23.07.2014
70th anniversary of the liquidation of the concentration camp at Majdanek
On July 22, 1944, the concentration camp at Majdanek was eventually liquidated. “70 years have passed since these events. It is a lot of time. Fortunately, those who can bear a testimony to what happened in the nearby prisoner fields and execution ditches are still alive. But the witnesses can also ask us if their voice goes from generation to generation,” said director Tomasz Kranz.
During the ceremony, which gathered among many others people detained at Majdanek, ambassadors, representatives of the state, regional and local authorities, a message by former prisoners (below). Its authors were Zdzisław Badio, Danuta Brzosko-Mędryk and Tamara Pawłowa Siermażko-Tokariewa.
Lubelskie Province Vice-Governor Marian Starownik read a letter on behalf of the Lubelskie Province Governor Wojciech Wilk. For the murdered prayed: bishop Mieczysław Cisło, Roman Litman from the Jewish Community of Lublin, Orthodox priest Marek Waszczuk, and Rev. Grzegorz Brudny from the Evangelical-Augsburg Church.
The wreaths and flowers also were laid down. Then the participants in the ceremony went to barracks 62 where the new historical exhibition “The Prisoners of Majdanek” was opened.
The observances finished with a concert to the memory of the Majdanek and Lublin Castle prisoners. It was organized by the Museum of Lublin and the State Museum at Majdanek.
How can one measure the passage of time in a concentration camp? In years? Months? Weeks? After all, no minute that had passed equaled the succeeding minute! It was experienced differently by a prisoner who was all numb with cold and a prisoner working in the scorching heat of July; it dragged on endlessly for the one awaiting a bowl of dishwatery soup, but progressed in a flash when one was shaken out of a doze. The time in the camp was experienced differently by men, women and children – although they were in the neighboring fields of the same camp. The days that passed after being transported from prison to Majdanek or taken out of home by force differed from each other, however, the longing for freedom was all the same. For many prisoners of Majdanek freedom was just beyond the “big Postenkette”, in the village of Dziesiąta where its remaining inhabitants were to be found. For the others freedom was unattainable. In 1943, it seemed to the women who stood on the grounds of the hilly Field V that it was enough to wield spades to touch the hearts of the free people. Carbide lamps that were twinkling in the windows of cottages were perceived by them as a sign of friendship. So were perceived the few dogs yelping – so different from the soon encountered growling German Alsatians. The clanking railway scrap arriving from the Lublin station also communicated its message and… so did the sky… How many sunrises and sunsets were there over the Lublin skyline at that time? You cannot count them… One took in the outlines of colorful roofs shimmering in the morning light or disappearing in the dimness of autumn rains or in the spring haze. How many dreams and loves flew beyond the camp wires, how many tears, no one can count them. The view of the Lublin suburbs, rather imagined than real, provoked reflection, induced to strike up camp acquaintances and talk about what had happened. Adults were able to adapt to the reality of that life, circumvent dos and don’ts, unite in communities. But not children. Standing at assemblies, feeling adrift among adults, they were crying less often as if they had cried out all their tears. Children who missed the motherly warmth, strong fatherly arms, their rag dolls and wooden horses. Children at Majdanek who had been brought here from neighboring lands or foreign countries died equally of starvation, illnesses, they pined away. Jewish children died a sudden death not knowing the word ‘death.’ ‘Selection’ was the word reserved for them.
Tell us what words should we use to describe that time for you, what names recall, what nations enumerate? Should we erase those victims and those heroes from our and your memory? We, the witnesses, still keep our pledge to them: we shall not forget. We give you their figures, faces, glances frozen in the frames. We ask you: remember, they had their families, dreams, but their future was destroyed by the hatred. We ask you: memorize five, ten glances because each of them is history now. Matylda Woliniewska, our camp guru, you said that as long our mind was free, we were not slaves. When we starved, you reminded us that bread, however divisible – could not be divided endlessly, but a word, however indivisible, could be divided and given away to thousands. And your word was made flesh: you set up Radio Majdanek and Buchenwald and Leipzig concerts, thanks to which we put our faith in surviving. Heroine Wanda Ossowska, indefatigable doctor Stefania Perzanowska, Wiesia Grzegorzewska, Alinka Paradowska, Girls from Pawiak – we thank you for the examples of courage, patriotism, for the friendships, for you were at our side and you were for us. Helunia Kurcyuszowa, carer of Byelorussian children, drawer of their small portraits. Zosia Leśniak, Malinka Bielicka, Girls from Kielce, Radom, Lvov and Piotrków – we remember you. For the twenty after-war years, I steered clear of Majdanek although I did not break away from the camp people. For twenty years, I struggled with nightmares, however, as soon as in the first year after becoming free, I wrote down my memoirs so that I did not have to come back to them after it. I came back. I came back to the damned land where friendships arose. I came back to the city whose inhabitants had shared bread, word and heart with us. The unknown had presented the unknown with the biggest gift – the gift of life. I came back to you, Aunt Antonina Grygowa and your husband Franciszek, and your wonderful daughters Zofia, Anna and Wanda, to you my dear Saturnina Malmowa, Lucynka Werewska, Kazio, Janka, Anna. May the secret messages from you turn into flowers of remembrance. And to you, young people of Lublin, because when I say Majdanek, thanks to you mothers, fathers and grandfathers I see Lublin, a city of culture and friendship. I thank you, employees of the Museum at Majdanek, the former and the present, thank you for cultivating the remembrance of the unknown victims of the inhumane times.
