Treblinka

Two hours northeast of Warsaw, in the direction of Belarus. The light was difficult today. The cloud cover was dark and heavy. The camera went dark at eye level and seemed to light up brightly as I moved closer to the ground.

I walked to the memorial alone, through forest of pine, birch, grass, wildflowers, on a dirt road cobbled with stones. Eight hundred thousand Jews from all over Europe died here. Ten thousand Poles died in forced labor here. There were sounds of birds, invisible in the trees, a mower or electric saw in the distance. The wind blew gently. The ground seemed alive to me, vibrational. I sat, chanted a mantra quietly, and spent time in meditation close to the many stones in remembrance of those who died.

Janusz Korczak and children

writer, poet, pediatrician, and director of children's orphanages

deported to Treblinka in 1942

Stone for remembering
solidity against time
worn by sun, rain, wind, snow
stalwart silence

waiting against violence