Short Stories 

The Trip

By Max Brown

"I don't want a brother—I want my sister," I shouted. Then my mother wrapped my 10-day-old brother in a blanket and took him out the back door. When she returned empty handed a few minutes later, I asked where Jimmy was. She said that she had put him in the trash.
"You did what?"
"I put him in the trash. We have argued about this ever since we brought Jimmy home from the hospital. I'm tired of the arguing—you said you didn't want him, so I took care of it."
"I don't want him, but you can't put him in the trash—he'll die." When I started to cry, she went out the back door again. In a few minutes, she returned with Jimmy.
"I don't want a brother, but you don't have to throw him away. And I still want my sister."
Mother was a short, thin woman, but she was strong-willed and stubborn. She usually had a cigarette hanging from the right side of her mouth, looked old, and worn out. She always pulled her dark, straight hair back and tied it into a bun or a ponytail. She didn't take crap from anyone—including me—her privileged first born. I clearly remember this incident. It was 1950, and I was four. After returning with Jimmy, and with my little compromise, she asked, "Why do you want a sister?"
"I want my sister. I know I have a sister; I just don't know how to find her. I love her and miss her."
"You and Jimmy are the only two babies I have had."
"I know that, but you are not my real mother. I don't belong here," I said.
"Michael, you are scaring me."
Mother just stared at me—and that was the end of the conversation. But I never stopped thinking about my sister and wanting to find her. All the while growing up, there was this deep-seated feeling that something was just not right with my life. My family didn't seem like mine. I felt like a stranger within my family. I thought that they had adopted me. That must have been the only explanation.
Life went on—Jimmy and I got along best as could be expected for brothers. I don't recall that we ever fought over toys, but we did fight.
I excelled in school and had many friends. My best friend was Scott. He had a flippant attitude about everything but could be serious when it was appropriate. He was a towheaded, lanky athlete who ran high hurdles on the track team and was captain of the basketball team. High school graduation was approaching, and Scott and I decided to take some time off before going away to college. Of course, neither of us had any idea of what we would do during our time off, nor had we decided how long it would be.
One day that spring, Scott said that as a graduation gift his parents had signed him up for a trip to Poland and Israel. I asked why in the world they would do that.
"Oh, it's something sponsored by the USY. It's called the Israel Pilgrimage/Poland Seminar."
"What's the USY?"
"It stands for United Synagogue Youth. It's an organization for Jewish kids."
"Sort of like CYC?"
"Yep, only it does Jewish, not Catholic. I have to go on the trip—it's a week in Poland and four weeks in Israel. We'll tour synagogues and concentration camps in Poland and see all the usual sites in Israel and study."
"That sounds cool. Could I go with you?"
"I don't know. We can check."
While Scott checked with his parents, I asked my parents if I could go. Father said that it would be expensive. Mother was concerned about my safety. I suggested taking the money out of my college fund. I said that it would be the trip of a lifetime and that I would gain so much knowledge of different cultures and appreciation for how others live. After considerable discussion, begging and bargaining, they said that it would be okay—but reminded me that I wasn't Jewish. Scott's parents didn't mind either—but they reminded me that I wasn't Jewish. After we jumped through all the USY hoops, I was set to go with Scott. I told him I was so excited and could hardly wait to go.
"I just want to remind you—you're not Jewish," said Scott.
"What the hell! Why is everyone reminding me that I am not Jewish?"
"Well, this trip will be with dozens of Jewish kids. You won't know anyone except me and a few other kids from school. We'll be holding Jewish services and the kids will be telling stories about their bar and bat mitzvah—they'll all be talking about their Jewish lives. Not only that, we won't eat any meat in Poland, but the shawarma in Israel will be to die for."
"That's okay as long as you stick with me and help me understand."
The day of departure finally arrived. Scott was right, there were dozens of kids and I knew only a few of them. We first flew to Boston and switched to Lufthansa for a 12-hour flight to Krakow. In between naps, Scott tried teaching me about the Holocaust, of which I knew little. All the other kids were visiting, chatting and having a great time. I told Scott to go visit if he wanted to. He said no that he would stick with me. Plenty of kids came by to talk to Scott, and I got to meet them.
The sun began creeping over the horizon and we were still a few hours from Krakow. A bunch of the Jewish men got up and went to the back of the plane. I asked Scott what was up. He said that they were going to pray the morning service, which is done at sunrise. The men all wore those black and white prayer shawls and their chanting and singing fascinated me.
We landed in Krakow about 10:00 a.m. After collecting our luggage and exchanging our dollars for Polish złotys, we boarded busses for the four-hour ride to Warsaw. The next day was Saturday so we spent Shabbat, the Jewish Sabbath, in Warsaw, which meant that there was a three-hour religious service, a lot of eating and resting and no travel or riding tours that day.
