October 31, 2025- The idea of staging our Post 6 Trick or Treat Table on the corner sidewalk “paid off” handsomely: At least a hundred people stopped by and partook of candy, which was distributed, for the most part, by the fistful. Tiny tots and babies were fairly present. No one was trick or treating with a costumed dog, so that is an improvement. Mostly, though, the revelers were between the ages of 7-70.
I barely missed the older, and less flamboyant, version of All Hallows Eve: Samhain, still widely celebrated by people in Ireland, Scotland, Isle of Man and some parts of Wales, is also celebrated by Wiccans in England and other countries. The gist of the day is to honour the dead and guard against malevolence. There was some costuming, also called “mumming”, and going door to door for food, but those were secondary to the above focuses. Bonfires were common on Samhain, in pre-Christian Britain and Ireland. Putting a candle inside a hollowed-out pumpkin was more a function of helping revelers find their way, on darkened streets. A hollowed out turnip was also used for this purpose. Dressing up as devils or ghouls is more of an aberration, in modern Halloweens, and would have been abhorred by the Celtic pagans.
I have observed Halloween, in a conventional manner, most years since I was six and could go about on my own. I recall that the plastic masks caused my face to sweat profusely, almost every year. By the time I was fourteen, I decided to give up trick or treating and focused more on handing out goodies. On my own, in places as sparsely populated as South Deerfield, MA and Toltec City, AZ, kids knocked at my door and were welcomed with treats. So, this year was no different and given the vibrant Halloween celebrations on Mount Vernon Street and Park Street, it is a joy to hand out treats at the American Legion post, as I’ve done every year that I’ve been in Prescott, since 2015. (Before that, my north Prescott house, then my apartment, were just too far off the beaten path for most revelers.)
Whatever one’s view of Halloween, let us honour our departed loved ones just as we do on Memorial Day or on their individual special days.
October 22, 2025, Dublin- In any given new city, my wont is to wander a bit, usually towards a spire, dome or other prominent landmark-and sometimes off to a nearby spot that captures my attention.
After leaving Peace Park, that meant heading towards St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Knowing that it had closed to visitors for the day, I still wanted to get a sense of the exterior and the ambiance of the cathedral close. This was the deanery of one of 17th-18th Century Ireland’s most fascinating thinkers: Jonathan Swift. His satire was brought to me, early on. I treasured reading “Gulliver’s Travels”, when I was nine. I discussed “A Modest Proposal” with a cousin, when I was twelve. His admirers were the original “Swifties”.
The seat of the Church of Ireland was the second point in what turned out to be a triangular route. Here are some scenes of the exterior and of St. Patrick’s Park.
Main fountain, St. Patrick’s Park, DublinNorth face, St. Patrick’s Cathedral, Dublin (above and below)Bridge between Towers, St. Patrick’s CathedralWest face (front) of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, Dublin
I will return here some day and look into the interior of the great cathedral. For now, my quest turned a bit westward in Wood Quay, and past 18th Century row houses near St. Patrick’s Close.
Row houses of Davies Place, Dublin (above and below). There was an election scheduled for Friday, thus the signs for Polling Place.St. Nicholas Church, Francis Street, Dublin. This little gem is tucked away, behind a secure gate.Church of St. Augustine and St. John (aka John’s Lane Church, Dublin. It is a Catholic Church, with the highest steeple in Ireland.St. Audoen’s Church. This is the third point on the triangular route I took today. It was built in the late Twelfth Century and named for St. Ouen, a Norman French cleric. St. Audoen’s also served as the west gate to Dublin and was the last gate still intact in the 20th Century. Today, it serves Polish Catholics.West Wall of Dublin, near St. Audoen’s Church (Above and below)St. Audoen’s Church, behind linden treesThe Singing Hollow, St. Audoen’s Park, Dublin. Anyone who puts their head in the hollow and makes a noise, will hear it amplified.Child’s drawing of a medieval nun, St. Audoen’s ParkWest Gate of Dublin
Walking back towards Temple Bar, I passed Dublin City Hall. Of course, all business was finished for the day, but it still stood in stately pose.
Dublin City Hall
Molly Malone stood selling cockles and mussels, by Dublin Castle.