Warsaw, July 18, 2014
Danuta Brzosko-Mędryk, Majdanek prisoner (from January 1943 to April 1944)
I was in the camp at Majdanek from September till December 1942. I was an eyewitness to numerous tragic events, I have survived the horror of those days. In 1939 I finished primary school, I was a scout - I learned how to live with other people in harmony, how to help weaker ones and see the world in an optimistic way. The camp was a contradiction of those rules. I and many other inhabitants of my home village Krupiec were arrested in a round-up and imprisoned in Krasnystaw. After a few days we were deported to Lublin and detained in the camp at Majdanek. We had our clothes changed into striped uniforms. Our names were replaced by numbers. I remember mine – the one sewed on my sweatshirt and trousers – 16291.
Our group was located in Field I, in barracks no. 14. There were Jews from Slovakia, Poles, Russians. We were supervised by a blockführer (SS man) and functionary prisoners – a barrack warden and a blockschreiber (a barrack clerk). There was nothing. There was a shortage of water, straw pallets on the bunks, stoves to heat the barracks and kitchenware. Hard work, undernourishment, cramped conditions, vermin, no possibility to wash oneself and to change clothes triggered diseases, rapid apathy and nervous breakdown. In a very short time a few friends of mine who were arrested with me were dead. One of them was beaten to death, another one fell ill and went to hospital. From hospital he was taken to a gas chamber. The death rate of prisoners was high. Every morning, people who died at night were taken to roll-call. Their bodies were burnt in crematorium or transported to the forest in Krępiec for that purpose.
I worked in many work squads and was assigned to different jobs. I was exhausted. Fortune smiled upon me. I started my work in the canteen for SS men and Lithuanian wards. I recovered my strength quickly and I got to know life in the camp better. After some time our whole work squad was fired because of the escape of one of us. Therefore, I returned to life of a usual prisoner.
One evening I was beaten by a functionary prisoner for an attempt to smuggle a potato to the camp field. Injuries were so serious that the following day I was admitted to camp hospital easily. I stayed there for two weeks. The doctors (the prisoners) were in charge of us. Despite the lack of medicines they tried to help the ill. When I left hospital, I came back to the overcrowded Field III. In December 1942 during the morning roll-call my number was read out. I was supposed to go to the office of Field III. A Feldführer informed me there that I would be released from the camp. I got an appropriate document, I had my civil clothes back and I was led out through the camp gate. I was free.
During a few moths of imprisonment in the camp I learned that hunger is a disease that needs to be cured. When it is not cured, it causes death. In the camp a man was not a person but an object. He had no rights but only duties. People were losing their sense of dignity, they were struggling for survival. The place where we are is the evidence of those events and we, former prisoners, are witnesses. Young people have apossibility to learn about the tragic history of wartime and to draw conclusions so that it would not repeat.
I want to cite the words of the Pope, John Paul II, who was praying at Majdanek in June 1987. “Do not stop being witnesses of those brothers and sisters who left here their mortal remains, do not stop being awarning as it is written on the Mausoleum. The warning for all the generations that follow you, because you are marked by the horrific experience of the people. A man for a man should be a brother, not a torturer.”
Zdzisław Badio, Majdanek prisoner (from September to December 1942)
Dear Employees of the State Museum at Majdanek, Thank you all for inviting me to the ceremony of 70th anniversary of the liquidation of the concentration camp at Majdanek. I regret to inform you that I cannot participate in this event due to ill health. I deeply regret this, as I would like to express my gratitude and our passionate feelings to all of you – to all former employees of the State Museum at Majdanek, the Polish government, the inhabitants of Lublin and people of goodwill. I would like to thank you for your commitment and effort that you have been devoting over all those years to commemorate the martyrs and the killed, the hounded by camp dogs and those burned alive. This death factory caused thousands of victims. My father, Siermiażko Paweł Andrejewicz, and my brother – Siermiażko Eugeniusz Pawłowicz were among them. Me, my mother and my younger sister managed to survive by a miracle. Today, however, I am the only one alive. Therefore I feel obliged to make a bow for protecting this patch of sacred ground washed in the blood, which witnessed suffering and inhuman torments. I speak on behalf of all people who died here and few of those who have lived until today, but cannot attend this meeting. Let the memory remain in the hearts of the survivors. Let it bother their minds and prevent this nightmare from happening again so that we can live in the world of peace and calm, without any fascists willing to set fire to our land, souls and human dignity.
Siermiażko-Tokariewna Tamara Pawłowa, former prisoner of KL Lublin (from January to March 1944)
