Aurelia and I went out this evening to assess the damage. The water had actually gone down from when she'd been out earlier.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Inundatie
That means flood. Romania is flooding, as has much of central Europe recently. Our travel delays and changes in Budapest were an inconvenience. But now lives and homes are threatened in many parts of our country. One volunteer has lost her home west of me and her community is threatened. Here in Tulcea the water is high, but I don't know of any serious damage yet. Upriver, the waterfronts of Galati and Braila are flooded and the auto ferry is not running. We have rain forecasted through Sunday. My home is up the hill and I'm on the third floor, so I should be fine. We'll see what the next few days hold. As we know, it's a 4th of July kind of thing. 
Aurelia and I went out this evening to assess the damage. The water had actually gone down from when she'd been out earlier.
Aurelia and I went out this evening to assess the damage. The water had actually gone down from when she'd been out earlier.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
All the Museums
It’s pouring rain today, with delicious thunder and deep, dark clouds—a perfect day to be inside curating. I’ve just started reading Orhan Pamuk’s The Museum of Innocence, and he’s recounting the story of his lover’s earring, which is one of his exhibits in his museum. And it reminds me of a wonderful conversation that we had toward the demise of April’s wonderful Forum Theater, how she could envision turning the space into a Museum of Failures, and what would we each contribute. I volunteered my stack of unproduced screenplays that I kept under my bed. We had another joke when the flood came and turned those screenplays into my exhibit for our Museum of Disasters. Actually there was a mud-encrusted photo album that took first prize for that honor, until I gave up and threw it away. Thanks, Kirk, for trying to salvage it. But here in Romania, although I’ve only just started my book, I like the idea of a Museum of Innocence. I’m thinking of it in a naïve, new-start kind of way, and how innocent we all are, even after a year here, of all the dynamics of this fragile/resilient, hopeful/discouraged, dynamic/stagnant country. I feel guilty about not doing more, but I can’t figure out how to do more. We’re overfull of idealism and underprepared for a task that there is no way to prepare for. My little apartment on the third floor looking out at the dark green thunderstorm is littered with my artifacts for the Museum of Innocence—the ladybug cross-stitch by a nameless underprivileged child; a horseshoe found on the Luncavita road; my Romanian birdbook. How will I look back 20 years from now and evaluate this turn of innocence? It’s hard, a lot. But when I sit quietly with it, to allow myself this opening is really, really good.
Monday, June 21, 2010
1003 Paper Cranes
(Oh, heart, I would not dangle you down into
the sorry places,
but there are things there as well
to see, to imagine.)
-Mary Oliver
March 22, 1933
The Dachau concentration camp was officially opened. Stanislav Zamecnik writes that “Dachau was not the first concentration camp in Germany. But in contrast to the other camps, which served provisional arrangements, it was set up as a state concentration camp, as a permanent facility of the Bavarian State. In contrast to the spontaneous, elementary terror that prevailed in the other concentration camps, the terror in Dachau was systematically and purposefully organized. As early as April 12, the camp leadership set an intimidating example, murdering four Jewish prisoners under the pretext that they had tried to escape.”
In the first years, the Dachau camp was populated by political prisoners—those who spoke out against the Nazi regime—followed by Jehovah’s Witnesses, homosexuals, and immigrants. German and Austrian Jews were forced into camp en masse in 1938, followed by Sinti and Roma (both groups called Gypsies). In 1940 and 41, Polish and Soviet prisoners of war were sent to Dachau; many victims of mass executions. The minimum estimate of people killed or allowed to die through maltreatment and conditions of horror is just over 40,000.
Spring, 1944
The Nazis planned the construction of three huge bunkers in the vicinity of Kaufering for the purpose of underground aviation production. Eight primitive camps were set up west of Dachau to house the Jewish prisoners assigned to build the bunkers. At least a third of them died from the work, disease, and living conditions. Prisoners lived in earthen huts with little protection from the weather. The majority during this phase were Jews from Hungary and Lithuania. Prisoners unfit for work were sent to death camps.
