Unconnected

Hey, readers. I hope I have a few.

Maybe it is because we are approaching the end of the year. But lately, I’ve been thinking back to my old posts. “Staying Connected”
http://alhaqoutaptonen.blogspot.com/2012/02/staying-connected.html has come to mind.

In that diatribe, I ranted about how all the different ways we have to connect. I droned on about being too connected. Now it is time to talk about the joy of being unconnected.

Don’t get me wrong. I am not this religious superstar. I am far from it. I try. Maybe you’ve seen my prior writings where, I discuss Judaism. Years, ago, the Staten Island rabbi that first showed me the way gave an enlightening speech during Yom Kippur. He said, “As we go into the New Year and are atoning it is important to remember there’s no way we can possibly fulfill all the positive mitzvahs each year. Let’s face it, we all sin. Therefore, we probably cannot stay away from all the negative ones.

But we should all pick a few mitzvahs and see how we do at perfecting them. Then check back next year to see how we did.” I’ve been trying. I have a long way to go. Don’t we all?

Anyway back to the point, Facebook, another thing, I am too connected on has the “Stay Unconnected For Shabbat” page. Of course, I joined it eons ago.

This past Shabbat, I was pleasantly reminded how joyful it is to be away from my computer. I think these days we take personal conversations for granted. Does it still exist? Maybe. Do we say more online than face to face?

I probably receive over 200 emails a day. Most are from my summer camp friends. None of them live terribly far from me. But we never see each other. We rarely talk. But we email all day.

Sorry guys, but come candle lighting time, I am happy to walk away from it all and log off. I think it is better for me. Logging off once in a while might be better for all of us. It helps you collect your thoughts and think more clearly.

Of course, immediately after Havdalah, I log back on and am usually beset with hundreds of emails. I try to answer them all. Sorry for missing a few. But being unconnected is mind opening. I usually send out my last emails, make my last Facebook posts and then take a break from it all.

Back to being connected. But in few more days…

Shabbat in Forest Hills, N.Y.

I am lucky, very lucky. I never have to worry about finding a place for a Shabbat meal. That’d be dinner or lunch. I’ve lived in Forest Hills since the summer of 2007.

For the last several years, I’ve been fortunate enough to be treated to dinners that would cost well over $150 per head in any of NYC’s five star restaurants. I’ve been to the homes of several rabbis, Machane Chodosh’s Delicious Taste of Shabbat, Anshe Shalom Chabad’s dinners and to the homes of countless friends I am part of the family.

Years ago, a Rebbetzin said, I am the wandering Jew of Queens. I am. But aren’t we all wandering? I am happy to report. I’ve found a permanent home in Forest Hills. But do wander around the area.

Despite that I have Cooking merit badge, I am in no position to host Shabbat. Unless you want some delicious chopped meat and veggies cooked in foil? I can whip up anything over an open fire. Well maybe not gefilte fish. But I never tried. However, I am great supplier of Israeli wine, vodka and Arrack. At least, I hope I am.

Yes, I’ve done a few Shabbats in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. No offense to my U.S. friends. I find there is so much more spirituality for me to daven at the Kotel and have dinner in the Old City. I am sure you’d agree. I look forward to when we all do that together when Jerusalem is rebuilt.

Each dinner offers its memories. In one house a really cute girl with yellow, not blonde hair (according to her) will stand on the table and tell us how she made the dinner. She will let us know how the only thing she’s still not big enough to turn on the stove. But she cooked it all. She’s five. Pretty soon according to her ima (mom) won’t be able to tell her what to do.

In another house lots of cute and super smart little kids run around. They treat us to a lesson in the morning’s parsha (weekly Torah portion). They play games and hop around. They probably know more than most of us.

I remember when the older of the girls carried a salad to the table. The bowl probably weighed more than she. However, she wouldn’t let anyone help her carry it. She made it. I remember the night she lit candles for the first time. A little while before she did. She kept telling us she was lighting the candle. We all gave her gifts. She managed to attach herself to all the gift bags and run around.

