The Narrative of the New Polish Exhibition at the Auschwitz-Birkenau Museum

Auschwitz as a Museum

Museum exhibitions serve many purposes, but their foremost role is to communicate facts and convey the essence of the phenomena they present. Over the past twenty years, museum practice in Poland has increasingly embraced the genre of the “narrative museum,” in which historical content is presented through immersive, stage-like displays that envelop the visitor in the subject matter.

Although Auschwitz was designated a museum as early as 1947, the term was employed primarily for practical reasons—there was no more precise concept to encompass the protection, preservation, and educational mission of the site. Yet from the beginning, the documents establishing the museum emphasized that Auschwitz-Birkenau is also a cemetery. This fundamental truth is too often overlooked by contemporary visitors, some of whom approach the site with a kind of voyeuristic curiosity rather than the reverence it demands.

National Exhibitions

The idea of establishing national exhibitions at Auschwitz emerged shortly after liberation, but the first such exhibition—commemorating the citizens of Czechoslovakia—was not opened until 1960. These national displays were conceived as supplements to the permanent exhibition, designed to present the broader context of Nazi policies in occupied Europe, which led to deportations to Auschwitz.

Ironically, the first Jewish national exhibition, located in Block 27, opened in 1968—the same year as the anti-Zionist campaign across the Soviet bloc. The first Polish exhibition, housed in Block 15, was not unveiled until 1985. Entitled The Struggle and Martyrdom of the Polish Nation in the Years 1939–1945, it remained in place until 2023.

In recent years, extensive conservation work has been undertaken in Block 15 of the main Auschwitz camp. The newly unveiled exhibition, replacing the earlier display, is titled Poles in the Auschwitz Concentration Camp. Residents of the Oświęcim Region during the Second World War.

The New Exhibition Narrative

The new exhibition has been curated by Dr. Piotr Setkiewicz, long-time Director of the Research Center at the Auschwitz Museum and a prolific scholar of the camp’s history. The most difficult aspect of creating such an exhibition lies in selecting from the abundance of historical material and identifying a common denominator capable of communicating meaningfully with diverse audiences.

In contemporary museology, clarity, simplicity, chronological order, the use of authentic quotations, and a coherent narrative path have become guiding principles—the “holy grail” of exhibition design. The physical constraints of Block 15, preserved under strict conservation rules, posed challenges but also opportunities. The building itself reminds visitors of their presence within an authentic site of memory—a lieu de mémoire. Any exhibition here must respect this authenticity and avoid overshadowing it with dazzling technological effects that risk diluting the gravity of the crimes committed at Auschwitz.

The exhibition begins with a spacious section devoted to the period before 1939, illustrating the ordinariness of daily life and the sudden, catastrophic intrusion of war. Nazi rhetoric—on Lebensraum, colonization, historical rights, and conquest through both diplomacy and violence—looms ominously over this section. The curators highlight how populist lies and the radicalization of language have repeatedly paved the way for humanity’s gravest crimes.

From there, the narrative moves through successive stages of German terror: the destruction of the Polish state, the imposition of the General Government, and the brutal realities of Nazi occupation. The exhibition details the regime’s policies toward Polish Jews—300,000 of whom were deported to Auschwitz-Birkenau after 1942, when the camp assumed its role as a center of industrialized mass murder.

While addressing large-scale deportations—including approximately 150,000 Polish political prisoners—the exhibition never loses sight of individual stories, names, and faces. Multimedia elements are used sparingly, with a preference for visual over textual content.

The display also incorporates sculptures of prisoners in striped uniforms, echoing the earlier Polish exhibition (1985–2023). A wide, monumental staircase, evocative of Nazi architectural style, leads to the first floor. Here, the focus shifts to German colonization plans for the town of Oświęcim, incorporated into the Third Reich and renamed Auschwitz in October 1939. At the center stands a model of the Musterstadt Auschwitz complex, complemented by original sketches by Hans Stosberg. These projects bear witness to long-term Nazi ambitions of colonizing former Polish lands. The Generalplan Ost, developed by occupation authorities, envisaged the deportation of up to 80% of ethnic Poles and their replacement with German settlers.

