
Reflections of my Time in Poland while on Year Course
By Sigal Waisman Bierman, Year Course 2024-2025
Standing here in Poland, a place where history weighs so heavily in the air, I find myself wrestling with thoughts I didn’t expect. Before this trip, I thought that being here would make it easier to picture what the Jews of Eastern Europe went through. But even walking through the camps, surrounded by evidence of their suffering, I find that it’s still hard—impossible, even—to fully grasp. Without seeing the faces of the victims or hearing every individual story, everything risks becoming generalized.
I wondered, at what point do people become numbers? And is our way of learning about mass casualties—focusing on scale—doing more harm than good?
This question followed me to Auschwitz. That day I learned that Auschwitz is a museum, and I know many of my peers felt differently about that. Personally, I had no idea what to expect. At first, I was angry. The thought of it being treated like a museum felt disrespectful, like it was turning unimaginable pain into a display, making the Holocaust a “past” instead of a living, searing memory. Some aspects still frustrate me, like what our guide Miriam pointed out about the entrance tickets—printed with your name and “ticket to Auschwitz.” How could that not feel jarring, when so many Jews had similar tickets, but theirs led to death and suffering instead of an educational tour?
But as I walked through the museum, something shifted. Seeing the photographs, the videos, and the artifacts brought me closer to people’s realities. Sometimes more than other locations where things have been destroyed, becoming empty fields with small plaques. I realized those artifacts weren’t just relics; they were connections to lives stolen too soon. They gave me a glimpse of individuals, not just numbers. Each different shade of hair color. Each individual key to family homes. Each unique shoe encompasses fashion sense. As hard as it was to see, it was also impactful in a way I didn’t expect.
My biggest realization reminded me of something we experienced just a few weeks ago, when we volunteered at the Gaza envelope. That day, we were supposed to help the farmers by cutting weeds and clearing fields after October 7. Instead, most of us ended up back at a small shack, singing, dancing, and laughing together. At the time, I felt guilty, thinking we weren’t doing enough—thinking we should’ve been out there working harder, helping in a more concrete way.
At the end of the day, the farmer came to speak with us. I expected him to be upset, to reprimand us for slacking off. Instead, he thanked us. He said our joy, our laughter, our unity as young Jews thriving and bringing light to a place scarred by horror was more meaningful than any work we could’ve done. It was the light we brought that mattered most.
And isn’t that exactly what we’re doing here? Of course, we’ve come to learn—to witness, to mourn, to try to understand. But above all, the fact that we are here, together, as young Jews thriving in a place that once symbolized unimaginable darkness for our people, is the greatest mission we could have. It’s the ultimate act of defiance against the hate and evil that tried to destroy us.
The true victory of the Jewish people isn’t just survival. It’s our unity, our joy, and our love for life. Being here, walking these grounds, and sharing these moments together—it’s the greatest revenge we could ever take against the darkness of the past. We are here, bringing light to a place that once knew only darkness. And in doing so, we honor the memory of those who were lost in the most meaningful way possible: by continuing to live, love, and thrive.
