I’m getting tired of washing my hands. I understand why we wash after visiting a gravesite. I wish we did not have to do it today.
There is a mass grave in the forest outside Tarnow that should not exist. Mass graves are unfortunately common in Poland. This one is different. Eight hundred children are buried here. Eight hundred children beaten to death, at night, in the forest. The forest at night is already a frightening place for a child. Thinking of them, separated from their parents, marched in to the woods by strange men and savagely killed should only exist in a person’s nightmares.
A blue metal fence with widely spaced pickets surrounds the site. Piles of burnt out candles and faded flowers line the perimeter. The top of the stone memorial is covered in colorful clay statues. Little toys with which little hands can no longer play.
The sense of loss here resonates with such strength that it’s overwhelming. It’s physically difficult to walk up to that fence. Then, when it’s time to leave, my feet are rooted to the ground. I’m a father who loves his children more than anything else. That emotion pours from me for the children lying here. While they cannot physically leave this forest in Poland their souls will be traveling me with for ages yet to come.
Journey to Poland 