,” Johnny later said of returning. “Terrible. Terrible. But I have my son here, and he sees, now he sees, with his own eyes. He sees what happened. He will tell his children. And they will tell their.” “This is terrible,” Johnny later said of returning. “Terrible. Terrible. But I have my son here, and he sees, now he sees, with his own eyes. He sees what happened. He will tell his children. And they will tell theirs.”
Stephanie Kirchner contributed to this report. Stephanie Kirchner in Berlin contributed to this report.