Statue of maiden selling wares, near Dublin Castle
It was a tad late, so I found Tapped, a small pub that serves a small variety of comfort food sandwiches, and whose main line is, of course, beer. I stuck with my N/A beverage and got decent service from the lone young lady who was zipping around the floor and taking the best care she could of the sizable crowd of rowdies. Cajun Chicken took care of my appetite.
Tomorrow will be another very full day-Birth of Baha’ullah celebration at the National Gallery of Ireland, a visit to Dublinia- a museum of city history, focused on the Vikings and a reunion with an old Baha’i friend from our Phoenix years.
October 20, 2025, Rosslare, Ireland- It had slipped my mind, the location of Ocean Lab Cafe-a function of “landmark bleed” (my term), where two places that are close to one another while still some distance apart, become adjacent in my mind. So, my friend Sian and I walked to the grocer, looking for the cafe. As we learned, Ocean Lab Cafe is on the berm that is closer to Goodwick Jetty. The grocer is off the street below. I had been to both, yesterday, while a bit tired from the day’s journey-thus, the landmark bleed.
No matter, we sat and enjoyed hot tea, with no crumpets, as it was mid-morning, and I had enjoyed a full Irish breakfast at Rose & Crown, prior to meeting Sian in the foyer of the guest house. We walked a short bit along the beach, both savouring the salt air and very pleasant clear sky. Ocean Lab is a small aquarium and oceanographic education centre for local children. It also offers Welsh products for visitors, so I purchased a box of tea bags and a tin of chai, each produced locally.
Our meeting lasted about two hours, then it was time for me to head towards the ferry to Ireland. Sian drove me as far as the ferry entrance. I then had to walk around a few barriers, to what turned out to be the Fishguard Harbour Train Station. I was the last one through the chute, but no matter-I was still five minutes shy of the gate closing, and that was only to board the bus to the ship. As it happened, we had to go back and pick up all the people who had been inside the priority visitors’ lounge. We ended up leaving well in time.
I decided to do something different this time-put my computer and journal in stowage and turn off my mobile phone. I enjoyed a full lunch, then sat and contemplated St. George’s Channel-the narrows of the Irish Sea, only nodding off for a short time, in mid-voyage. A few small children who were excited to look for whales, and a snoring man, the next table over, were there to break any monotony. The emerald sea was basically rather calm today, and the mood on board rather relaxed. We were in Rosslare in four hours and twenty minutes.
Irish customs and immigration checked the two American passports separately, but were a pleasant, jovial pair, thanking us for our cooperation. The rest of the bus riders faced a canine unit inspection, which turned up a couple of cans of English ale, and thankfully no drugs. We were let loose within ninety minutes. My transition from Europort to Home from Home Guest House did, however, entail a workaround past the usual tut-tutting from Spectrum, that I could not call my host without being connected to WiFi, and there was no connection at the port. A kind fellow passenger, who lives in Wexford, called my host and got directions. I found the bus that serves Rosslare, rode as far as Coast Hotel and voila, my host, Gemma, was waiting for me as I got off the bus. “You’d never find the place, in this darkness”, she said, and we walked the five minutes to the apartment house. I was given a cozy and warm introduction to Irish lodging facilities, with the requisite bath tub (in the British Isles, a mere shower stall is frowned upon, though some hoteliers have little choice.) Gemma excused herself, and I headed back to Coast Hotel, for a dinner of fish and chips. The meal was more than ample, and I felt another nice day had passed.
October 19, 2025, Fishguard & Goodwick, Wales- In 1797, a group of French soldiers sailed from Camaret-sur-Mer, Brittany to an area near the port of Fishguard. Their orders were to invade Wales and destabilize Britain. The rather cockeyed scheme failed, largely due to the soldiers having been poorly trained. They spent their first hours in Wales getting drunk. When they became sober, they found themselves surrounded-by a group of local women, armed with pitchforks. The Welsh women were led by one Jemima Nicholas, who secured twelve of the soldiers by herself. The course of this invasion is chronicled on a remarkable piece of art: The Last Invasion Tapestry. https://lastinvasiontapestry.cymru/
I stood at the tip of the jetty where much of the action took place. It is not a steep path from the water’s edge up to the top of the jetty, but mooring at that part of Fishguard Harbour would require very detailed knowledge of the rocks and shoals. The Jacobin troops would not likely have had that knowledge, but the locals did then, and certainly do now. When the invaders arrived, the Welsh men were at the area now used as a ferry port for travel to Ireland, and the women were guarding the jetty. The uninvited guests had no chance.