Our first stop in Warsaw was the site of the Warsaw Ghetto. During the early 1940s, more than 400,000 Polish Jews were sent to the ghetto, which had an area of about one square mile. I couldn't image that many people forced to live in that small of a space. More than half were eventually sent to the Treblinka death camp. Early in 1943, the Jews began an uprising in the ghetto. The uprising eventually was squashed and the ghetto was destroyed by the Nazis. At least 52,000 Jews had been killed, and those that survived were sent to death camps in Treblinka, Poniatowa, Majdanek and Trawniki. I began to have a deep sense of foreboding.
Our itinerary included the Lodz Jewish Cemetery, Sobibor, Birkenau and, eventually, Auschwitz. I became more depressed with each stop. In Lodz, we visited the Jewish cemetery where there was a section just for Holocaust victims. They named it Ghetto Field and about 43,000 victims from the Lodz Ghetto who died from hunger, consumption and other diseases were buried there. The living conditions for the Jews there were inhumane. People were starving to death and dying from disease. My depression greatly increased after the visit to the site of the Lodz Ghetto.
The Nazis forced Jews living in ghettos to create a local Judenrat (Jewish Council) to govern the ghetto. But the Judenrat was actually a means to enforce the Nazi's anti-Jewish regulations and laws. The Nazis charged the Judenrat to appoint Jewish Ghetto Police, which were auxiliary police units. The Judenrat also directed the Jewish police to assist the Germans in rounding up Jews and loading them onto transport trains leaving for concentration camps. The living conditions and betrayal they experienced profoundly affected me, and I began to sink deeper into depression.
At Auschwitz, we toured the barracks and the gas chambers. When we got to the crematory, I became woozy, I had a hard time breathing. The stench overwhelmed me. In my mind, I could hear the screams. I collapsed. When they revived me, I began to cry and screamed, "I can't go on … I can't go on." Scott told the group leaders how depressed I had become. After a doctor's examination, and considering my depression, the group leaders decided that it was best for me to return home. Scott didn't want me to go alone, so he went with me on the plane. He rejoined the group in Israel.
Back at home, the nightmares began. The jitters had taken hold of me. The slightest sharp noise startled me. When I stopped eating, my parents had enough and decided to get help. My doctor ordered a battery of tests and scans and found nothing physically wrong. He suggested that I see a psychiatrist. My parents were uncertain about the doctor's suggestion but made an appointment with a psychiatrist that he recommended.
The psychiatrist said it was a classic case of clinical depression and prescribed two antidepressants. I began the medication and after several more months with little sleep and little food, I was emaciated and still depressed.
My parents found another psychiatrist. She reviewed all the tests that I had been through and medications I was taking. She asked if the other psychiatrist had offered talk therapy. "What is that?" I asked.
"It's a type of psychotherapy that can be an important part of treatment for depression. Talk therapy is not just talking about your problems; it is also working toward solutions." He had not. So, my talk therapy with her began.
"Michael, tell me what you're feeling right now."
"It's sort of a coldness—like an absence of feeling—a really hollowed-out feeling."
"Hollowed-out?"
"Yeah, like there's nothing inside of me anymore."
"How long have you felt that way?"
"Um, about a year."
"Have you ever felt like taking your life?"
"Sometimes, but I've never wanted to act on it."
"Have you ever had these feelings before?"
"No."
"Tell me, what happened about a year ago that brought this depression on."
Searching my memory, I said, "I went on a trip to Poland with my best friend and a bunch of other kids. It was a great time, lots of fun, making new friends and new experiences. We were touring synagogues and Jewish cemeteries and memorials to the Holocaust."
"What do you think happened during this trip that brought on the depression?"
"It was gradual. I was okay in Krakow and Warsaw. We were having a great time seeing interesting places and eating great food. Even though I had met the other kids for the first time on the plane, they immediately became my friends. I began to feel the sadness when we visited the site of the Lodz ghetto.
The more places we visited after that the more I felt sad and empty. Then when we went to Auschwitz, it was just too much. I had never been there before, and I don't remember that I had ever read anything about the place, but it seemed familiar. I began to feel panic. When we got to the crematory, everything began closing in on me. I could smell the burning flesh. The place was gripping me around the throat. I fainted."
"You're trembling. Do you need a few minutes, would you like something to drink?"
"No."
"Mike, the Holocaust was a particularly dark and evil event in human history. I understand how you could be shaken by this experience, but you seem to have taken it to a new level of anxiety. Tell me about your nightmares."
"I'm always in the dark. Sometimes there are a lot of men crowded around me. No one is talking. We are walking together into a large room. I don't know what happens next, because I wake up screaming, 'turn it off, turn it off.' I'm usually soaked in sweat and sometimes I've wet the bed. In another dream, I'm in a field digging. The heat is unbearable, and I don't know why I'm digging. Someone keeps yelling at me to dig faster. I dig faster, but it's not fast enough. He keeps yelling at me to dig faster, faster, faster. I wake up exhausted. And in another dream …"
"That's enough for today. I'm going to refer you to another therapist who specializes in dreams. I think it may help to know if these dreams mean anything— maybe he can give me a clue."