The final rooms explore two themes: the fate of the 8,000 local residents displaced to allow the expansion of Auschwitz-Birkenau, and the assistance provided by locals to prisoners. Maps, aerial photographs, and statistics illustrate the intensity of German colonial plans. Allied reconnaissance photographs of Auschwitz from 1944 reintroduce the debated question of whether the camp could—or should—have been bombed.

Among the most poignant exhibits are works of art created by former prisoners and presented to local residents in gratitude for their assistance. One striking example is a metal-and-glass case crafted by Jan Liwacz, the same prisoner who, in 1940, was forced by the Germans to forge the infamous “Arbeit Macht Frei” sign above the camp gate.

Architecturally, the exhibition evolves into a labyrinth of cubic forms, culminating in a restrained glass sculpture. The design’s simplicity and austerity encourage contemplation and reflection.

Reflections on the Exhibition

The historical narrative is clear, well-structured, and deliberately reduced to essential themes—headlines rather than exhaustive analysis. The curators seem to have assumed that visitors, equipped with instant access to global encyclopedias via smartphones, will seek deeper knowledge independently, provided they approach sources critically.

Yet for all its clarity, the exhibition sometimes feels overly sanitized. The panels, in stark black and white, dominate the building’s interior, leaving little direct sensory connection to the authentic Auschwitz. A glance out the window, however, provides the unmediated reminder of the reality beyond the exhibition walls.

In this sense, the new Polish exhibition—by balancing interpretation with the authenticity of the site—has the potential to serve as a powerful educational tool, both for guided tours and for independent visitors.

Today marks the opening of a new national exhibition at the Auschwitz-Birkenau State Museum. The previous display, dedicated to the fate of Polish prisoners, had been presented from 1985 to 2023 under the title “The Struggle and Martyrdom of the Polish Nation in the Years 1939–1945.”

Over the past two years, extensive conservation work has been carried out in Block 15 of the main Auschwitz camp. The newly unveiled exhibition is entitled “Poles in the Auschwitz Concentration Camp. Residents of the Oświęcim Region during the Second World War.”

The exhibition’s architectural concept is rooted in minimalism, employing black and white as the dominant palette and gradually introducing more complex spatial arrangements. Mirrors are used as a supporting medium, enhancing the sense of disorientation and reflecting the vast scale of Auschwitz. The narrative unfolds both chronologically and thematically, designed to communicate key messages to a broad audience. The visitor’s journey is structured to progressively build a sense of overwhelming terror, the enormity of the crimes, and the isolation of the individual. Reproductions of paintings by former prisoner Władysław Siwek illustrate daily life in the camp, partially compensating for the scarcity of surviving artifacts. Sculptures depicting prisoners in striped uniforms serve as a meaningful reference to the earlier Polish exhibition.

A wide, monumental staircase leading to the first floor evokes the aesthetics of Nazi architecture and introduces the section devoted to the German colonization plans for the town of Oświęcim. In October 1939, the town was incorporated into the Third Reich and renamed Auschwitz. At the center of this part of the exhibition stands a model of the Germanized Auschwitz complex, accompanied by original sketches by Hans Stosberg.

The final two rooms address the fate of several thousand local residents who were displaced to allow for the expansion of Auschwitz-Birkenau, as well as their involvement in efforts to aid prisoners. The architecture of the exhibition evolves into a labyrinth of cubic forms, culminating in a restrained glass sculpture. Through its simplicity and sparing use of materials, the exhibition’s design fosters contemplation and reflection on its content.

This new presentation complements the museum’s main exhibition by focusing specifically on the fate of Polish citizens in the German Nazi concentration camp at Auschwitz. It not only documents the history of political prisoners but also acknowledges other groups of Polish citizens incarcerated there—including Polish Jews, many of whom were deported to Auschwitz to be murdered in the industrialized phase of the Holocaust.

