Power of Place: 2026 European Summer Institute for Holocaust Educators is an experiential professional development for teachers where learning unfolds as they tour historical sites across Europe in order to transform their understanding of the Holocaust, WWII, antisemitism, and Jewish life today. Power of Place is planned and co-led by Humanus Network on behalf of JCRC and generously supported by the Minnesota Vikings, the Tankenoff Families Foundation, Allianz of America Corporation and MINNE (Minnesota Norway Education Israel & Holocaust Fellowship).

by Angela Kitzman, Rolette Public School (Rolette, North Dakota) | June 25, 2026 | Bodzentyn, Poland

We start day 8 of our trip heading from Krakow to Bodzentyn, Poland. As we leave the city and enter the rural countryside during our two-hour journey, it almost feels like I am at home in North Dakota – the small rolling hills in certain places, the different rows of crop colors, the variegated greens that run through the prairie grasses, and the scattered farms that spread throughout the limitless countryside… and yet, the vast towering hills and the multitude of scattered trees in all directions are foreign to me, as I am one who lives along the low, flat prairie.

Our mission today is to learn more about Dawid Rubinowicz and the areas in which he lived. We meet our guides, Ewa and Agata, and begin our journey at the former location of Dawid’s school in Krajno. After lunch on the way to Bodzentyn, we stop at a Jewish cemetery. However, getting off the bus, there is no cemetery to be seen. As I stand there waiting for everyone to get off the bus, I look around at the surroundings, trying to locate it.

Ewa takes the lead and shows us the way. We walk down the sidewalk in front of houses, and then take a side trail off the beaten path. What I thought was going to be a drive or even a short walk turns into a hike on a trail up through elevated terrain. As we continue to hike up this mild hill where only a small trail has been mowed, I begin to wonder where we are going. After what seemed like an awfully long time, we finally reach the base of a hill with wooden stairs that jut out into the field just beside it.  We climb the stairs and grab our stones to place on top of the graves. When we are just a few steps away from the stairs, we finally see the tombstones through the clearing.

We start to walk through the rough terrain. Even though we were told that revitalization efforts have taken place, there are still layers upon layers of thick brush, dead grasses, and weeds. It is evident that for some time this cemetery had been forgotten. Where are the caretakers, I silently wonder. I stand at the edge of the clearing, and it dawns on me… there is no one left. All of the family members are gone. I am instantly brought back to the moment a few days ago when we were at the Lost Shtetl Museum in Seduva, Lithuania. The museum seemed to rise out of the landscape in its crisp silvery white facade, almost like a phantom. Disappeared… vanished… never to return.

Instantly, a lump starts to swell up and rise in my throat, my heart aches, and my breath catches. It takes everything I have to not lose it in front of the group, as my heart breaks for those we have lost and for those that cannot come after them, for they have vanished. I stand there for a while trying to process the unfathomable. How could this have happened?  I walk around the cemetery and later realize that I don’t even know where to step on this hallowed ground. There are a few flat pieces of concrete tombstones laying down among the grass. Questions start to fill my head. I wonder how full this cemetery actually is. I wonder how many tombstones are missing and wonder where they had possibly gone. I wonder who these people were and what they did for a living.

After a few moments, we place our remembrance stones on the tombstones, to remind everyone who comes after us that we have not forgotten them. We make our way down the stairs and back down the trail. We come to the sidewalk again, and I realize that I had actually missed the sign when we started up the trail the first time. Along the sidewalk, there is a very small sign that reads “Cmentarz zydowski” or “Jewish cemetery” with an arrow pointing to the left, labeled 100 m. Any person driving by could surely miss it by just blinking, because I missed it myself.

As we continue on the sidewalk, I see a row of perfectly manicured houses. I instantly get angry, as I realize that this cemetery is completely hidden by these houses. It was like a punch to the gut. A person driving down the street wouldn’t have any inclination that these pristine houses are hiding a secret. One would think that there would be nothing back there, if not for that small road sign. I begin to wonder how intentional it was to hide this cemetery at one time during the war, or not, but then I also wonder why these immaculate updated houses were allowed to be built here. Instead, there should be a road leading to the cemetery with a giant sign and gates that announce that you are near a cemetery. We head back to the bus in silence contemplating our thoughts.

Venturing to our next stop, the lump in my throat remains. We continue to ponder: How do we remember all those we have lost? We continue to live, to learn, and to remember. We must celebrate their lives that were lost so tragically. We must keep the memory of these Jews alive and never let it happen again. We must take care of one another.

I am so incredibly grateful for this opportunity. I am so thankful to the JCRC and Humanus Network for this profound and impactful journey. What a trip… what a treasure… what a gift.