We went to the end of the world and back.

It didn't take long for us to get there.

It was just shy of a four hour drive from our apartment in Warsaw.

Sergio drove.

This was before we were married.

He took us along lonely state roads and through simple villages.

We passed stretches of desolate frozen farmland, run down shacks, sent next to modern houses.

Farmers stood on the corners, conversing with their neighbors.

Older women bike past us, young kids chase their families chickens.

We drove so far east in Poland that we are just a few kilometers from Ukraine, just a few short miles from the border of the

European Union.

We went to the end of the world and back. We went to the site of their murder. We went to

Sobibor. I'm Rachel Serrati. We share the same sky. I didn't want to visit here. To call this place

hell would be too kind of a word.

This place of mass murder, of hopeful extinction, of intentional suffocation.

If the trees could talk, they would tell you what they saw.

They would tell you of the smell of ash and the sounds of gunshots.

They would tell you that they saw my great-grandparents being stripped and shot.

They would tell you that they witnessed Hannah. a great grandparents being stripped and shot.

They would tell you that they witnessed Hannah's younger brother dig his own grave.

The trees would tell you that he was only 13. As Hannah found refuge in Denmark, her family in Czechoslovakia was being

conditioned for death. She explained the Holocaust like this. You are slowly being peeled off like an onion. You are slowly losing first your privacy, your schooling, your income, your possessions. your

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