On April 11 1945, American troops from U.S. Third Army walked through the gates of Buchenwald only to be greeted by survivors from one of darkest crimes in human history.
April 11 of this year will mark its 70th anniversary. But with every anniversary, there are fewer survivors to stand as living reminders. That’s why it was so important for Cochrane photographer Monique de St. Croix to share the story of former Buchenwald prisoner Robbie Waisman.
In 2012, she was invited as a volunteer photographer for March of the Living, an annual program designed to educated Jewish youth on the Holocaust. Students fly to Poland and walk three kilometres from Auschwitz to Birkenau – meant to contrast the forced marches roughly 750,000 prisoners endured. Survivors often join the students to provide living accounts of the horrors they suffered. Robbie was one of three survivors present.
Over the course of the trip, St. Croix got to know Robbie and was struck by his energy. “He’s 84 but he can walk me to the ground any day.”
On a chance, Robbie made a suggestion to the march’s lead member.
“Robbie very quietly spoke to the lead, ‘I wouldn’t mind going to my home town just to see what it’s like,’” St. Croix remembered.
And with that request, she said the itinerary was changed and the group travelled to Skarzysko Kamienna – almost three hours away from the Auschwitz-Birkenau memorial site.
“It’s one thing to hear their stories but to have the opportunity to be with them when they go back to these places is another thing.”
Robbie and the rest of the group travelled to his old apartment, a place he hadn’t been since he was small child, and out of that, St. Croix wrote the story.
During the day at Robbie’s old house, she said she mostly focused on her task.
“My job as a photographer is to document. I’m in the zone documenting. So for the whole time, I’m taking the pictures and getting the light and just working with it. I’m not necessarily experiencing it.”
But after returning to her hotel room to download the images, what started as a small description turned into something much more. “I’m looking at the pictures and I’m like, how do I sum that up in a paragraph? Then I just started writing. And that’s when it hit me.
“In a darkened hotel room in Warsaw, I thought, oh my God, I witnessed a miracle today.”
She posted the finished account on Facebook for the parents of the students, but no one in the group travelling with St. Croix had read it at that point.
Soon after, St. Croix received a call and she was invited to return back to Robbie’s hometown, where they visited the factory he was enslaved in during the war. As a small child, he was tasked with dislodging jammed machine parts because of his small fingers.
“He learned very quickly that to stay alive he had to be very efficient.” It was at the remains of the factory that she learned other stories; of how Robbie’s brother and him shared a secret hand signal in spite of the guards; of how one day his father simply disappeared.
“We all have our own stories and it becomes a part of us. We tell it over and over again. But this trip home for him uncovered other stories for him he hadn’t remembered.”
As part of the march they travelled to Israel, where St. Croix told Robbie of the piece. After she read it to him and a few other chaperones, he said, “I’ve been trying for five days to write it and that’s exactly what I feel.”
“Then he came and kissed me on both cheeks so we have very special connections now because of that,” said St. Croix. “Because I was there, I witnessed what he experienced. I was able to capture it in way that resonated.”
The United Jewish Appeal launched their annual campaign in September, with famous holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel and Robbie speaking. Before Robbie spoke, a student who attended the march read St. Croix’s piece.
She said Wiesel, who was liberated from Buchenwald with Robbie, was speechless. Both were featured in the 2002 documentary, The Boys of Buchenwald, which examines their attempts to rejoin society in France after their liberation.
What St. Croix hopes to convey through the piece is how someone who’s suffered so greatly now works for the greater good.
“He lost everyone and yet he’s able to do something good with his life.”
She said Robbie works with residential school survivors by sharing their stories as a director and outreach speaker with the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre.
“When he shares his story, that inspires other people. The evil in the world can seem so overwhelming. However, Robbie has inspired me to live one moment at a time. This is where we start... one kind word, one kind action, one gentle smile at a time, one choice at a time to do something good.”
April 20, 2012 - Skarzysko Kamienna, Poland.
“What about the baby?” These are the words Robbie still hears his mother whisper in the heavy darkness; hushed, worried tone piercing thin walls of their new living quarters; a tiny two room apartment at the edge of the bricked ghetto wall. Already a cramped space for their family of eight, shared yet with two more anxious Jewish families. Despite the innumerable things to worry about during this time of war, his mother worries foremost about him. His sister, Leah, only daughter, too enjoyed special consideration, but though already five years old, Robbie, the youngest of six was always and ever, “The Baby”. Again the question, “What about the baby?” The words are frozen there still, hanging in the darkness, unanswered.
Robbie, now 81, shares this memory with us, the Coast to Coast March of the Living Contingent, 113 strong, as we load onto lumbering yet reasonably comfortable buses, headed toward Skarzysko Kamienna, hometown to our survivor Robbie, who had not been there since he was eight.
What would be found? Rubble? A hostile neighbourhood? Newly constructed buildings? Would it be the same?
Buses 1, 2 and 3 loaded up and nosed in the direction of a little Polish town, located somewhere between where we were and where we were destined.