“Then we are divided into groups and every group is lead to a shed, one descends down two deep steps and reaches a long basement room through a narrow door. It looks like a tunnel in a mine…There we lie down in the dark on something wide, like a bench. A wooden floor extends as far as the edge of the ceiling. It smells of mould…As we get up the next morning we see that we are in a barrack dug into the ground…When it rains the water collects on the tread-worn ground, sometimes it reaches right up to the deck benches, a couple of times it even floods over them.”
Prisoner account by Andreas Jehuda Garai on the earth huts at Kaufering IV. From the Dachau exhibits.
“We, those who entered the entrance gates of the Kaufering concentration camp, believed that nothing more could horrify us…But as we were told that the work detail we belonged to was to work in a night shift beginning the following day, the blood froze in our veins…Roll call with its endless beatings took place at dusk. The way (to the site), across a bitterly cold frost, through snow, through knee-deep snow, lasted a few hours. Weakened, we reached the woods. We shivered from cold, from hunger and from exhaustion. That was only the beginning of the torture. We worked out in the open with hardly any light. People fell from scaffolding, froze in the snow, fell into an abyss unnoticed. They were first looked for early in the morning, as their absence was noticed at the roll call preceding our return.”
Prisoner account by Oliver Lustig. From the Dachau exhibits.
In the last few weeks before liberation, Kaufering IV was declared a sick camp. The sick prisoners were no longer sent to work, but nor were they provided with any medical treatment. Essentially, they were left to themselves. Hundreds died in agony.
Spring, 1945
According to the Go For Broke website:
On March 9, 1945, the 522nd Field Artillery Battalion left the (segregated Japanese-American) 442nd Regimental Combat Team at the Maritime Alps. The 522nd was sent north to the Lorraine region of France to provide artillery support for the Allies’ final drive into Southern Germany.
On April 29, 1945, several scouts were east of Munich in the small Bavarian town of Lager Lechfield when they saw a sight they would never forget. The Nisei came upon some barracks encircled by barbed wire, the camp of Kaufering IV.
Technician Fourth Grade Ichiro Imamura described it in his diary:
“I watched as one of the scouts used his carbine to shoot off the chain that held the prison gates shut. . . They weren’t dead, as he had first thought. When the gates swung open, we got our first good look at the prisoners. Many of them were Jews. They were wearing striped prison suits and round caps. It was cold and the snow was two feet deep in some places. There were no German guards. The prisoners struggled to their feet. . . They shuffled weakly out of the compound. They were like skeletons - all skin and bones. . .”
The Nisei found the camp mostly deserted because Hitler and Himmler had already ordered the concentration camp commanders to march the prisoners south to the Austrian border, away from the advancing Allied armies. When the US troops arrived, hundreds of dead prisoners lay unburied in the camp. Many further bodies were found in mass graves.
On April 24, the brutal death marches had begun. Jewish prisoners from the outer Dachau camps were marched to Dachau, and then 70 miles south. On May 2 soldiers from the 522nd were patrolling near Waakirchen. The Nisei saw an open field with several hundred “lumps in the snow.” When the soldiers looked closer they realized the “lumps” were people. Some were shot. Some were dead from exposure. But hundreds were alive - barely. For the next three days, the Nisei carried the survivors into warm houses and barns. The soldiers gave them blankets, water and only tiny bits of food.
Lieutenant James Kurata said:
“What I saw. . . was too horrible for words to describe. It was pitiful. How could anyone be that cruel to human beings? We didn’t know how important what we were doing was in liberating the death march of Dachau.”
Spring 2010
Because of the help of many people in the states, including visitors to Manzanar National Historic Site, 1000 paper cranes made their way to the main Dachau camp and to the memorial at subcamp Kaufering IV on Saturday, June 12.
The main Dachau camp has an extensive exhibit and excellent opportunities for connecting with the stories of the site. I came home with a book about the exhibits which to my great satisfaction includes essays offering glimpses into the development of the camp, since it is not only important to empathize with the victims of this atrocity, but also to understand how it came to happen.