Then there’s another house or family. When I say family we are part of it. The ages run from about 6 to numbers I cannot up to. I get lectured on what it was like in Brooklyn in years past. I even was given a few “nicknames”.

Our host is an older chap. He is very warm-hearted and has served over 20,000 people over the years. His gefilte fish reminds me of my paternal grandmother’s. I miss her.

The conversations at each home are interesting. We talk Judaism, sports, Star Wars, Middle Earth and more. Much more. Each home seems to have a variety of themes. The singing is always great. Not that I can sing.

The shul dinners are always fun. I just wish they’d skip the Kedem. I call it cough medicine. That’s what my mom said it reminds her of. But it can cure a cough. I had one once and finished lots of Kedem. I was healed. I willI always BYOB.

During the week, some of my Shabbat families get together during the week for meals in some of our restaurants.

I am now deciding what type of wine to take off the wine rack for this Shabbat’s Dinner. I am going to one my favorite places. In this home the spirit you feel is sky high.

Of course, I will never say which is my favorite. Oh why not. My grandmother’s was the best. She left us on the first night of Pesach in 1993. I hope her neshama is getting an aliyah as I type. I know she’s watching me and is with me during each Shabbat. I hope she’s proud. I so wish I learned to speak Ladino.

Well I know this week’s Shabbat will be delicious. Not only in the food. But in what we learn and the time we spend together. It is only a block away or so from my house. But I so wish it was elsewhere. I want it to be in a reconstructed Jerusalem. I know my hosts and all my entire Shabbat family wish the same.

Shabbat Shalom

Nicknames

We all have nicknames. They are given to us by our parents, friends, enemies and who knows whom else? Mine include Vampire, Bat and Shlepion, those were given to me in my camp, Chappegat Hill, Ten Mile River Scout Camps, Narrowsburg, N.Y. At New Paltz my Tau Epsilon Phi pledge name was, Fudd. My frat jacket has my name sewn into it. This blog is named after my Vigil name; Alhaquot Aptonen interpreted as Stormy Speaker. That’s because I spoke with bolts of lightning when I played Meteu, the medicine man and how I served as Allowat Sakima, mighty chief of the Lodge, Aquehongian Lodge #112.

I love all of these names. I am stilled call many. Doesn’t bother me. Then there are the nicknames people earned or were given for not such happy reasons.

In camp everyone had one. Some were funny. Some were “insulting”. But we were kids. We had the Dentist, Space Ace, Dudley Brain Dead, Space Ace, Fireball, Bubba, Rock-N-Roll and thousands of others. No we had millions of others. Bucket Butt, the Porn Star., the Office Girl (he cleans buckets), etc. We often took people’s real names and made ever so slight changes.

Let’s talk about a few of these people.

The Dentist. I named him in ’87 or ’88. To this day, I do not know what is given name is. My assistant scoutmaster (ASM) and I were on the Kunatah Ball Field. My ASM has many nicknames. I gave him a few. Some came from things “my leader” did to him in the dark ages. My leader could be a novel or a movie. One day. I learned so much from him. I am who I am in many ways because of his teachings.

Back to the Dentist, I said to the ASM that’s “the Dentist”. The kid was getting ready to play ball. Just like any other young scout. My ASM said, “why”? I said look at him. He has a toothbrush in his mouth. This kid always had a toothbrush in his mouth. Hence, the name, the Dentist.

I got my vampire and bat names in 1983. It was my first morning in camp. I woke up an hour or two before wake up call. I sat on the picnic table and stared at the snake in the tank. I was near the “Palace”, our office. My ASM was just getting up. He saw me. I was 12. He was very old at the time, around 47. But we all thought he was a hundred. Now he is 300.

He asked if I was ok? I was fine. This continued throughout the summer. They nicknamed me “Vampire”. I never slept in camp. I used to roam around.

Space Ace was from Erph. There’s nothing more to say about him. He was nice kid. He was a little spacey. We called him Space Ace. He would retort, I am from Erph. I am not.