The authorities had been apprised of our intention. We were granted a police escort. No doubt the sight of three massive tour buses weaving in and out of little streets, through the tired and worn working class neighbourhood behind a police car, was a strange sight.
Robbie remembered the name of the street.
We find it.
We arrive.
We all disembark.
All 113 of us.
His face is alight with hope.
He strides with purpose, eagerness, anticipation, arm and arm with our other survivors, Fania and Mariette, followed by a support team of over 100 marchers, jacketed in blue, overflowing with love, offering unconditional support.
Our Security Detail, dark sunglasses mirroring back the excitement in Robbie's face, matches him step for step, assuring his protection should something go awry.
Robbie turns the corner of where he thinks his home should be, and stops. He looks up the street left, and down the street right.
We all hold our breath.
"There it is, there it is. That was the building where I lived."
Audible "ohs" from the sea of blue jackets.
For Robbie, the memories flood back.
He remembers the ghetto wall,
"I remember the balcony. Was it the second or third floor?”
It is amazing to witness his process. He is speaking out loud as he remembers, yet each memory brings him more solidly back to that time. Though surrounded by all of the marchers, the security, the other survivors, the chaperones, he is experiencing this moment alone.
Fania is by his side, Mariette stands shoulder to shoulder.
He looks again down to the right, and sees the modern track and field park. For a moment, he falters.
Mariette, herself a child survivor, herself belonging to a support organization for survivors, herself having returned to places from her past, steps in, and gently guides him to follow the memories from an eight year old boy in the 1940s through to the present moment, looking through the eyes of an adult.
"Don't look at the new stuff. It will look different from an adult's point of view."
The cues work, and the memories continue to resurface. His feet redirect towards the courtyard.
We all follow. We are now on private property. All 113 of us.
The crowd has attracted attention. A woman with short gray hair and kind eyes, comes out from the apartment block, speaking in Polish. Fania is able to communicate with her. It so happens she lives in that building.
Robbie is invited in.
His team follows, but not all 113 of us.
Renewed again, he bounds in, talking out loud his memories. Reaching the stairs he climbs, bouncing like a little boy would do. Again he falters.
Again Mariette is there: “Is it the second floor or the third, Robbie? What would it look like to a little boy?”
Again the cues work.
"It’s one more floor, I remember it was more than one turn around."
And so he arrives on the third floor. Arriving on the landing, he points toward two doors.
"It was with either that door, or that one." Robbie stands at the stoop, so close, so tangibly close, yet facing a closed door. The woman with the short gray hair and kind eyes arrives on the landing. She gently finds a path through Robbie and his support team, stops; stands in front of Robbie as if to block his way. Then, she reaches back and opens up the door. It is her apartment. She has been there for two years.
In slow motion, Robbie enters the home of his ghetto childhood days. Certain things have changed, but enough remains the same, and the memories tumble out, one on top of the other. He finds the kitchen. He finds the room where he slept. "It is so small," he observes. "I remember it so much bigger." He finds the balcony where his mother would keep the gefilta fish. He looks out at the view, at first seeing only his memory, then seeing what exists now.
After more than 70 years, Robbie has returned and found the home where he last lived with his parents. What a miracle that the one curious woman who came out, was the one who held the key to Robbie's early home. How wonderful that she was gracious enough to open her home if only for a few minutes that Robbie may bring a tiny bit of closure to this memory.
Upon stepping into the courtyard, Robbie was greeted by the entire contingent of Coast to Coast marchers, standing in a half circle, many marchers deep, in respectful silence sending out so much love and support…truly a touching moment.
We are not yet finished.
In his youth, it was a long twenty minute walk to the synagogue, but he is confident he can find the location again. He presses onward, all of us following.
Three minutes later, we arrive at what was once the synagogue.
There is nothing left but rubble of two walls. What was once a grand synagogue is reduced to an empty parking lot behind a mechanic’s garage, trash caught in the dead winter weeds. A dirt path derived of a desire to take a short cut from the alley to the street is the most striking element in this open space.
More memories flood back. "I would come with my dad. He had a wonderful big talis. I would go behind it, and roll myself in his talis. Such a secure wonderful feeling... all that remains is just an empty field."
Mariette steps closer, takes his hand, and gently commands, "Say, "I survived", Robbie. Say it." On the grounds amidst the ruins of his destroyed synagogue, surrounded by the group one hundred strong, Robbie stands taller, breathes in, opens his hands skyward and speaks to the spirits of his family members: "I survived. I survived. You're baby survived, Mama."
His shoulders heave with an explosive sob. Fania wraps her arms around his shoulders, and Mariette cradles his head.
We converge around him, our hands touching his shoulders, one hand upon the other's shoulders. The hope, optimism and strength of youth passing from the outer circle in toward all three survivors.
A short while later, Robbie stands tall again, and begins the Kaddish.
Faith, hope and love have survived.
Note: This text was originally written to the parents of the students participating on the March of the Living Program as a witness report about the events of this particular day.