I left Salisbury fairly early, catching what i thought would be a train to Bristol, then was prepared to catch a separate train to Cardiff, Swansea and on to Carmarthen and Goodwick. Lo and behold, the train on which I embarked was headed to Swansea, and would arrive there four hours earlier than the train for which I had a ticket. With the okay from two conductors en route, I stayed on the train, clear to Swansea.
The train ended at Swansea, a key crossroads, west of the Welsh capital of Cardiff. I had to use a replacement bus to go on to Carmarthen, and so had to exit the train area. A transit auditor looked at my ticket and gave a mild scolding about not waiting at Cardiff for the later train. He then looked at his watch, sighed and told me to just go to ticket control and have my ticket exchanged. That was done very easily and I joined the queue for the bus to Carmarthen.
This bus, which took the place of the train, due to work being done on the tracks, took us through rolling hill country, in land from the winding and rocky coast of southwest Wales. It is said that Carmarthen may be the oldest town in Wales, having been founded by the Romans, around 75 AD/CE. We did not have any time to look around, though, as the train to Fishguard & Goodwick was set to leave, eight minutes after the bus rolled in. Besides, on a Sunday, most places were closed.
Once the lightly-populated train got to Fishgaurd & Goodwick, I had about thirty minutes before check-in at Rose & Crown Inn. I was able to stow my bags in an unused room, then went down to look about the town. As I walked near the harbour, three local boys were listening to some techno pop, on a hand-held radio. One of the lads started doing a fist pump dance. I pumped my fist a bit, which got them giggling.
The jetty on which Jemima and her crew stood against the invasion force is now a place for locals to walk their dogs and for visitors to get in their steps.
Rose & Crown Inn, GoodwickA fishing dog, at Goodwick JettyFishguard Harbour, with Goodwick Jetty to the far right.Goodwick Jetty, with Pembroke Peninsula to the south (above and below)Fishguard Town, from Goodwick Jetty
My purpose in Goodwick is to meet a friend from Pembroke, tomorrow morning. This evening, though, I settled in at Rose & Crown. The young lady at desk had been working largely alone, all day, and looked exhausted. She nonetheless summoned cheerfulness and helped me get up to the room. The fresh crew at dinner time was also very pleasant and offered a plate of brisket with fried potatoes- great stuff!
This small introduction to Wales has given me a fine impression of the country within a country. Tomorrow morning, my friend from Pembroke and I will walk about the harbour area, just a bit, then head over to Ocean Lab Cafe, a Goodwick original.
October 13, 2025, Frankfurt-am-Main- I stayed in a nice hotel, though not a “green” one. I had a fine meal in a restaurant run by Palestinians, and there was no bratwurst on the menu. I took high-speed rail, instead of a bus, to a spot fairly close to the Baha’i House of Worship, at Langenhain, though I still got in my steps. Those were the biggest differences between this visit to Frankfurt, as well as the fact that it was not my home base this time. (That honour has been spread across several cities.)
I had no trouble catching the train from Heidelberg and there were no delays. The S-Bahn got me close to Garner Hotel, with the walk being .4 mile. Once there, I found that getting dinner involved a bit of exploration of a nearby business district, so my Sagitarrian instincts took me down the street-almost, but not quite, back to the S-Bahn drop-off.
Old watch tower at Bockenheimer Warte station, Frankfurt-am- MainMarkuskirche, near Palmengarten, Frankfurt-am-Main
My meal at Konig Doner Pizza was superb, Turkish-style served by Palestinians. It set a fine tone for the rest of my visit here. After a restful night, it was time to revisit the Baha’i House of Worship. The S-Bahn took me to the village of Lorsbach, where I found the directions from Google Maps taking me along a country highway, up a hill and into a nature preserve.
Naturpark Hochtanus, near Hofheim. (Above and below)Roadside Memorial to a man named Lars. This is at an area which features a treacherous bend in the road. I can only imagine the circumstances of his passing.
After I had come to the limits of the town of Langenhain, a young woman stopped and gave me a ride the rest of the way to the House of Worship. Here are some scenes of that simple, yet majestic site, which I last visited in 2014.