But mostly I was there to share our messages of peace and healing with the Dachau community. Here are a few of the written messages that we shared:
“This brings a message of hope, peace and love from me here in the United States of America. May our world become peaceful and may we learn to appreciate each other.”
“May God place peace in your heart. Thinking of you from California.” A 4th grade teacher
“I pray this will never happen again. You are in my prayers.”
“This is an awesome project and I hope these cranes bring a little peace to Dachau.”
“How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world!” Anne Frank
And the 23rd psalm, “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil, for you are with me…”
I thought of my friends at Manzanar, both the former internees and the people today dedicated to telling the stories; I thought of Sue Embrey and Sadao Munemori’s sister and her vial of Italian soil where he was killed; I thought of the 19 elderly Jewish people who live, still today, in Tulcea; I thought of the brave voices of survivors like Elie Wiesel who find the courage to bridge the distance to the rest of the world; and mostly I thought about all of my blessings and opportunities. So much of my life has come down to telling stories, and I’ve had the chance to be a part of good work. I hope that this experience will guide me in always being open to finding, sharing, and celebrating stories that matter. I thank you all for sharing this experience with me.
See more pictures here.
the sorry places,
but there are things there as well
to see, to imagine.)
-Mary Oliver
March 22, 1933The Dachau concentration camp was officially opened. Stanislav Zamecnik writes that “Dachau was not the first concentration camp in Germany. But in contrast to the other camps, which served provisional arrangements, it was set up as a state concentration camp, as a permanent facility of the Bavarian State. In contrast to the spontaneous, elementary terror that prevailed in the other concentration camps, the terror in Dachau was systematically and purposefully organized. As early as April 12, the camp leadership set an intimidating example, murdering four Jewish prisoners under the pretext that they had tried to escape.”
In the first years, the Dachau camp was populated by political prisoners—those who spoke out against the Nazi regime—followed by Jehovah’s Witnesses, homosexuals, and immigrants. German and Austrian Jews were forced into camp en masse in 1938, followed by Sinti and Roma (both groups called Gypsies). In 1940 and 41, Polish and Soviet prisoners of war were sent to Dachau; many victims of mass executions. The minimum estimate of people killed or allowed to die through maltreatment and conditions of horror is just over 40,000.
Spring, 1944
The Nazis planned the construction of three huge bunkers in the vicinity of Kaufering for the purpose of underground aviation production. Eight primitive camps were set up west of Dachau to house the Jewish prisoners assigned to build the bunkers. At least a third of them died from the work, disease, and living conditions. Prisoners lived in earthen huts with little protection from the weather. The majority during this phase were Jews from Hungary and Lithuania. Prisoners unfit for work were sent to death camps.
“Then we are divided into groups and every group is lead to a shed, one descends down two deep steps and reaches a long basement room through a narrow door. It looks like a tunnel in a mine…There we lie down in the dark on something wide, like a bench. A wooden floor extends as far as the edge of the ceiling. It smells of mould…As we get up the next morning we see that we are in a barrack dug into the ground…When it rains the water collects on the tread-worn ground, sometimes it reaches right up to the deck benches, a couple of times it even floods over them.”
Prisoner account by Andreas Jehuda Garai on the earth huts at Kaufering IV. From the Dachau exhibits.
“We, those who entered the entrance gates of the Kaufering concentration camp, believed that nothing more could horrify us…But as we were told that the work detail we belonged to was to work in a night shift beginning the following day, the blood froze in our veins…Roll call with its endless beatings took place at dusk. The way (to the site), across a bitterly cold frost, through snow, through knee-deep snow, lasted a few hours. Weakened, we reached the woods. We shivered from cold, from hunger and from exhaustion. That was only the beginning of the torture. We worked out in the open with hardly any light. People fell from scaffolding, froze in the snow, fell into an abyss unnoticed. They were first looked for early in the morning, as their absence was noticed at the roll call preceding our return.”
Prisoner account by Oliver Lustig. From the Dachau exhibits.