All of the aforementioned, sans the Dentist were in my Troop 521 / 721. I knew nothing about him. Other than he walked around all day with a toothbrush in his mouth.

Some of the names were given because the kids were your traditional awkward teenagers. We were shipped off to Boy Scout camp. Some of us loved it. Some us couldn’t wait to go home. I think you know where I stand. We all took our share of abuse. That was back in the day when you were allowed to do that. It made us men. It made us laugh. It made us cry. There are some stories about camp that happened years later that I will always cry about.

As for Rock-N-Roll, he was one of Camp Kunatah’s staffers. Kunatah was one of TMR’s camps. It was the kosher section. Chappy at one point had been its own camp. Eventually became part of Kunatah. Chappy closed after ’88. Kunatah closed a few years later. Sad.

Back to Rock-N-Roll. He was in his early 20s. He's a strange cat. He used to yell at me for driving the Truckster, the Chappy station wagon over 2 MPH on the camp roads. We were able to go much faster. But he would freak. I was 17 and had my license for a few months. I loved the Truckster. I used to blast U2 and Depeche Mode, as I cruised along.

Rock-N-Roll would stand on the podium in the dining hall during meals and rock-n-roll on it. In other words, he bounced back and forth. One day my ASM pulled his socks down. We wore those goofy, way too big green scout socks. I hated them. I still have a few pairs hidden away. Last time I wore them was maybe 20 years ago.

One day, the Porn Star, he was an alumnus from years ago teased R&R. He would come up every summer and hang out with us. He’s in great shape. Rock-N-Roll was rocking and rolling. The Porn Star made some comment. R&R replied back, “I know you weren’t talking about me”? The Porn Star yells back, “Yes, I was”.

Poor R&R almost fell off the podium. Laughter burst out in the dining hall.
One day his parents came to visit. We were playing ultimate Frisbee on the ball field. He proudly told his mom and dad about us. We had out own site and did our own programming. We did much more than the other kids in camp and advanced much faster.
It started to rain. We had a tradition, if it started to rain during ultimate, we would play in our underwear. I have no idea why. Some of us played in nothing. R&R was ready to keel over.

Anyway, nicknames are fun. We all have them. We must live with them.

I have a few dear friends that every day we send hundreds of emails and texts back and forth reminiscing about these great times.

Respectfully submitted,

The Vampire

Being Clean

For some reason, past posts are running through my head. This time it is “Courtesy”. (http://alhaqoutaptonen.blogspot.com/2012/01/courtesy.html)

I knew I wanted to post today. But wasn’t sure what to write. The gym is my muse. So as I walked over, I knew I’d figure it out there.

Who would have thought, I’d be writing about it? I walked over to my favorite treadmill for my warm up run, about 15 minutes at around 7 MPH. Someone left a water bottle on it. I went to the next one. Tissues stuck in it. The next three were the same deal.

Yeah, I know I am a neat freak. After all, the eleventh point of the Scout Law is “A Scout is Clean”. I am Eagle Scout. Not all scouts are clean. In my beloved summer camp, Chappegat Hill, we had numerous campers we had to drag to the showers.
I have Camping merit badge. To earn this, you needed to remember to leave your campsite cleaner than how you found it. I wish the gym goers would have to take this badge when they sign up. I’d be happy to rewrite the requirements to make it more suitable for this venue.

Why can’t people take their water bottles or paper towels and place them in the garbage? I’ve worked out in dozens of gyms across NYC. I have passport membership. I can use any one of my club’s facilities. The one I was in today is usually one of cleaner ones.

People come to this club to work out. I grew up in the Staten Island one. That’s a spectacle. The girls come to do their makeup and hair, while running on the treadmills. The guys come and chat with their girlfriends. Eventually, they lift. No one wipes anything down there. It is the only club, I’ve been to that they do not hand you a towel as soon as they scan you in.

