Tuesday, November 20, 2012

AUSCHWITZ RETREAT: NOT KNOWING WHY


Taking a break between meditation periods on The Selection Ramp.





         I knew I wanted to sign up for the retreat at Auschwitz as soon as I learned about it last February. I was reading a book about socially-engaged Buddhism, a path of special interest to me, when Bernie Glassman’s work with the Zen Peacemakers first came to my attention.

          Bernie, a Zen Buddhist teacher now living on the East Coast, has organized annual retreats at Auschwitz for the past 18 years. The intention is to gather together a diverse group of people to “bear witness” to genocide and other human acts that are difficult (maybe impossible) to understand with the thinking, rational mind. The Peacemakers, an order of Zen Buddhism Bernie founded, believe that by sitting and walking with an attitude of “not knowing,” by being fully present for whatever Auschwitz has to teach, a profound learning about the human condition can take place.

          When I read about the retreat, I immediately heard myself say, “I want to do that.” And soon after, heard my voice of self-doubt ask, “Why?” Nine months later, I landed in Krakow and, as I waited in line in the airport terminal to exchange euros for Polish zloty, heard an American voice ask, “Peacemaker?” I smiled an enthusiastic, “Yes!”

          Between that first intuitive but still shaky “yes” and the second confident one, came all the voices of friends and family. The most common reaction upon hearing me say "Auschwitz" was some version of “Why on earth would you want to do that?!” Even when their bewilderment was unspoken, they seemed surprised, even shocked. But a few, especially friends who are meditators, seemed to understand the desire to look deeply at what is hard to look at. Some got the concept of deciding to do something without knowing exactly why. One old friend, a Jewish woman who had visited Sachsenhausen, the concentration camp outside of Berlin, said, “You must go!” Another even considered coming along.

          So I told myself, “Maybe” and set out to try to dispel my own doubts if not those of others. I studied the Peacemakers website, looking for clues about whether this was for me: What kind of teacher was this Bernie? What kind of people did such a thing? Was I too old? How physically fit did one have to be to “sit in meditation by the tracks” at Birkenau. . . in November? I emailed Ginni, the registration contact person, with my bio and talked with her on the  phone.

          I bought Bernie’s book, “Bearing Witness,” and, by the time I had finished reading it, my doubts had receded into the background. (Well, except for doubts about whether my many layers—undershirt, long underwear, cotton pullover, wool sweater, down sweater, microfiber jacket, rain jacket and waterproof pants—were enough to keep me warm and dry. Those doubts I never completely let go of!)

          Bernie, I learned, was not your “typical” Zen teacher—if there is such a thing. I stopped worrying about having to be a “good student” when I learned that he had been known to assume the persona of a clown named “the Bubbiesattva.” (Google “Bodhisattva” if you don’t get the joke.) Bernie did “street retreats” in the Bowery to bear witness to homelessness. Also, Bernie was even older than I. If Bernie could do it. . .I could do it!

          As for what kind of person signs on for this retreat, Ginni assured me there would be people with many different “reasons” for joining the group, including people who had a reason similar to mine. Besides many Jews from Israel, the U.S. and Europe who came to remember the victims, there were sure to be Germans, probably some with direct family ties to the perpetrators. Like me, Germans who had come on past retreats, Ginni said, had often experienced a life-long sense of pain because of their national identity. Like me, these German people usually felt a deep desire for peace within themselves and in the world.

          Ginni assured me that I was not alone in what I felt, and she also gave me the perfect way to answer my (and others’) doubts. She reminded me of one of the three tenets of the Zen Peacemakers: not knowing, keeping the mind open, letting go of fixed ideas. I didn't have to know “why.” I only needed to trust my intuition that something in me and in the world might be healed by bearing witness to the horror of what took place at Auschwitz. I could, and would, simply keep saying, “I don’t know exactly why I’m going, but it feels right.”

         And, in fact, it was.

Walking out of Birkenau Death Camp (Auschwitz II) at the end of the day.



Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Saying goodbye to a new love, Krakow

   I've been hanging out in Krakow since Saturday when the five-day retreat at Auschwitz ended and most people headed for home. I've done some writing about the time I spent at Auschwitz and Birkenau--117 people from 20 countries, meditating and listening to the voices that arise out of the silence of that place--but life kept pulling me away from the computer and out into wonderful Krakow. Some people from the retreat have also stayed on, and the opportunities to continue the rich conversation about our diverse reasons to be here and our experiences on retreat proved to be irresistible. Even the unusually mild weather has drawn me outside for long walks on the winding cobblestone streets, around the corner to the Old Town Square and into Kazimierz, the old Jewish Quarter. 

   It seems that by making Shindler's List, Steven Spielberg has single-handedly revived Krakow as a tourist destination, and the restaurateurs, tour operators, hotel proprietors, as well as musicians and artists have responded with offerings catering especially to an interest in Jewish life and the history of Jews in Poland. Add to this the fact that the city has a huge number of students (350,000 out of a total population of one million) and that its beautiful old buildings were not destroyed during the war, and you end up with a wonderful mix of picturesque European city, university town, and cafe society. Very lively, charming, and small (and flat!) enough to walk just about everywhere. And did I mention cheap delicious food? Poland is in the European Union but still uses the Polish zloty. Perhaps that is keeping the exchange rate favorable to American tourists.