In the last few weeks before liberation, Kaufering IV was declared a sick camp. The sick prisoners were no longer sent to work, but nor were they provided with any medical treatment. Essentially, they were left to themselves. Hundreds died in agony.
Spring, 1945
According to the Go For Broke website:
On March 9, 1945, the 522nd Field Artillery Battalion left the (segregated Japanese-American) 442nd Regimental Combat Team at the Maritime Alps. The 522nd was sent north to the Lorraine region of France to provide artillery support for the Allies’ final drive into Southern Germany.
On April 29, 1945, several scouts were east of Munich in the small Bavarian town of Lager Lechfield when they saw a sight they would never forget. The Nisei came upon some barracks encircled by barbed wire, the camp of Kaufering IV.
Technician Fourth Grade Ichiro Imamura described it in his diary:
“I watched as one of the scouts used his carbine to shoot off the chain that held the prison gates shut. . . They weren’t dead, as he had first thought. When the gates swung open, we got our first good look at the prisoners. Many of them were Jews. They were wearing striped prison suits and round caps. It was cold and the snow was two feet deep in some places. There were no German guards. The prisoners struggled to their feet. . . They shuffled weakly out of the compound. They were like skeletons - all skin and bones. . .”
The Nisei found the camp mostly deserted because Hitler and Himmler had already ordered the concentration camp commanders to march the prisoners south to the Austrian border, away from the advancing Allied armies. When the US troops arrived, hundreds of dead prisoners lay unburied in the camp. Many further bodies were found in mass graves.
On April 24, the brutal death marches had begun. Jewish prisoners from the outer Dachau camps were marched to Dachau, and then 70 miles south. On May 2 soldiers from the 522nd were patrolling near Waakirchen. The Nisei saw an open field with several hundred “lumps in the snow.” When the soldiers looked closer they realized the “lumps” were people. Some were shot. Some were dead from exposure. But hundreds were alive - barely. For the next three days, the Nisei carried the survivors into warm houses and barns. The soldiers gave them blankets, water and only tiny bits of food.
Lieutenant James Kurata said:
“What I saw. . . was too horrible for words to describe. It was pitiful. How could anyone be that cruel to human beings? We didn’t know how important what we were doing was in liberating the death march of Dachau.”
Spring 2010
Because of the help of many people in the states, including visitors to Manzanar National Historic Site, 1000 paper cranes made their way to the main Dachau camp and to the memorial at subcamp Kaufering IV on Saturday, June 12.
The main Dachau camp has an extensive exhibit and excellent opportunities for connecting with the stories of the site. I came home with a book about the exhibits which to my great satisfaction includes essays offering glimpses into the development of the camp, since it is not only important to empathize with the victims of this atrocity, but also to understand how it came to happen.
But mostly I was there to share our messages of peace and healing with the Dachau community. Here are a few of the written messages that we shared:
“This brings a message of hope, peace and love from me here in the United States of America. May our world become peaceful and may we learn to appreciate each other.”
“May God place peace in your heart. Thinking of you from California.” A 4th grade teacher
“I pray this will never happen again. You are in my prayers.”
“This is an awesome project and I hope these cranes bring a little peace to Dachau.”
“How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world!” Anne Frank
And the 23rd psalm, “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil, for you are with me…”
I thought of my friends at Manzanar, both the former internees and the people today dedicated to telling the stories; I thought of Sue Embrey and Sadao Munemori’s sister and her vial of Italian soil where he was killed; I thought of the 19 elderly Jewish people who live, still today, in Tulcea; I thought of the brave voices of survivors like Elie Wiesel who find the courage to bridge the distance to the rest of the world; and mostly I thought about all of my blessings and opportunities. So much of my life has come down to telling stories, and I’ve had the chance to be a part of good work. I hope that this experience will guide me in always being open to finding, sharing, and celebrating stories that matter. I thank you all for sharing this experience with me.
See more pictures here.