Visitors Center, Baha’i House of Worship, LangenhainBaha’i House of Worship, Langenhain (above and below)Small planter gardens, Baha’i House of Worship, LangenhainDome of Baha’i House of Worship, Langenhain, bearing the inscription, “God is the All-Glorious”, in Arabic.
After visiting with the volunteer caretakers, Lutz and Hannah, I walked back into Langenhain village. There, I found what was supposed to be the bus stop back to Hofheim. It was near a K-9 school, where the parents of kindergartners were picking up their children, at day’s end. One of the ninth graders walked back towards the main road, and kept looking over her shoulder, more out of curiosity than apprehension-as if trying to send me an unspoken message. Once a certain amount of time went by, I saw a bus on the main road, heading towards Hofheim, so it occurred to me that the girl was probably trying to convey that the stop was elsewhere. I went back to the main road, found the right bus stop and was in Hofheim, twenty minutes later. From there, it was easy to catch the S-Bahn back to Frankfurt, with a stop at Domplatz, near Frankfurt Cathedral and the Main River.
That area was one that I visited in 2014, as well, and the photos were lost, so spending about an hour there was in order. Here are a few photos of the Dom (Cathedral).
Dom (Cathedral) of Frankfurt (above and below)Exterior and spires of Frankfurt Dom (above and below)
After enjoying a fine German meal, at Main Kai, I walked a bit along the Main itself.
Main River, near Dom
It was a soothing visit to the House of Worship, and reminiscing about the area gave me some peace. Tomorrow, I will spend a day going to Strasbourg, though not having much time there, I will most likely be focused on regrouping my energy.
October 12, 2025, Frankfurt-am-Main- It was suggested by a fellow hosteler in Salzburg that I take dinner at Vetter’s, an authentic Bavarian establishment in Old Town Heidelberg. Apparently, a lot of Vetter’s fans were telling their friends the same thing. There was no room to be had there this evening. The reservation list stretched into next week.
I found another fabulous spot for dinner-Joe Molese Burgers and Sandwiches. More about Joe’s and its fabulous staff later. First off, though, some words about my stroll down the hill and around Old Town, in areas both full of my fellow travelers and others with only a few locals going about their affairs.
As I bid farewell to Schloss Heidelberg, it was the foliage that stood out.
Foliage at south end of Schlosse HeidelbergHeiliggeistkirche (Holy Spirit Church), Heidelberger Alstadt
I continued looking for a place called the Red Church, wandering through the alleys near Heidelberg University.
University DistrictRosenkirche, Heidelberg
I found the Red Church at the north end of Old Town.
Rosenkirche, HeidelbergHeidelberg University, with Peterskirche in backgroundPeterskirche, Old Town Heidelberg
As I rounded a corner, there was an apartment courtyard, where a man was playing table tennis with his young daughter. Nearby was this gem of a mural.
Modernist mural, Old Town Heidelberg
and this:
Cubist leopard, Old Town Heidelberg
The girl’s favourites were these:
Pokemon characters, Old Town HeidelbergPlay space, Old Town HeidelbergBored face, Old Town HeidelbergGuard tower, east end of Old HeidelbergRiver Neckar, from Old Town Heidelberg (above and below)Good luck Monkey, Old Bridge, Heidelberg
It’s said that to rub the gold orb will bring good fortune. many visitors were doing just that, before I took this photo.
Elector Karl-Theodor of Heidelberg
Karl-Theodor became Elector of the Palatinate in 1742 and united it with Bavaria in 1777, setting upon a program of economic modernization of this realm. He built the English garden in Munich and was an avid patron of the arts. In the long run, however, Karl-Theodor showed little interest in his realm, leaving it to Austrian and French invaders, in the 1790s. This statue shows that it was his earlier programs that matter most to posterity.
South Gate, Old Bridge, Heidelberg
Now, back to Joe Molese.
Joe Molese Burgers and Sandwiches, Old Town Heidelberg
This establishment provided the absolute best burger I have ever had-and that’s after a lot of hamburgers over 70 +years. It was not overly messy, such as I normally enjoy. It was simply flavourful and was not overshadowed by a mound of French fries. The lovely server and the effusive manager made everyone feels at home, despite the fact that the place was as packed as every other restaurant in Old Town, on Saturday night. When I went to pay, furthermore, it turned out that the young couple sitting to my right had already covered my tab! We had not spoken a word to one another, but there it was. I would go back to Joe Molese’s again, in a heartbeat.