She didn't dismiss me as being a classic case of clinical depression. I felt confident that she knew what she was doing, but I was one of those who thought dream interpretation was hooey. However, I was anxious to learn what this new doctor had to say and hoped that he could help. 
His office wasn't like a typical doctor's office. There was a lot of art on the walls in the waiting room and no magazines. Therefore, I was forced to study the art. Most of it was surreal. There was abstract sculpture in each of the four corners of the room. I figured this guy was some aging hippy from the '60s who had dropped too much acid. I expected to see some guy in a tie-dyed tee shirt with a ponytail. The receptionist said that I could go in. I was shocked to find a little old man hunched over in his chair. He must have been in his 80s. He still had a full head of hair, which was a glorious shade of silver, but no ponytail.
"Hello Mike. Have a seat on the couch. It's all right if I call you Mike?"
I nodded and we began to talk. He asked the same stuff that the last doctor had asked—when did my depression start, do I have any thoughts about what may have triggered it, do I have thoughts of suicide. He wanted to hear about my nightmares. When I finished telling him, he sat there and began staring at a print of Salvador Dali's The Persistence of Memory. It's incredibly famous. It depicts a scene showing pocket watches, detached from their chains, melting slowly on rocks and branches of a tree.
After a few moments, he turned to me and said, "Have you heard of past life regression therapy?"
"No."

"Let me explain. We all have fears and pain that holds us captive and puts the emotional, mental and physical aspects of our lives on hold indefinitely. This keeps us circling in unproductive patterns of behavior repeatedly. Therefore, we must release the negative to move forward into a better existence. This is the primary goal of regression therapy. First, I will put you into a hypnotic trance combining physical relaxation with renewed mental concentration."
"Why?"
"Since the main purpose of the therapy is to identify and confront the origins of a problem, and the origins are thought to exist in the past, hypnosis is used to make possible an awakening to the root cause. The primary purpose of the hypnosis is to allow you to retrieve memories of your past and to learn from them."
"Okay, but I don't think I can be hypnotized."
"We shall see." .

Then he had me lie down on the couch and make myself comfortable. He began speaking slowly in a low, soft voice.

"Let my words wash over you. Everything here is safe, calm and peaceful. Let yourself relax into the couch as you relax deeply. Let your eyelids relax. Your eyes may feel heavy and want to close—let them. Let your body sink naturally down as your muscles relax. Listen to your body and my voice as you begin to feel calm. You are in complete control of this time. You will only accept those suggestions, which are for your benefit and that you are willing to accept. Every word that I utter is putting you faster and deeper, and faster and deeper … faster and deeper into a calm, peaceful state of relaxation. Sinking down and shutting down. Sinking down and shutting down. Sinking down and shutting down, shutting down completely. And the deeper you go, the deeper you are able to go. And the deeper you go, the deeper you want to go, and the more enjoyable the experience becomes … How do you feel now Mike?"