The Rock Center one is pretty clean. The clubs in Soho, Village and UES are usually clean. I am sure they all have their days…

I did find a clean treadmill. I did my run and went upstairs to the weight rooms. Thankfully, my cool down run was on my favorite treadmill. It was clean.

I don’t know why I am so obsessed with cleanliness. I know it is genetic. My mom is. So is grandma. She gets up every day at around 4:30 a.m. and dusts. Bugs her that she has to wait a little while till she can vacuum. Buildings have rules about that. I was on my co-op’s board for a few years. I was told by the maintenance staff that I have the cleanest apartment in all of the three buildings they work in.

I took it to new levels. In my old job we had buffet style lunches served daily. One guy used to put his hands in the trays and eat right out of them. A senior officer, who shared my obsession, knew this clown never washed his hands after the exiting the bathroom. So did I. We would scream at him in front of everyone in the kitchen. He never cared. Some people are just like that.

I know as being somewhat observant, I am required to wash my hands when I wake up, before davening and eating bread. I do all of this. I love that we have laws written into the Torah focus around cleanliness.

As you read this, remember I am far from a Tzadik. I am probably a Rasha, trying his best to get to a higher level. I’ve met only one Tzadik. But she is more like my personal Tzadik. Her wisdom goes beyond anything I could ever think of. She’s helped me in so many ways.

Anyway, time to dust. But I do hope you get my point. Keep clean.

Homeless

Some of you may have read, “Sneakers,” http://alhaqoutaptonen.blogspot.com/2012/01/sneakers.html my debut post. For some reason, the penultimate paragraph so kicked back into my head.
I think it is due to the fact that everyday when I board my “R” train to go to work, I see a homeless man who lives in the Forest Hills station. Over the years, I’ve given him some Snapple and other things.

Here I am, racing off to my Rock Center office. There he sits. Last night, when I walked home from the rabbi’s house after the break-fast. (The Rebbetzin made amazing soups, salads, etc. I felt much better. ) There was a lady sifting through the garbage bags on the street. She was on the phone telling someone about her finds.

It is too wrong. It really puts things into perspective for me. Yeah, as I wrote in “Sneakers”, how pissed I was that no store carried what I wanted. Yes, I found them. But the reality is those problems or being annoyed about how high up I was at MSG during the Who’s recent Quadrophenia show, are worries so many people wish they had.

For example, I know this is nothing. I’m planning my next vacation. I know I will find all the planning a bother. I am sure I’ll go back to Israel. But I can go anywhere. These people need help just to get a cup of coffee.

I’m not sure what can be done. But I wish something could. I am not trying to sound like a “do gooder”. I am not.

Yes, I did spend nearly two-years cutting veggies at In G-d’s Love with Deliver. The veggies and the other food we prepared are delivered to people suffering terminal illnesses, NYC-wide. During our introductory sessions to the organization we watched the most depressing, but enlightening videos. They make you think.

Now I am really happy volunteering with ELEM-Entry NY. Last year, I spent Thanksgiving Day in Tel Aviv helping lots of Israeli teens. For these kids, ELEM-Youth in Distress in Israel is the only help they get. I guess it was a “thanksgiving” for all of us.

These things are small in comparison to what I know some others do. Small in comparison to what’s needed.

I am lucky. I’ve survived stuff, I will likely never write about.

I wonder how much better off we’d be we if helped the people we see living the train stations and the kids in distress? As for me, I will remember how lucky I am.

That’s all for now.

Fudd goes Back to School

Fudd goes Back to School

October 28, 2012

I’ve yearning to walk the grounds of SUNY-New Paltz for far too long. Finally, I borrowed my sister’s car and cruised up there via the Garden State Parkway and NY State Thruway. I’m a creature of habit.

‘Ya see when I used to drive home from school, as a student, I would listen to my U2 Boy and October cassettes. Remember cassettes? On the way up, I listened to whatever, I wanted to. This time, listened to some great 80s mixes, the Cure, U2, Depeche Mode, Erasure, Echo and the Bunnymen. And well, Raspberry Beret came on, too. WTF? Yeah, it may sound weird that I added to Prince to the aforementioned bands. But he’s cool.