   So enough gushing about Krakow. I've fallen in love, and here are a few photos taken today, to show you some of its charms. No time for captions, but I don't think you'll need them to get the picture. I fly back tomorrow to New York, spend the night with Jim in Nyack and wind up this two-month adventure on Thursday when I land in San Francisco. There will be more blogging, I hope, especially about the retreat. That, by the way, was everything I'd hoped for. And even more.











Sunday, November 4, 2012

FROM NORTH TO SOUTH: HAIKU




AT FRAUKE'S

Old barn, now new house.
Beyond the line of oak trees
a horse flicks at flies.



Frauke's house and adjoining apartments, converted from an old barn
by her husband Klaus, an architect. Klaus died four years ago, but his
presence is palpable in the house itself and all the beautiful memories it holds.




IN SANTORINI

Greek island. Humans
dug in, built out, white-washed walls.
God edged all in blue.


On the trail north from our villa looking toward Oia. Carol and I did the 6-mile
hike in 3.5 hours--"Pretty good," we were told by a local, "for people your age."

Caldera cliff house.
White on white.  And every blue--
sea, sky, doors and domes.


 Looking south toward town of Firostefani from our top terrace.  On this level
was the room of our generous hostess, Vicki Ruskin, who invited eight
 women friends to help celebrate her 70th birthday here. Vicki's room was dug
into the rock cliff on the left as were other rooms on two more levels below.

Nine women nested
like osprey. Below, crowds crammed
in floating hotels.


Canvas sail still now.
Last night's wind, furious flapping.
Silence at daybreak.


Our main deck, complete with boat sail to provide shade. Straight off
 the "bow" is the deep lagoon and Volcano Island, the central cone of
 the volcano. Santorini is essentially what remains after an enormous
volcanic explosion  created the  current geological caldera. A giant
 central lagoon is surrounded by high steep cliffs on three sides.





EUROZONE DIVERSITY: GREEK ISLANDS

. . .and on Santorini, a different kind of life.



Palms and bougainvillea
black rock and red beaches


feta and olives
ouzo and retsina
motos and burros


Zorba and Odysseus
relaxed and slow


widows in black, tourists in bikinis


white stucco, terraced roofs
blue shutters, blue domes



cliff caves and open vistas



early to bed, late to rise.

Unfamiliar. And beautiful.





EUROZONE DIVERSITY: GERMANY

   I have finally arrived in Krakow, the final destination of my Grand Tour. And before entering the five-day retreat period at Auschwitz/Birkenau, I want to back-track a few weeks and post what I drafted in Rome about Germany and Greece. Seems I'm always a little behind as a blogger!

   Here and in the following two posts are some thoughts and photos showing the contrasts I encountered as I went from northern Germany to Santorini, one of the southern-most Greek islands. Once in the Eurozone, I never had to go through customs nor change to a new currency. Yet still I encountered, remarkably intact, a diversity of history, language, geography, cuisine, and character that makes travel so interesting and mind-opening. 

   One theme of my retreat at Auschwitz will be "oneness in diversity." The retreat teacher, Bernie Glassman, explains: 

   "We yearn to find things that are common to all human beings, around which we can come together. But underlying that yearning is the desire for people to be the same, to be the same as us, to affirm our way of seeing things. And that's the trap. . . .Adolph Hitler had wanted a one people event. His way of doing it was to eliminate diversity. He created hundreds of places like Auschwitz and Birkenau where he could destroy diversity and create one people who looked the same, lived the same. But he couldn't do it. Because the one thing we ultimately have in common is that we're all different."

   May the difference live on. And may we come together in peace through a deeper understanding of our differences.


In Germany. . .
oaks and heather

Heather in the Lueneburger Heide (Heath) where Frauke and I went hiking. 

wet, green, and flat 

Frauke (right) in garden of Lene (left) and Harrow Rademacher, Frauke's
brother and sister-in-law who hosted us for a "family history tour" in
 Wiesens, Ostfriesland. This is the area in northwest Germany where our
great-grandfather lived, and where our roots go back to the mid-1500s.

schnapps and riesling
brown bread and salami
kuchen and kaese
BMW's and bicycles
efficiency, frugality
Hansel and Gretel
sturm und drang

Berlin Wall, section called the "East Side Gallery"

red brick and stained glass
steeples and steep roofs
umbrellas and sweaters
tidy, cozy and protestant
early to rise and late to bed.

Typical north German farmhouse with connected barn.

Family. Familiarity.

This rock, where I'm sitting with Frauke's brother Harrow, is part of the family
 legacy. It's a spot where children going back many generations, and including
Frauke and her siblings, played as children.


My German family: Hillmer, Joanna, Frauke, Harrow, Lene and Marianne.
Frauke, Marianne, and Harrow are siblings, my second cousins. Marianne
and Hillmer's son, Habbe (not in photo), is married to Joanna; they are working
the family's dairy farm and raising another generation in the family house.
Their parents have moved across the road into a beautiful converted windmill.






