Marching with a new set of eyes

NOAH TRADONSKY

The conference was held on 1 May in Krakow, Poland, on the 31st anniversary of the International March of the Living. I was one of a group of 21 young adults who came from around the world to Poland with the purpose of getting together and working against anti-Semitism.

Given the increase in anti-Semitism around the world over the past few years, the March of the Living International organisation realised that although it had 300 000 alumni (people who have done the march over the past 31 years), it had never effectively made use of their numbers. Many of its alumni would be willing to do their part in fighting anti-Semitism. As such, it could use its programme as the start of an initiative to create a network of people around the world committed to fighting anti-Semitism.

The 21 were selected through nomination by youth delegation and interviews.

We spent three days discussing the state of anti-Semitism in the countries represented by conference participants, including the United States, Canada, England, Australia, Argentina, Brazil, Germany, Panama, and of course South Africa. We committed to combating anti-Semitism, racism, and intolerance, and drafted the declaration of March of the Living Conference for Emerging Leaders.

Given the general similarities yet detailed, nuanced differences of our respective communities, the declaration was general enough to be relevant to all of world Jewry, yet particular enough to demand an active response from Jewish youth. It was no easy task.

Yet, at 02:00 the morning of 2 May, we accomplished the feat. It was a testament to the potential of individuals – no matter how different our backgrounds or future aspirations – who came together to fight for a common goal.

I had the privilege of presenting part of the declaration in front of more than 10 000 fellow marchers.

As I looked up before speaking, the black, rusted train tracks – drenched with blood and hate – lead directly from my feet to the centre of the brown-brick building at the entrance to Birkenau 2.

And as I breathed in, I realised the tremendous responsibility that we as Jewish youth have to shorten that seemingly-endless gap between the podium from which I was speaking and the freedom represented by the open steel gates.

Behind me lay the rubble of four blown up gas chambers which, combined, killed close to one million people in less than three years. Some way before me lay the freedom of the outside world.

Both liberties and responsibilities beyond that steel gate ought to be endowed to all men and women, irrespective of race, religion, or gender.

Though the Auschwitz grass in early May is green, it is drenched deep red in the blood of intolerance and hate. It is intoxicated by the tears of the oppressed, and the souls of the oppressors.

It is twisted and entangled by the indifference expressed by citizens who are law-abiding community members, but who don’t concern themselves with the dire inequality that exists beyond their comfort zone.

It is that gap – that life-long, committed effort not to label entire groups of people because of certain bad traits of individuals, to judge each man favourably and give all citizens, friend and foe, the benefit of the doubt – that separated the death behind me from the destiny that lay before me.

It is that gap that we must strive to close.