I felt the warmest feeling, as I pulled off the Thruway at Exit 18 and drove down Main Street. I drove past My Hero Pizza. Years ago; my New Paltz girlfriend celebrated her 19th birthday, while working on campus that summer. I visited her. After spending a day in Minnewaska State Park, we shared pepperoni pizza at My Hero. Neither one of us will touch pepperoni anymore. Ah, days gone by.

I drove past Joe’s. That bar was a hike from the main campus. They used to have bus service on Thursday nights. Guys had to be 21 to get in. But I had a connection and got in at younger age. Girls could get in at 18. They served them beer, too. I used to think Joe’s was this huge bar. Boy does it look small. Things sure change when you get older.

I drove past Murphy’s, P&G’s and of course, Gourmet Pizza. Wings-n-Things is gone. So is Thesis. I loved that place. Once it closed it became many things. For the last few years, it has been Neko Sushi.

One of my bros used to bounce there. So I got in and served whatever drink I wanted years before I was 21. I have great memories of Thesis. The owner was a nice guy. One night, he stopped the music and said, "The police just called and told me they are coming to raid us in about 10 minutes. For those of you under 21, finish your beer. Get your asses out of here. Go get some pizza and come back in about 20 minutes. “

We did just that.

One Thursday, I was in my room in Crispell Hall. It was quite late. For some odd reason, I had a Friday class. The phone rings. It was some girl I was dating. She was piss drunk and begging me to get her. I immediately jumped into my Cadillac, picked her up and threw her into my bed. I slept on the floor. I am a good boy. Still am.

As you can tell, as I drove down Main Street my mind flooded back to being 19 or 20. I parked my car at South Side Terrace Apartments, where I lived my senior year. I took a nice walk around the complex. I walked to my old apt, 3H. I shot some photos of the terrace and headed to Main Street.

An older "hippyish" woman was walking her dog. She said hello to me. I told her I was visiting and that I graduated 20 years ago. We chatted. I handed her my camera and asked her to shoot a photo of me. She got nervous. I think she was so trapped in her hippy days she had no idea how to shoot with a digital camera. But she took a nice picture.

I grabbed some Gourmet Pizza. Man, I ate it at around noon. In the old days, I would have eaten it around 4:00 a.m. It was one of our stops on the way home from our weekend or weekday bar hopping. It is still delicious. Even when you’re sober.

I strolled down Main Street and passed Ariel Dental Car. Back in the day, Ariel’s was the off campus, I believe cash only bookstore. Years later, it turned into Border’s. We know what happened to them. Now it is a dental center.

I hiked up to campus. I came upon Old Main and a few other buildings. I was so happy. I walked by Shango, “Go Shango”. Many of friends resided in this hall. I took a walk to the parking lot. That’s for another post. Or not.

I was in all my glory being home at New Paltz. Those days mean so much to me. As I walked along the beautiful campus there were many tours going on. Tons of high school students were there with their parents seeing the school for the first time. I hope not the last time.

I walked into the Lecture Center and strolled into the room where I took World War Two with Professor Lee. Then I walked into the adjacent building and walked next to the room where I took Israel in World Politics with “Lew the Jew”. That was Dr. Brownstein. The class was nearly all-Jewish kids. Lots of really cute girls were in that course. Us dumb partying students called it the “Jew Class”. Man we were immature.

I made my way into the Sojourner Truth Library. They are doing lots of renovations. The Quiet Study Hall is now the Media Center. They moved the Quiet Study Hall downstairs. The private study rooms now require a key to use. They are the size of closets. I used to study in there. One day, I was so hung over, I went to my first class. Then had an hour break between classes. I tried to study in one of the little closets. I put my head down and woke up around 7 hours later.

I kept going and went to the Dorsky Art Museum. That wasn’t there when I was a student. I looked at some beautiful pieces of art. I walked out and heard one of the tour guides pointing out the science building and saying the planetarium is in there. I don’t remember it. Not sure if it was there when I was a student. But I was so spaced out anyway. I didn’t need one.