Friday, June 18, 2010
All Along the Danube
As you know, I’ve been on vacation. We began in my fair city of Tulcea, cruised the Danube out to Sulina—mile zero on our beautiful river, visited my park, did the Delta museum, and spent time with my local friends; then we train-ed out of Romania through Bucuresti and Sighisoara; attempted to cruise from Budapest to Passau, with a significant delay for our boat due to flooding; and ended with a few days of heaven in the Bavarian Alps. It’s all a bit to digest and try to explain, so I’ll revisit my best of list-making.
Best bird sighting: tie between moorhen chicks on lilypads and airborn spoonbills (round soup spoons, not teaspoons or tablespoons)
Most intentionally horrifying site: Dachau (more about this in the next post).
Most unintentionally horrifying site: Copsa Mica, the site of a former factory, near Sibiu, Romania. According to Lonely Planet, “the factory produced black carbon (used in tires) and a metalworks plant spewed out filth that left the surrounding area covered in soot all year long; sheep were black from it, laundry could not be hung outside, and the health effects were appalling—two thirds of children showed some signs of mental illness.” We passed it on the train; it looked like a big burn site.
Sincere compliments on my hair: 3—John on the boat from near San Luis Obispo, man at Dachau visiting with his family, Edi from Gambia/Schenectady at the Munich airport—all leading to nice conversations. Thanks Mel for the hair-tidying efforts.
Best military base: Garmisch is nice, but I still give the award to Pearl Harbor; Garmisch only had a rainbow once.
Best view: Of all the cool abbeys, castles, and riverside scenery, you can’t beat the magic land up above the clouds, particularly from a mountain top.
Best thrill ride: Passing under bridges on the upper deck of our boat—you didn’t want to jump up, in fact I didn’t want to stand up.
Best chocolate: Bar with cream filling of poppy seed essence and apricot paste, found in Durnstein, Austria. I bought some for my friends; sorry y’all for how that worked out. Didn’t get one, did you?
Best music: Maybe they’ve played a thousand times for a million tourists, but the group that we saw in Vienna—playing, singing, and dancing Mozart, Strauss, and more—put on a show we’ll never forget. They were having fun with each other and with the audience. And they were great musicians on top of it.
Best film reference: The obvious answer is the Sound of Music, but it ties with those great old Leni Reifenstahl ski movies from the 1930s, particularly Storm over Mont Blanc. We did sing up all the SOM that we could remember. Repeatedly.
Favorite city: Straight up, Budapest. Loved the market, baths, and metro—more than great history, a vibrant living city.
Best food: Soups. Good soups regularly on our boat and in restaurants, but the best hands-down were the pair of soups we enjoyed our first night in Budapest. I had goulash and Melody had a creamy onion. Both were out of this world.
Favorite food: Strolling ice cream. Really, are we surprised?
Best purchase: (oh, and my family was so generous—thank you!) but the winner is the blueberries and raspberries at the Salzburg market. You can see that scene in Sound of Music too.
Single best moment of realization: Seeing the Alps outside Salzburg from the bus and thinking, “Holy crap! I get to see the Alps!” Similar to springtime for a Jeep driver: “I love my car, and look! It’s a convertible too!” Duh, but exciting all the same. Followed by an unexpected and really great cable car trip up above the clouds to the tallest mountain in Germany.
My proudest moment: On the train from Sighisoara to Budapest, we sat in a compartment with two young women from Switzerland and a Romanian woman from Bucuresti. They were already chatting when we got on and we learned the Romanian woman was heading to Alba Iulia for a high school reunion. She was a teacher 20 years ago, a brief interruption in her engineering career. After listening for a bit, I asked her some pointed questions about that time in her life vis-à-vis the revolution. She had very insightful answers and an interesting perspective. Then we talked a bit about things today. I think my family got as much out of this conversation as I did. I think I’ve become a better listener than I used to be.
Easiest routine to adapt to: Larry’s choice of Hobi bakery for breakfast in downtown Garmisch. Oh, the bread.
Hardest routine to adapt to: Getting my butt kicked repeatedly at Yahtzee. Thanks Mom and Larry.