Finally, this is the shop whose clerk helped me locate Lotte-The Backpackers Hostel. I bought a couple of items from her. It would be nice if more people patronized her little place.
My favourite souvenir shop, Old Town Heidelberg
It was not easy to say farewell to this enchanting place, but there was more joy waiting for me here in Frankfurt, and at the Baha’i House of Worship in Langenhain.
October 11, 2025, Heidelberg- The older man was, for all the world, a penitente, walking short steps down the cobblestone hill, in flip flops of all things, determined to make the walk downward on his own. Nearby, a six-year-old boy was fussing at his mother, telling her to lift him up. The old man lifted his head, which had been focused on the steps he was taking. “Such a grand fortress up there. Maybe you aren’t ready to see it!”, he said softly to the unruly child. The boy gave one last shriek, then stopped squalling and got up on his own. He told his mother he was just tired and didn’t want to go uphill. They turned and went back down towards their lodging.
In 2014, I happened by this fascinating university city, on the way from Strasbourg to Frankfurt, as it was part of the train route. On that visit, I spent time at Heidelberg University and walked to the Neckar River. The castle, though, stuck in my mind and I was determined that it would be on the itinerary of a future visit to Europe. That visit came this evening, and will continue for a bit, tomorrow morning.
I had a small item of business to settle in Munich, this morning, and the requisite office didn’t open until 9 a.m., today being Saturday. This gave me time to look about the Karlsplatz District of the great Bavarian city. Here are some of the sights of that midtown sector.
Karlstadt Tower, MunichEighteenth Century meets Twenty-first, Karlsplatz, MunichReaching towards the sky, Karlsplatz, Munich Landgericht, (District Court Building), Karlsplatz, Munich
Finally, in Altbotanischegarten, there was an entirely different air about the city. Aside from a few people also seeking quietude, and a few animals, the Old Botanical Garden was giving a Saturday morning respite to the frenzy of Friday night.
South entrance to Altbotanischegarten, MunichHeart of Altbotanischegarten, Munich (above and below)Peterskirche Tower, from Atlbotanischegarten, Munich“Der Ring”, by Mauro Staccioli, Alt Botanischegarten, Munich
Munich, thus, was just a primer for my energy level. Once in Heidelberg, at the small but very comfortable and welcoming Lotte, The Backpackers Hostel, I set out for the nearby Schloss (Fortress) Heidelberg.
Here are some scenes from the exterior and gardens of the castle.
Tower of Schloss Heidelberg, from Lotte HostelView of Heidelberg, from the SchlossIvy-covered south wall, Schloss Heidelberg (above and below, with pink wig tree in the middle)A Baden-Wurttemburg AutumnSouth Tower and rampart, Schloss Heidelberg
The wonders of Heidelberg continue in the next post.
October 6, 2025, Sarajevo- The vivacious young lady engaged all her patrons, in a charming yet suitably guarded way. She made us all feel welcomed and appreciated, but remained a bit of a mysterious presence. Her father, nearby in the kitchen, was watching all. Sebilj is a bit of Turkiye in Old Sarajevo. True, there are lots of bits of Turkiye in this city, but Kemal and Harina (not their real names) pack the house, with local regulars, day and night because of their Turkish welcome and the quality of their food.
I was very blessed to enjoy comforting split pea soup-not something I had associated with Turkiye before tonight, but it was golden, especially after a jarring day at Srebrenica. The shish was also well-seasoned and tender.
There is lots of resilience across Sarajevo. This evening, I focused on a swath of the Old City, the area that embraced Islam, the story goes, because the Ottoman Turks had a policy of not taxing those who converted to Islam. That story came from a man who has not embraced any organized religion, so who knows? I thought better than to ask any of the fervent Muslims I encountered here, as to such matters.
Here are some of this evening’s scenes.
Evening at the Edge of Old TownMinarets light the night. Harina lights our hearts.The Central Circle of Old TownBascarsija Mosque. Here worshipers were still very active, at 9 p.m.
Some streets were bustling; some were quiet. All were safe.
Old Town streets (above and below)A quiet alleyContrasting spiresA Mosque courtyard. The Imam only said “no worshipers!”. The empty courtyard was okay to photograph.