I walked into the Student Union Building. I visited New Paltz Nov. 2003. The campus was very different than when I went there. But this building was still pretty much the same. Boy did it change.

I walked in on the second floor and took the elevator up to the fourth floor. I strolled over to where the Activities Assistants live. For about a year, I lived in one of those rooms. I think it was Room # 425 or 427. I did a mental map. I can remember the neighbors we had. Oh, I was not an activities assistant. I just crashed with one.

Anyway, I went down to the Food Court. It is now called the Hawk’s Nest. The food still looks gross. But the eateries changed. Outside of it is still some salad place and now two lounges that used to be the bookstore. That moved downstairs. By the salad store was also the area where I used to pick up my New York Times and flowers for whatever girl I was with. They always got lots of stuff from me.

I walked into the lounge. They were using it as a registration center for the tours. They asked me if I was interested in going to New Paltz. I loved it. I told them I graduated 20 years ago. We joked around for a few minutes and I was on my way down to the bookstore.

I went down to the bookstore and bought some t-shirts, a hat and winter hat for my nephew.

Then I exited the SUB and crossed the Gunk via Bridge #1. Don’t worry, fellow TEPs, I bowed before I crossed the bridge and said, the “Bridgebuilder”. I even made a few students shoot photos of me doing this.

The Gunk now has a sprinkler near Bridge #1. I don’t remember that when I was there. My eyes opened wide when I saw Crispell Hall. My college life started there. I walked in and saw the Resident Assistants. We chatted for a few minutes.

The dorm was completely renovated about a year ago. My suite is gone. All of the old suites are gone. The old payphone is gone. Well that was gone one night at about 4:00 a.m. One of my friend’s bros came to visit us for the weekend. He kicked the phone off the wall. Maybe it is better that my suite is gone. Who knows what the walls would say if they could talk? They saw me at my best and worst of times. At least this hall is still a 24-hour quiet study hall. Not that it was ever quiet.

I exited my old hall and went into Hasbrouck Dining Hall. Oscars or the Rat is gone. It became Hawk Street Station. But is now closed. There’s a little late night convenience store next to it. You can buy chips and soda.

I walked up the steps to the Hasbrouck Dining Hall. The place looks the same. Some minor changes took place. But it is still pretty much the same. It still smells the same. The food still looks nasty. I worked in that establishment during my school years. I was the B&C guy, beverages and condiments. I refilled the salad bar and the soda machines. Sometimes I slopped food on people’s plates or washed dishes. Once the cart with all the dishes fell on me. Oil splattered all over me.

It was not pretty. I got a few burns and spent the next day in a few doctors’ offices at home on Staten Island.

I left the dining hall and went to Bevier Hall. That’s another one of my residence halls. That one has not yet been renovated. It looks the same. I walked in and asked to take a look around the staff, said, “We usually let the tour guides do that. Did you get lost on the tour?” I said, no, “I graduated in 1992 and used to live here”. They thought I was one of the high school kids checking out the campus. Cool. They wouldn’t let me stroll through the building Bevier was a party hall. Funny, the quiet study hall staff had no cares about me walking around. The party building staff was careful.

I crossed Bridges Two and Three. Yes, I bowed. I walked to Bridge # Four. There were some kids smoking on it. Nothing legal. Years, I ago I had my moments smoking on it, too. But it was not cigarettes or pot. We were smoking. But hey, like the Shango lot, that’s for another post. Or not.

I went to what’s left of the Tripping Fields. Most of that section is a now new residence hall. I went to the gym. They built a brand new one. The old one is still connected to the new one. It looks like a trendy health club.

I strolled around a little more. I passed by Bliss Hall, which during my days was the only all female dorm. Of course, at about two in the morning when they did fire drills many guys walked out of the dorm. So much for it really being an all female dorm. On paper it was. Maybe they wanted to get the guys out of there.