The second part of the exhibition addresses the wartime history of Oświęcim renamed into Auschwitz, encompassing the realities of occupation, forced displacement, the activities of IG Farbenindustrie, and German plans for the city’s colonization and Germanization. It also highlights the life-threatening assistance extended to Auschwitz prisoners by local inhabitants—referred to as the “People of Good Will”—who lived within the so-called camp interest zone, a 16-square-miles area isolating the camp from the outside world. The final element of the exhibition is an attempt to recreate the names and biographies of the resistance members who helped the prisoners.

The Goldbergs started in Oświęcim in the early XIX century to move to Milówka towards the end of the century and arround WW I expand into Bielsko-Biała.

Sukkah it is. I am sure that Moses Goldberg from Oświęcim who built this house in Milówka and had a hardware store equipped it with a crank mechanism to lift the roof for Sukkot. He was welcoming his guest with the Aramaic/Yiddish - ushpizin welcome to invite the 7 supernal guests "founding fathers" of the Jewish people. At the same time a word sounding like his home town of Oświęcim in yiddish. Way before it was renamed into Auschwitz by the German Nazis. Milówka becomes a tourist destination so Moses changes the house into a hotel and restaurant. It is located on the tourist trail from Milówka rail station into Hala Boracza where in 1925 the first in the world Jewish mountain shelter was built by the Makabbi movement.

The Ghost of Wadowice

The Goldberger brothers once played soccer in the cobbled market square of Wadowice, their laughter mingling with the morning bustle. We know this not from myth, but from memory—Karol Wojtyła, later known to the world as Pope John Paul II, recalled Poldek Goldberger as one of his childhood companions on the field.

Moniek, Poldek, Eduard, and Adolf—later known as Dolek, and eventually Maurice—were the sons of Maksymilian and Eleonore Goldberger. Their family home stood at Rynek 18, overlooking the square. Not far away, at Rynek 2, Karol Wojtyła and his father lived in an apartment rented from the Jewish Balamuth family. The two families likely knew each other well. After all, Max Goldberger was a dentist—just like his brother—and everyone knows their dentist.

In the 1930s, the Goldberger boys pursued studies in law and philosophy at the Jagiellonian University in Kraków—the same halls where the young Wojtyła immersed himself in Polish literature and earned a reputation as a gifted actor.

Toward the end of the decade, Adolf—by then known as Maurice—married Lotta (Charlotte) Glazer, a woman from a German-Jewish family in Bielitz–Bielsko. But the shadow was already falling.

In September 1939, with the German army advancing fast, the Goldbergers fled eastward, seeking refuge in the uncertain safety of eastern Poland. Maurice took up a false identity as a physician in Sielec, a fragile disguise that could only hold for so long. In October 1942, they were arrested. By winter, they were prisoners in the newly established Nazi concentration camp of Majdanek.

They were among the first.

Charlotte became one of the first women incarcerated there. It was still a concentration camp, gradually converted into a death facility. By late 1942, Majdanek had become one of the six German Nazi death camps.

We do not know how they survived the horrors of November 3rd and 4th, 1943—the days of Operation “Harvest Festival,” when 42,000 Jews were slaughtered across the Lublin district in a single, calculated purge. We only know that they did.

Somehow, they endured. Perhaps it was Charlotte’s strict German upbringing that gave her the strength to hold her ground, speaking impeccable High German even in the camp. A Nazi once told her that she didn’t look or act like a Jew.

It is believed that they remained in Majdanek until its liberation on July 22, 1944. The next trace of their existence is a postwar registration: survivors of Lublin, living at Czwartek Street No. 4.

They spoke little of those years, as was the case for many who survived. But fragments remain.

One day, Maurice walked up a hill to the old Jewish community building—before the war, it had been the Perec House. Now, he ran a canteen for survivors there. As he approached, he saw a woman. He stopped her and asked, “Do you know who I am?”

