By David Lazarus
heard laughter down the hall and the clanky sound of German voices. "Nein, nein, nein!" a
girl squealed, and footsteps thumped outside my door. Normally I wouldn't have really minded.
But this night I was lying in a hard bed in what was once an SS barracks, and just outside my
window, a dark shadow against the stars, was Auschwitz.
jumped from bed and threw open the door. The corridor was full of about a dozen German high
school students. "Hey," I said, not knowing the German equivalent. "You want to keep it quiet?"
A boy stepped forward. He was a good-looking kid, with light brown hair and blue eyes. What is
it about Germans? They all look like they come from central casting. "I'm sorry," he answered
in English. "We are having a party."
is politeness disarmed me. "Well, think about where we are, okay?"
"Okay. Sorry."
t had been a surprise for me that there were sleeping accommodations at Auschwitz. The dormitory
is above a restaurant, just outside the barbed-wire fence. It's mostly for student groups, but an
exception was made for me after I insisted I wouldn't mind the spartan conditions. I don't know why
I wanted to spend the night at Auschwitz. I don't know for a fact that any of my relatives perished
there. But it seemed important. It seemed like something I had to do.