I passed the other Halls that were there when I was a student. Hung out at the Gunk one more time and walked back to Main Street to P&G’s. I hung out at the bar for a while and left. While I was there, the bar was full of the townies. About three or four hours later the place would be mad packed with students. I wonder if they still play the same tape? Every weekend they played one tape with the same songs. I just made that mix on iTunes. It features the Beatles, U2, Jimi Hendrix, Billy Joel, Elton John and a few others.

Sadly, P&G’s no longer has live entertainment when the college kids are there getting wasted.

I left P&G’s walked down Main Street. I went back to my car at South Side and waved goodbye. I drove home to Boy and October.

Man how I miss that place. I need to get back up there with my brothers and sisters. Go TEP and DPHIE. I love you all.

Oh, I called it “Fudd Goes back to School” because my pledge name is, Fudd.

Sachsenhausen Memorial

I’ve wanted to write this. Yet I’ve been reluctant. At the end of the summer, I spent a few weeks in Russia and Germany. I knew when I was in Berlin; I was going to go to the Jewish Museum. I did some Googling and found out that the “model concentration” camp, Sachsenhausen was about an hour from Berlin. When I say model, when the Nazis built it they claimed it was the architectural model of future camps. In other words, the other ones would be built based on the way his one was constructed. Tears are literally coming out of my eyes, as I type. For weeks, I debated whether I was going to go. I researched every tour on Google. I emailed all of the tour guides. Finally, I settled on the one I’d take. But for weeks, I was not willing to enter my credit card information to reserve a spot. But I did. I arrived in Berlin from St. Petersburg. I spent the first day in the Jewish Museum. I spent hours there. Parts of it were magical. It illustrated all the great things we did and how we really are the chosen people. Then it turned dark. I knew that would happen. Eventually, I made it over to Checkpoint Charlie and well felt the greatest sense of American pride that I’ve felt in well, far too many years. That’s for another blog post. The next morning I woke up and walked to the meeting place near the Brandenburg gate. I was there very early and spent some time at the Denkmal für die ermordeten Juden Europas (Memorial for Murdered Jews of Europe). I walked through it and left some rocks on the stones. They weren’t graves. But there is no solid explanation of why the artist built the memorial the way he did. There are many stories. But one’s imagination runs wild when they walk these grounds. At least mine did. Some say that was the artist’s intent. I walked over to my tour’s meeting place at Starbucks. The tour guide told me where to purchase my train ticket. I did. It so irked me that I was taking a train to visit a concentration camp. Actually, that’s one of the reasons; it took me so long to reserve a spot on the tour. It would be my first ride on a German train. As we made our way down the steps to the platform, I was really nervous. Yes, I ride the NYC subway everyday. But this was different. Much cleaner. However, it was very different. We boarded the train. I sat down next to the guide and her dad, who visiting from Down Under. The group were all English-speaking Americans. People started chatting. Not me. My mind drifted. Yes, I was an on a very clean, fairly empty fast moving subway. But in my mind, I was on a jammed packed train loaded with Jews being taken to the camp. That’s all I thought of. I did look up at times and enjoyed the scenery. It was beautiful. But my mind kept drifting back to the concentration camp train car on display at Yad Vashem. My mind was filled with images of the millions of people taken from their homes, families and lives, as they knew them. The train stopped. We were going to walk to the camp. That is the way the Jews and other prisoners were brought to Sachsenhausen. They were marched in from the train. But we took a bus. I have never been on a bus more crowded than the one we boarded in Orangeburg. The camp was two or three stops away. I couldn’t move while standing on the bus. I could barely breathe. My mind was spinning. We pushed our way off the bus and walked a few blocks. All of a sudden the giant wall, which was the entrance, hit me in the face. We walked in. The guide pointed toward the bathrooms. We all took a bathroom break and walked around the “welcome center”. That was built when the camp became a tourist attraction. Concentration camps had no welcome centers. No one was welcome there. No one was welcome to be there. We learned on our tour that the prisoners were only allowed to use the bathroom upon wake up time, right before bed and sometimes during the work breaks. But work breaks rarely occurred. I never