She looked at him for a long moment, then said, “A ghost.”

In May 1945, Maurice and Charlotte left Poland behind for good, fleeing not only the ruins of war, but also the rising tide of antisemitism and Soviet oppression. They settled briefly in Tirschenreuth, Bavaria, filling out their UNRRA displaced persons cards with a stark and chilling line:

“Not back to Poland—for all my relatives there are dead.”

By the early 1950s, they had crossed the ocean. Their new address: 1702 Bathgate Avenue, Bronx, New York.

The rest, as they say, is history.

But like so many survivor stories, it was a history largely unspoken—for decades, shrouded in silence.

Each January 27th marks the anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz-Birkenau in 1945. Today we have the 79th anniversary and the International Holocaust Remembrance Day.

Auschwitz has redefined Europe and it sends globally a warning against populism, intolerance, ignorance and silence. Against the major factors dismantling the democratic order and replacing it with a crooked dictatorships in democratic disguise.

No other German Nazi camp impacted Europe and its Jewish population the way Auschwitz did.

Last week I was at the edges of Europe, 360 km north of the polar circle in the Norwegian city of Tromsø .

There is a church in the city center. In front of the church a monument to all those who fell victim in WW II. Ethnic Norwegian victims. My mind wandered of how many of those were members of SS Task Force Einsatzkommando 1, Oslo , Task Force 6, Tromsö. This unit run two German controlled detention camps in Tromsø vicinity, Sydspissen and Tromsdalen. But I believe that most of those listed were the victims of the Nazis.

When the camps opened, they were initially used to house suspected communists and the Tromsø area’s male Jewish population. It would later hold intellectuals, teachers, and members of the Norwegian political left. It functioned as a transit camp which would either release prisoners after a short stay or send them further to Grini, Falstad, or camps in Germany.

There were couple of Jewish families in Tromsø prior to WW II. The Kleins, the Caplans, the Fischers. Most managed to flee and cross the border with Sweden.

On the other side of the church but still on Kirkegata (Church street) there is a monument with 17 Jewish names of people who were deported from here through Oslo docks into Stettin or Hamburg to be then deported on trains to Auschwitz.

Major deportations were organized in November of 1942. On November 26th , 1942 a group of 532 Norwegian Jews were pushed into Donau ship in Oslo and send to Stettin.

Auschwitz records have an ice cold statistical entry under the day of December 1st , 1942.

“There came a RSHA transport from Bergen region in Norway. 532 Jews – 302 men , 230 women and children. After selection there were 186 men directed to the camp and numbered 79064-79249. The remaining 346 people were murdered in the gas chambers.”

The deportation route of 3300 km – 2050 miles is the longest I know in case of Auschwitz deportations. The distance and logistics involved is a testimony of how far the institutionalized hatred may take us once it is mixed with corporate organization and industrialized detention or murder system.

In 2024 there is still an A.Caplan store just in between the two monuments.

On January 14th, 2024 the Holocaust monument in Tromsø was secured with anti riot metal barriers and guarded by the local police. The city was loud with anti Israel chants and slogans as there was a march in support of Gaza organized. Graffiti, posters and stickers covered the city walls, shop windows and monuments. In such way somewhere at the very edges of Europe the old ghosts of hatred could be heard. The best intentions of supporting the Gaza civilian population shall never be drained in antisemitic hatred.

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News from Galicia

The Narrative of the New Polish Exhibition at the Auschwitz-Birkenau Museum

The Architecture of the New Polish Exhibition at Auschwitz-Birkenau Museum.

Milówka and Bielsko-Biała Goldberg family. First Jewish mountain shelter and Sukkah in Milówka.

Moniek, Poldek, Eduard, and Adolf—later known as Dolek, and eventually Maurice—were the sons of Maksymilian and Eleonore Goldberger in Wadowice. Soccer with John Paul II.

3300 km. The longest deportation route from Tromso to Auschwitz – Birkenau.