Old Sarajevo is filled with beauty-and that includes the lilting voice of the lady of the house, at Guesthouse Yildiz, as she offers her prayers in morning and afternoon. That includes the rug merchants, the shoppers haggling with the vendors, the children squealing with delight at their taste of ” Authentic Turkish Ice Cream”, and it includes people like Harina, who love what they do. Old Sarajevo was the perfect salve for the heart that was broken by what was shared in Srebrenica.
October 6, 2025, Sarajevo- Once again, I found myself looking at piles of children’s shoes, mounds of abandoned luggage, faces of frightened families being herded onto to trucks-instead of train cars, with the same promise of “a better life”. I looked into hundreds of pairs of eyes, of men of various ages; indeed, some of the “men” were only 14 or 15. Every last one of the more than 8,000 male human beings killed in July, 1995, in and around Srebrenica, Bosnia& Hercegovina was “guilty” of only one thing-being a Muslim in what their captors conceived to be a pure, Christian, Serbian nation of Yugoslavia.
The Srebrenica Memorial Center sits in what is styled the Republic of Srpska (Serp-ska), its existence and its mission protected by the overarching government of Bosnia i Hercegovina, under the Dayton Accords, which ended the war in Bosnia, in 1996. The Bosnian Serbs make no pretense of liking the message the Museum offers, but they abide its presence. In that sense, it is no different from, say, the Civil Rights Museum in Montgomery, AL or the Sand Creek Massacre National Monument, in southern Colorado. Those who view things only one way cannot easily accept even established fact, when it disrupts their world view.
Three of us were taken to this Museum, by a man named Adis. He is a veteran of the Bosnian War for Independence. He is also an accomplished de-mining technician, and has helped remove mines in over two dozen countries, since 1998. Adis is a Bosnian Muslim. He told us of the background of the horrors that nearly tore his country apart, in the years 1992-96. He told us, as did staff members at the Museum, of the unreliability of United Nations Peacekeepers, held back by the envoy of the U.N. to Yugoslavia and by their own commanders. These men told us what was the result of overemphasis on preserving the status quo. The Big Picture fell on top of the people who only wanted to live their lives in peace.
Here are some of the scenes presented us at the Museum, in Srebrenica itself and at the Memorial Cemetery, down the street from this powerful institution.
Srebrenica Memorial Center, Polocari, Bosnia i HercegovinaRijad Fejzic’s story
Riki was 18 when he died, probably alongside his father and most likely not when engaged in combat. He had no training, no weapon, only his faith and love for his family. Riki’s story is a recurring presence in the 26 rooms, in which the story of this conflict unfolds in the Memorial Center. His remains were only identified after the war had ended. His father’s have never been found. Riki was beaten to death.
Presentation at Memorial Center, Polocari
This man’s father was a Bosnian Army soldier. He himself has been a presenter at the Memorial Center, for almost fifteen years. He is showing the course of the attacks on Srebrenica, which had been deemed a protected zone of the United Nations. Bosnian Serb forces, aided by the Serbian regulars, decided to ignore the UN’s presence in the area, and marched on the town, on July 11, 1995. The UN’s troops, a Dutch battalion, were under-equipped and outnumbered. It could have been different, but those in control of the situation simply had other priorities.
A relative few of the abandoned shoes left by fleeing children, in July, 2011.A mother’s sorrowTaking a page from Nazi Germany, the Bosnian Serb and Serbian commanders overruled even the misgivings of their own rank and file soldiers, many of whom had known the Bosnian Muslims as neighbours- for decades.Some of the 8,000 men and boys killed in July, 2011.Survivors gathered at the site of a mass grave, in 1996.The city of Srebrenica is a shell of its old self, but its young people still hold it close.The city from a former healing spa, high above. The spires are those of two mosques.Peace Monument in the central square of Srebrenica.An estimate of the total number of Bosnian men and boys killed in July, 1995. Posted at Memorial Cemetery.Row upon row of Muslim graves, all from that fateful day in July, 1995.
No one should condemn the Serbian people for what happened, any more than one could condemn the German nation for the Nazi reign of terror or the average Southern white male for the horrors of slavery and Jim Crow, or the majority of Hutu farmers for the slaughter of the Tutsi, in Rwanda. Adis put it clearly: “Most people just want to live their lives in peace and provide for their families. It’s as true of the Serbs around us as it is of we Bosniaks.”
