The Terezin fortress was built in the late 1700s to protect Bohemia from Prussians coming from the north.  It turned out to be a not-so-great military stronghold (although it certainly looks like a well-placed fort) and evolved into a village with bigger than normal walls surrounding it.

Unfortunately, Terezin’s modern infamy comes from its use by the Nazis as a sort of holding area for Jews, political prisoners, and other “undesirables” before shipping them off to one of the other concentration camps to be killed.  The village residents were forced to move out in the early 1940s, and by the end of WWII, over 150,000 inmates had passed through the gates of Terezin.  More than 20% of those men, women, and children died at Terezin, so even though it wasn’t intended as an extermination camp, illness, starvation, cold, and injuries inflicted by guards took their toll.  In addition, nearly 300 prisoners were executed for attempting to escape, for helping others to escape, or simply as a reminder to others that their lives could end at any moment.

The Small Fortress was the section of the town that originally served as a prison, mostly for political prisoners and those awaiting execution.  The photo below shows one of the cells that housed several hundred prisoners at any given time.

This photo shows the railroad tracks laid by prisoners to accommodate the train cars arriving with new inmates, and the building where inmates were processed (registered and relieved of their belongings), and the photo below that is of the storage facility where clothing, luggage, jewelry, and other personal items were kept that had been taken from prisoners.

This photo is of one of the “dormitories” where male prisoners were housed after arriving in Terezin. Families were split up and children were separated from parents. Some arriving prisoners were sent on almost immediately to other concentration camps, while most stayed at Terezin waiting to learn of their fate.

The Ghetto Museum displays a room full of children’s drawings – all that remains, for the most part, from the thousands of children who lived for a time at Terezin. Few of those children survived and I wasn’t able to stay in the room with these artworks, but had to go outside to calm down. I suspect that the museum staff members get used to seeing people come out of this exhibit in tears, but it would be a tough job.

Probably most disturbingly, Terezin was used as a propaganda site for foreign visitors (including the Red Cross), who were treated to displays of children playing, inmates engaged in musical presentations, and sporting events featuring the healthier prisoners, with others acting as spectators. With the acuity of hindsight we can only marvel at the naiveté of the visitors who bought the Nazi's act -- hook, line, and sinker. I’d like to think that we’re no longer so easily duped, but places like Terezin carry a simple message: Never again.