Best reason for vacation to end: Gotta get back to work and make my second year here really count.
See the pictures here.
Best bird sighting: tie between moorhen chicks on lilypads and airborn spoonbills (round soup spoons, not teaspoons or tablespoons)
Most intentionally horrifying site: Dachau (more about this in the next post).
Most unintentionally horrifying site: Copsa Mica, the site of a former factory, near Sibiu, Romania. According to Lonely Planet, “the factory produced black carbon (used in tires) and a metalworks plant spewed out filth that left the surrounding area covered in soot all year long; sheep were black from it, laundry could not be hung outside, and the health effects were appalling—two thirds of children showed some signs of mental illness.” We passed it on the train; it looked like a big burn site.
Sincere compliments on my hair: 3—John on the boat from near San Luis Obispo, man at Dachau visiting with his family, Edi from Gambia/Schenectady at the Munich airport—all leading to nice conversations. Thanks Mel for the hair-tidying efforts.
Best military base: Garmisch is nice, but I still give the award to Pearl Harbor; Garmisch only had a rainbow once.
Best view: Of all the cool abbeys, castles, and riverside scenery, you can’t beat the magic land up above the clouds, particularly from a mountain top.
Best thrill ride: Passing under bridges on the upper deck of our boat—you didn’t want to jump up, in fact I didn’t want to stand up.
Best chocolate: Bar with cream filling of poppy seed essence and apricot paste, found in Durnstein, Austria. I bought some for my friends; sorry y’all for how that worked out. Didn’t get one, did you?
Best music: Maybe they’ve played a thousand times for a million tourists, but the group that we saw in Vienna—playing, singing, and dancing Mozart, Strauss, and more—put on a show we’ll never forget. They were having fun with each other and with the audience. And they were great musicians on top of it.
Best film reference: The obvious answer is the Sound of Music, but it ties with those great old Leni Reifenstahl ski movies from the 1930s, particularly Storm over Mont Blanc. We did sing up all the SOM that we could remember. Repeatedly.
Favorite city: Straight up, Budapest. Loved the market, baths, and metro—more than great history, a vibrant living city.
Best food: Soups. Good soups regularly on our boat and in restaurants, but the best hands-down were the pair of soups we enjoyed our first night in Budapest. I had goulash and Melody had a creamy onion. Both were out of this world.
Favorite food: Strolling ice cream. Really, are we surprised?
Best purchase: (oh, and my family was so generous—thank you!) but the winner is the blueberries and raspberries at the Salzburg market. You can see that scene in Sound of Music too.
Single best moment of realization: Seeing the Alps outside Salzburg from the bus and thinking, “Holy crap! I get to see the Alps!” Similar to springtime for a Jeep driver: “I love my car, and look! It’s a convertible too!” Duh, but exciting all the same. Followed by an unexpected and really great cable car trip up above the clouds to the tallest mountain in Germany.
My proudest moment: On the train from Sighisoara to Budapest, we sat in a compartment with two young women from Switzerland and a Romanian woman from Bucuresti. They were already chatting when we got on and we learned the Romanian woman was heading to Alba Iulia for a high school reunion. She was a teacher 20 years ago, a brief interruption in her engineering career. After listening for a bit, I asked her some pointed questions about that time in her life vis-à-vis the revolution. She had very insightful answers and an interesting perspective. Then we talked a bit about things today. I think my family got as much out of this conversation as I did. I think I’ve become a better listener than I used to be.
Easiest routine to adapt to: Larry’s choice of Hobi bakery for breakfast in downtown Garmisch. Oh, the bread.
Hardest routine to adapt to: Getting my butt kicked repeatedly at Yahtzee. Thanks Mom and Larry.
Best reason for vacation to end: Gotta get back to work and make my second year here really count.
See the pictures here.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Hey Pelican
On the road with mom and sis for vacation. We've been to the delta and are now headed for Bucuresti, Sighisoara, Budapest and up the river. A few last cranes to fold, but we're looking good. Reports soon from the river.
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