The lesson of Srebrenica, of Auschwitz-Birkenau, of Rwanda, of Cambodia, of the oppression of Indigenous peoples the world over, is that the people of any given community cannot just leave the affairs of a community, state/province or nation to the ambitious and those with an agenda. Each of us has a say in what goes on around us. This is one of the keys to peace-It starts within and radiates outward, lest it die on its own vine.
September 30, 2025, Oswiecim, Poland– Today would have been Penny’s 71st birthday. Each year since I first met her, including the fourteen years since her passing, the day always brings a special event, either Baha’i teaching or a visit of significance.
Entrance to Auschwitz-Birkenau Museum
Today, I had the opportunity to visit the sites of one of the darkest chapters in human history. Auschwitz and Birkenau were concentration camps, separated by 3 kilometers, but under the same commander: The infamous Rudolf Hoss (not to be confused with Deputy Fuhrer Rudolf Hess), implemented the use of Zyklon B, a pesticide that became the nerve agent which alone killed a million people. Hoss was tried, convicted and executed in Poland, in 1947. (Rudolf Hess, as is well-known, flew to Scotland, believing he could convince Scottish “opponents” of the War to hasten British withdrawal from World War II. The Scots were not amused, Hess was imprisoned and then transferred to Germany’s Spandau Prison, in 1947. He was the sole remaining prisoner there, when he committed suicide, in 1987, at age 93.)
My late father-in-law was a Jewish-American, served as a soldier in the final months of World War II, during which he was captured during the tail-end of the Battle of the Bulge, and was held in the POW camp at Berga, in eastern Germany. I have been to Berga and seen the V-2 Rocket Factory’s remains. Pop was sent to work the salt mines. When he was rescued by a unit of American soldiers, in June, 1945, he was nearly skeletal.
That was the fate of many, if not most, of the survivors of Auschwitz and Birkenau, as well. They numbered about 6200, out of over 1,100,000 who had been held in at the Auschwitz Complex. Jews, who Hitler and his henchmen wanted above all to exterminate, were the preponderance of victims. Men between the ages of 17-60 were made to work, usually until they were broken, physically and mentally. They were then executed. Women, children, the elderly and the infirm, including the mentally ill, were summarily gassed to death.
Besides the Jews, Romany, Russians, Poles, Czechs, Freemasons and the occasional Afro-Germans, were also sent to concentration camps, and executed by poison gas. Auschwitz and Birkenau were the two largest facilities for such hideous practices. in time, even Christian critics of Hitler found themselves in the gas chambers. Birkenau, being the larger camp, had 30 gas chambers. Auschwitz, with four sectors, had ten. As the Soviet forces closed in on Auschwitz, the fleeing German Army forced most of the remaining prisoners west, on a Death March to Germany and Austria. Thus did many die on their feet, though not as many as were gassed.
Here are five scenes that are here to remind us that the Holocaust was no Hologram.
“Barracks” # 1, AuschwitzTorture House,, AuschwitzWomen and children victims, on their way to the gas chambers. (They had been told they were on their way to a glorious new life.)Discarded children’s shoes and a father’s suitcase, with his son’s name written on it.Hana Reiner would not let herself be forgotten. https://www.writeoutloud.net/public/blogentry.php?blogentryid=139212The Nazis themselves destroyed this barracks, rather than allow it to be preserved by the Soviets and Poles,for what it had been,
I thought back to the early morning, when I boarded a train in Krakow, bound for the city of Oswiecim, (the Polish name which was translated into German as Auschwitz). A mentally disabled man chose to sit across from me. He was an Italian, who had little vocabulary, in any language. He knew “English” and “Deutsch”, as well as a few words in Italian and Spanish. While he was annoying to the young man sitting by the window and the well-dressed Italian man who sat across the aisle, I let him show me the soccer games on his phone. At the end of the one-hour trip, he cheerfully said “Grazie!” and went on his way.
That gentle man would not have had a chance to ride the rails, in Hitler’s Germany. He’d have ended up in the pile of corpses found by the Russians, or in one of the piles of ashes that were dumped in the Vistula River or behind the Subcommandant’s House at Birkenau. He can ride the rails, as he pleases, in today’s Europe, not being harmed and harming no one,
Auschwitz-Birkenau, and all places like it, are needed reminders of exactly what levels of depravity can come from a deluded pursuit of false perfection.
A Sagittarian Seeker 