Thursday, October 18, 2012

FROM ROME WITH LOVE

   I suppose I imagined Rome. But I didn't imagine this. Nor could I have. Mostly it's the size and ubiquity of all things Roman: ruins, walls, fountains of every shape for every use, colors, parks, churches, piazzas and pizzerias, pines and palms and bougainvillea, myths and motos, shrines and their saints. Even St. Peter's dome and the meandering Tiber seem always to be not that far away.  Everything is much bigger AND more beautiful--more OMG--than could have been captured in all those photos I saw before encountering the reality that is Rome. Those popes and emperors really knew how to show the little man and little woman just how small he/she really was. And in the presence of these monuments to God and to the men who believed they were God, they still have this effect.


  
   Photos just don't make it, not that it's kept me from trying for an approximation of that OMG moment. But mostly I'm trying to focus my shots on the little things. Like gelato. Did you know that there's a time of day for gelato? And also for espresso, and for pizza, and for buying stuff in stores (not between 13:00 and 16:00). And somehow something called gelato doesn't seem too terribly bad for the arteries and the waistline. Not if you call it gelato. Ice cream?. . Now that's another story and a continent away. 


Two scoops, 2 euros.
   
   Perhaps not surprisingly, the beauty and the grand scale (and probably the gelato) seem to have a good effect on people, or at least on the tourists who've come here during this not-so-hot-and-humid, not-quite-so-crowded season. It occurred to me--maybe on Monday while waiting in line at the Coliseum or on Thursday when we contemplated the long security line at St. Peter's Basilica--that I'm actually enjoying being part of these masses of people, hearing all these different languages, seeing all the faces full of anticipation, curious to see all these awe-inspiring achievements of humanity. Waiting in line to feel small. It seems to put people in a good mood. Thoughtful. Happy. Smiling. Putting our lives in perspective. Taking the long view.

Along with these folks. . .

. . .Jim as tourist on Spanish Steps.




     

Sunday, October 7, 2012

Anita and Frauke

  For my generation at least, history inhabits and haunts every corner of Germany. So many places we visited--Potsdam, Wannsee, Dresden, Nuernberg, Berlin, The Wall and Checkpoint Charlie--are fixed in our collective memory as That Time of world war, horror, starvation, extermination, and finally liberation and the Iron Curtain (what an image that is!).

  That Time I was born into, when My People were at war with My People.

   A time, as Jim likes to remind me, as far removed from our children's experience as WWI was from us at their age.

   As the daughter of German immigrant families, I have been reluctant to consider certain questions from this close up. Were my cousins, those whose grandparents did not emigrate to America, whose fathers and brothers were drafted into the German rather than the U.S. army, whose mothers tilled the land while their husbands and sons were off being wounded, dying--were these German-speaking cousins my enemy? Did they know about the camps? Did they point guns at the fathers of my friends?  Was something in me tainted by association? Did I have a special responsibility to make sure this never happened again?

  These were some of the questions I hoped to exam during the two weeks I drove and walked and listened and talked and ate and drank late into the night over glasses of good German wine with my lovely, kind and generous cousin Frauke Rademacher-Heidemann. Frauke was also born into war, two years before me, 1939. She also grew up asking questions, determined to do what she could with her life to bring peace and understanding among the world's peoples.

   Frauke showed me not only all these places in Germany familiar to you, but also places you've probably never heard of, familiar to Frauke and me because we share an ancestor, our great-grandfather Garrelt Antons Fecht.  

   We visited family in Wiesens and Aurich in Ostfriesland--farm villages too unimportant to be fixed in imaginations much beyond our own, a region so far north and west toward Holland that it claims its own language, Fresen. Together we recalled names--Anna and Anton, Jacob and Jans.  And especially my father's name Fecht--rare in both our countries, yet appearing over and over in the little cemetery surrounding the church (c.1500) where our great grandfather is buried.

   And we shared stories about what life was like here and there--as children, as young adults and now as older women--looking back  at Germany and the lives of two of her descendants. Two weeks to change that impersonal label "second cousin" into something more like "sister."

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

READY FOR DEPARTURE



The final countdown has begun at 19 Mirabel

On my To Do List for today:

1. Scan chapters of Bernie Glassman's book, Bearing Witness, about Auschwitz retreat. 

2. Send scanned pages as email attachment to friends who might be interested in reading what draws me to join the 17th group he will lead through this experience in November.

3. Call Cliff, the kind computer guy, to look at Daniel's Mini Laptop which D. has offered to lend me. I hope that Cliff will heal any worn out parts and pronounce it healthy enough to keep me blogging for the next two months.

4. Get this blog site set up so it's easy for me and for anyone who might want to come along for a virtual ride.

Before We Begin

Before the adventure of traveling, there is the adventure of preparation.
I used to love this phase, holed up with a book, reading myself into another time and space, imagining the person I would be there and then, anticipating endless encounters with the new.
  
No more. And why?