thought how lucky I was to be able to walk into a restroom. We started walking along the main road. We saw the training ground for the SS. Then we saw the Commandants Mess Hall. Prisoners cooked and served their food. We continued our walk. Shortly, we arrived at the Registration Field. It was at this site where whatever belongings the people were able to bring were confiscated. It was here where their identities were confiscated. They were given prison camp uniforms. Tall people got small sized uniforms. Short people got giant-sized ones. Heavy and skinny people received the opposite of their size. This was done to embarrass them. Their heads were shaved. They received their ID numbers. Each prisoner’s uniform had symbolic color codes according to why they were there. Jews were yellow, communists were red and gays were pink. There were other prisoners too. But the Jews were the lowest of the low. We then went to the work fields. It was here where the prisoners slaved all day from the wee hours of the morning in the latest hours of the night. We heard stories about the “neutral zones”. Nothing was neutral. They once took. Well most probably more than once took a prisoner’s hat and tossed it into this zone. Of course, they weren’t allowed in. But they were ordered to go. They were shot on site if they went in to get their hats or if they refused orders to go in. We were walking along and just gazing at these giant fields and imagining the terror that occurred. I felt so embarrassed to be munching on my cheese and tomato sandwich and sipping my bottled water. I ate more food and drunk more water in the span of an hour or two than what the prisoners got in weeks. I took small bites and walked along. We saw the guard towers. We walked to the Jewish barracks. Most of the barracks were destroyed after the Soviets liberated the camp. When it was decided to memorialize the camp, some were rebuilt out of the scraps of what was left. I went into two of the barracks. Horrifying. They had two tiny washbasins for dozens of inmates who slept on the most uncomfortable bunk beds. There was no privacy. They had rows of toilets lined up next to the washbasins. People drowned in the basins. Multiple people were forced to bathe at once. These basins could barely fit one person. Yet they made 8 or more squeeze in. We exited the barracks and entered the prison. Then we went to the kitchen. They had a giant potato basin. Often they put kitchen workers in the basin with ice-cold water to freeze them to death. There was some graffiti painted in the basement. Allegedly, “sympathetic” Nazis let it stay. A kitchen worker, who was a Jewish prisoner tried to sneak out with the equivalent of a half a stick of margarine. A guard caught him. The poor man was forced to sit in the tub of margarine and eat as much as he could. He was then taken outside and other prisoners jumped up and down on his stomach. He was then hung to a gallows. They let him off and went through this procedure again. It went on all night. They then hung him up again. The next morning the guards found his corpse hanging off the gallows. We then saw the memorial the Soviets erected for liberating the camp. We got to think about the liberation for only a moment. We were led to Station Z, the execution site. I walked along the entrance to the firing squad. Then we entered the “Examination Rooms”. No one performing the examinations were MDs or RNs. Jews and others were examined for gold fillings and other things. Experiments were performed. Then the people were brought to the ovens. At first the Nazis sold the ashes of those they killed to their families. Eventually they were gassing so many people at once they had no clue whose ashes were whose. As we walked out of the crematorium I saw a memorial. It was filled with Yazhreit candles and on the base was the Israeli flag. Our guide informed us that about two weeks before a group of Israelis toured the camp and led a Yizkor service in the crematorium. We walked out of this awful place and wound up in front of one of the many ash pits. Here is where thousands of Jews, gays, communists and other Nazi prisoners were buried. More and more ash pits are being discovered. We went into the pathology lab and saw the examination tables where the so-called “doctors” performed tests on thousands of Jews. Funny considering we were considered the inferior race they did many tests to “learn” how to save people. They saved no one. We exited the camp and walked back to the train station. Most of us purchased ice cream or a soda. We boarded the train and went back to Berlin. We were lucky we got to go on the train and were free to get off at whatever stop we wanted. Nothing is sicker than what I saw. I never felt more relieved when I freely walked out. Thousands of people never walked out.

May Hashem watch over their souls'.

B”H