Poland 3, or Ping-Pong
Dear Mammy,
This story is especially for you.
Love,
~D
His name was Tyllman, a Medieval German name. He's one of the many German civilan volunteer corps members that have flooded Poland and other parts of Central Eastern Europe. His job: to work in Oswenim, or, in German, the town of Auschwitz. He helps to run the Jewish center in town, and works around the camp itself, doing clerical maintence. Our group was scheduled to have a talk with him at dinner, after going to Auschwitz and Birkenau.
I don't remember much from the talk, but after dinner, I saw a ping-pong table, and asked if anyone wanted to play. I remember the strong feeling of urgency; it had been an emotionally exhausting day, and I hadn't cried, hadn't talked to anyone. There's no one on this trip I can trust with those kinds of feelings. But suddenly, I had this idea that if I could play ping-pong, everything would be okay. Tyllman volunteered.
We volleyed back and forth for two hours, talking the whole time. When I mentioned how I used to play the piano, he let the ball drop, and took me to a corner of the room, where beat-up upright sat against the wall. It felt good to play. It felt even better when I asked if he knew any instruments, and he sat down and played a Chopin nocturne. Nocturnes have always been my special pieces - I never played one myself, but my mother used to, and I know most of them. I sat on the floor and reveled in the music, his company, the release of hitting a ball back and forth.
We wound up talking for another two hours, before we were both exhausted. I told him how I didn't trust anyone on my trip, how scared I was that Auschwitz couldn't make me cry, how much I feared being desensitzed. I asked him,
"Do you feel guilt? Is that why you're a volunteer here?"
"No guilt," he replied. "Only completely responsible for the future."
Before we split to go to bed, I reached to give him a hug. He held on far longer than I expected him to, and I felt myself sag against his chest. Other than my parents, he was the only person to hug me in the two months I've been abroad, and it felt as good as a hot shower.
"I'm sorry," I said into his shoulder, "I know we're strangers and all, but this feels wonderful."
He didn't answer, but squeezed me gently, and waited until I let go first.
2 comments:
*I was going to write something entirely different than this, but I think I've thought of something more appropriate, acceptable and more like what I really mean to say*
I know what it's like to be scared that you're desensitized to something because you can't cry about it. Or, because you can't cry at all. I've felt this way for the last couple of days -- a lot has been happening, and it's been really tough, but now I can't seem to cry. And though this story I've roughly referenced and yours are very different, I just wanted to tell you something I've realized recently, without the help of any homework assignment: not crying when something occurs that is devastating might make you feel awful, but it makes others see your strength. And you, my friend, are one of the strongest people I know.
Those tears will come. Perhaps you'll have a delayed reaction because it's such a powerful place that you need some quiet time to yourself to reflect on your experience at Auschwitz.
Though not expressing tears may make you seem cold to the place as it was for me for Terezin, just remember, it's not your facial reactions but it's how you express your words and feelings for the subject itself. I tried to write a personal statement about my Terezin experience but my friend didn't like it- she thought I could so do much better because she knew my passion for the Holocaust. So I wrote another one on a different topic and she loved it. There's nothing wrong with being desentitized, it's what you do about it that matters.
Didn't I give you a good hug? :) Missing you and giving lots and lots of hugs right now
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