The Place in the Woods

In the woods, there is a place that was once filled with fear and despair. Now peaceful, it holds the remains of a quarter of a million souls. This place, disguised as a charming village, was actually a trap. Once entered, the truth became clear - fences, hidden corners, and an atmosphere of fear. People were separated from loved ones, stripped, beaten, and filled with terror. The ground itself was disturbed and used as mass graves. The building served as a factory for death, with gas chambers filled with innocent victims. The horrors were meticulously hidden and order was maintained. Today, some still refuse to believe these stories, but the evidence is there in the forests, the birds, and the air. the place in the woods. What if I told you there was a place in the woods? A place where the serenity of nature was once drowned out by the deafening roar of fear. Would you believe me? And what if I explained that this place, hidden deep in the forest and now so peaceful, once rang with cries of despair, gunshots and dogs barking? You'd find that hard to believe too, right? And if I took you there, to stroll among the pine trees, looking upwards through the dappled sunlight and told you that right here, under your feet, was the resting place of a quarter of a million souls? Would you believe me? For month after month this place was once bustling. Trains stopped at the tiny, unremarkable station twice a day. Officials checked off the timetables, guards blew their whistles, locals walked by on their way to work in the forest. First impressions were almost favorable. The lush green beauty of the forest contrasted the sparkling white houses that stood idly by the tracks, their simple front gardens blooming with carefully tended flowers. Well-dressed people tended to these buildings. They looked well, content and almost satisfied in their work. The new arrivals might have found solace is the sound of geese, of farm machinery humming and the leaves playing in the breeze. But what if I told you all this was an illusion? How would you react? Would you believe me? Would you look at me with doubt in your eyes? Nothing to see here. Nothing to raise concern. A small village in the forest. That's all. A new start, a salvation of sorts. This place was charming and welcoming, or so it seemed. But what if I told you that this was a trap? What would you think? The cunning was simple and the illusion fragile. You see, once entered, the truth of this place quickly became clear. A maze of fences, pathways, hidden corners, and a stagnant atmosphere of fear. Separated from loved ones, stripped and beaten. Confused, terrified, and afraid. Deeply, shockingly afraid. I think, stood here with you, that if I pointed to the path through the trees and told you this was once a path to death, you'd be unsure, disorientated and confused. Don't you? Walking with you along the path we emerge in a silent glade. No bigger than a football field. The trees all around bow their heads like guilty witnesses. But it's peaceful. For sure. And so it was for the months here when this very ground was disturbed, dug, moved and shaped. Can you imagine, the earth upon which you stand once heaved with the burden of death? Rising and falling like a straining rib cage as it struggled to consume the people buried there. And if I told you that in summer, when the forest was at its most beautiful this earth stood almost one meter taller than it does now. Could you comprehend that? Would you believe me? Thousands upon thousands of men, women and children. Gassed and buried. Stacked in mass graves like the piles of cut logs you see all around you today. And the building over there, hiding in the shade. A factory for death. Gas chambers once filled with the innocent and bewildered. You'd find that hard to believe, it's okay, I understand. After a mere two hours of commotion, silence would resume. Belongings collected, paths cleaned. Evidence removed. Order was immaculately maintained. And walking back to the station, if I pointed to the pretty greenhouse and told you that the person responsible would be taking dinner? Sitting outside with a brandy, playing cards and writing to his wife? You'd think that was crazy, right? And if we sit together on the platform, can you hear the trauma of what was then? Can you hear the mumbled chatter of confusion? The garbled sound of relief, fear, gratitude and terror? And what of the officials, guards and railway men going about their work? Signaling for the empty train's departure. Could you imagine that this all happened here? Well, could you? Can you understand that some people still don't believe? Who say stories like mine are mere make-believe? I want you to look at the trees. Stare into the forest. Listen to the birds. Smell the fresh pine-scented air. I'd like to ask you something. If I told you about Sobibor, would you believe me? It's impossible for me to show the exact appearance of the camp, then and now. Besides, there are many such examples online. However, in the following two attempts I have tried to locate visually both the actual camp and the Commandant's House as it was in 1942 and today along with images of the arrivals platform taken from the station at Sobibor.