I don’t usually write travelogues, but those of you who have noted an absence of posts for the last two weeks may wonder where I have been. To unabashedly steal the title of a John Le Carre spy novel, Barb and I began our travels in a small town in Germany.

The town was Göppingen, a burg with a population of about 60,000, a 40-minute train ride outside of Stuttgart. The occasion was an exhibition of about sixty pieces of art created by my great-grandfather John Elsas. From about 1925 to 1935, Elsas created over 25,000 watercolor satirical paintings and collages, each approximately 8 inches x 10 inches in size. Each piece was adorned with a short statement or poem, many reflecting on the political situation in Germany, culminating in Adolf Hitler’s rise to power.

Barb and I attended the invitation-only opening of the exhibition where we were warmly greeted by Dr. Dominik Sieber, Director of the Städtische Museum im Storchenm. The introductory presentation was given by Dr. Dorothee Hoppe, the archivist who introduced me to my great-grandfather’s works and after years of investigation knows more about the German side of my family than I do!

From Göppingen we traveled to Berlin. Here we spent three days exploring Germany’s capital, including the political, historical, and Jewish aspects of the city where my father lived until immigrating to America in 1933. Throughout, remnants and memorials to the Cold War and the Holocaust were never far away. With our next stop, the full weight of the Holocaust bore down upon us.

We flew from Berlin to Krakow via Warsaw on Lot, the Polish national airline. While we enjoyed the sites and atmosphere of the lovely central Oldtown, our main reason for traveling to Krakow was an hour’s drive to the west; here we reached the gates of the Auschwitz concentration camp and its partner camp, Auschwitz II-Birkenau.

Visiting the camps there is no escape from the horrors of the Final Solution. We were surrounded by residual structures, photos of the dead, surviving confiscated shoes, and an emotionless recounting of the murder of over a million people by our tour guide. For Barb and I, it was a reminder of what we already know; we hope for the many other visitors it opened their eyes to what must never happen again.

We had to hustle to make connections back to Chicago when our direct flight from Krakow to O’Hare was canceled immediately before boarding, but we arrived home just one day late. As I write, I reflect on the places we visited, the international meals we dined on, and my great-grandfather’s art. But also on the wondrous people we met: the Moscow businessman who insured yachts and thought Putin was crazy, the Irish statistician who was in Poland to organize a juggler’s convention, our Uber drivers, our guides, and our hosts.

All in all, it was a trip well done.

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