"Relaxed. I've never felt so relaxed before."

"Fine. Now I want you to think back to high school. What do you see?"

"I'm at a track meet. Scott just won the high hurdles event. I'm glad for him. My event will start after they clear the hurdles off the track."

"What was your event?"

"The mile."

"Was that a happy time for you?"

"Yes."

"Now go back to your early childhood. What do you see?"

"Mommy is coming home from the hospital today with my new baby brother. I told her I wanted my sister, but she had a boy instead. I think maybe Mommy doesn't love me."

"Interesting. Now go back even farther. Can you see anything?"

"Yes. I'm in Lublin."

"You mean Lublin, Poland?"

"Yes. Lublin is a nice place. And the countryside is lovely. Everything is awash in snow. It's a perfect winter day."

"What is your name?"

"Ginsburg, Mendel Ginsberg."

"Mendel, you have a concerned look on your face. What is happening?"

"The Nazis are rounding up Jews. They are pushing and hitting the Jews. OH, MY GOD! The Nazis are shooting everyone! I can't believe what is going on."

"Relax. You are becoming too agitated. What is happening now?"

"They are coming my way. Mindy is with me. We are terrified. Now they're dragging Mindy off. I can't see her anymore. MINDY, MINDY, WHERE ARE YOU?"

"Who is Mindy?"

"I, I don't know. But they are taking her away. I overheard one of them say to send me to Majdanek."

"What is that?"

"It's a concentration camp not far from here."

"Mendel, tell me what's happening now."

"I'm at Majdanek. They say that they are sending a large number of us to Auschwitz. Now I am on a train. It's smelly and hot. We are packed into the train car shoulder to shoulder—I can hardly breathe. We are so tight that yesterday one man died and his body could not fall to the floor.

We are in Auschwitz; they are separating the men from the women and children. They are marching the women away; I can see Mindy. MINDY. Oh, God! The soldier just hit me in the head. I am digging. We are to dig large deep trenches. The work is extremely hard and taxing. I am becoming very frail, but I can't rest. I don't think I can dig much more. 'What are you doing? Where are you taking me?'"

"You seem anxious again Mendel. What's going on?"

"They are collecting some of us—they say we need a shower. We are heading to the main building. I'm scared because that's where the crematory is. Now we are all naked and heading to the shower. It's exceptionally large—large enough for a hundred or more men. We are waiting for the water to come on. It's starting, but it's not water coming out. 'What is that?' I asked. Someone is yelling, 'It's gas!' Gas? TURN IT OFF, TURN IT OFF."

"Mike, when I snap my fingers, you will awaken. You will feel refreshed. You will not remember what happened during your rest."

SNAP

"See, I told you I couldn't be hypnotized."

"How do you feel, Mike?"

"Very rested."

"Good. I want you to come back to my office in two weeks, and I will have information for you that may help relieve your depression."



Two weeks later, I nervously sat in his waiting room. Still no magazines. I studied the sculptures this time. They didn't say anything to me.

"You may go in now," said the receptionist.

"Mike, have a seat. I have news for you. When you were hypnotized—and yes, you were hypnotized—I regressed you to your high school days and your early childhood. There was nothing out of the ordinary other than your wondering if your mother loved you. We all go through that. So, I asked you to go farther back in time. You went to a past life."

"Come on doc. That's absurd."

"Just wait. In this past life, you lived in Lublin, Poland and it was during the Holocaust. You even gave me your name. It was Mendel Ginsburg. You gave me enough information to research what you had told me. I learned that in November 1942, the Nazis massacred about 400 Jews in Lublin. Others were sent to a concentration camp nearby. The Nazis were fervent record keepers so I was able to check names on the list of Jews sent to Majdanek. There was a Mendel Ginsburg on that list."

"How would I know that? I'm not Jewish; I've never heard of a name like that."

"Apparently, you were Jewish in that life. Mr. Ginsburg was later sent to Auschwitz and died there. You mentioned a woman named Mindy several times. Upon her arrival at Auschwitz, she was sent directly to her death."

"Doctor, who was this Mindy?"

"She was your twin sister."

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