First steps to freedom – the story of Ravensbrück 1945.
The spring of 1945 arrived slowly, but for the women imprisoned at Ravensbrück, it meant much more than a change of season. It was a time when hope, stifled, trampled, and nearly crushed for years, began to reignite in their hearts. Ravensbrück, Germany’s largest concentration camp for women, had for years been a place of suffering, hunger, and merciless labor. More than 100,000 prisoners passed through its gates, and thousands perished in the shadow of the barracks and barbed wire. As Allied forces approached the camp gates in April 1945, not a single prisoner understood what the word “liberation” meant.
For many women, the first moment after the gates opened was indescribable. Until then, the outside world existed only in dreams, fragmented childhood memories, or whispers shared between fellow sufferers. And yet, one day, it happened: the gates of Ravensbrück opened, and the fear of the afterlife ceased. Silence reigned, a thick, heavy silence, as if everyone was afraid of disturbing this fragile moment.
In the midst of the silence, a woman stepped forward. She was as thin as a shadow, her cheeks hollow, her eyes large and captivatingly bright. She wore no shoes; her bare feet touched the ground just outside the gate, as if it were the threshold of another world. Her step was hesitant, she trembled, but she moved forward. Each movement seemed to symbolize the breaking of the invisible chains that had held her in place for years.
She stopped a few meters beyond the barbed wire and suddenly knelt. Her hands, emaciated, marked by forced labor, touched the earth. She took a handful of damp earth and let it flow through her fingers. There was something almost sacred about this gesture. For her, the earth was no longer just a dirty, pain-soaked surface; it was proof that a world existed beyond the barracks, beyond the guardhouse, beyond the Apelplatz. The earth was life.
The woman was crying, but her tears were no longer just an expression of pain. They were tears of return, tears that said, “I am here. I still exist. I survived.”
Behind her, other women appeared. Some approached slowly, hand in hand, others accelerated, as if afraid the gates would close and they would be told to turn back. Among them were Polish, Russian, French, German, Jewish, and Czech women, victims of the same system of terror. Some bent down to touch the grass, others stared at the horizon, trying to remember a world without watchtowers.
Some witnesses later recounted that the silence was broken only by a faint whisper: “Is it really over?” These words, repeated in different languages, nevertheless had the same meaning: confirmation that the worst nightmare had finally ended.
At that moment, Ravensbrück ceased to be solely a place of suffering. It became a space of transition, moving from a world of death to a world where hope could still exist.
The gesture of the kneeling woman grasping the earth has been remembered as a symbol of rebirth. Historians often point out that these moments—simple, silent, and discreet—had more meaning for the survivors than any political statement. It was proof that a person, even after years of humiliation and inhumane treatment, can regain a sense of dignity.
Touching the earth became a kind of “first prayer of freedom.” In the eyes of women, it was a rite of passage through which oppressed humanity found its place again.
To fully understand the significance of this day, it’s important to remember what Ravensbrück was. A German concentration camp established in 1939, primarily for women, it quickly became one of the largest execution sites in Europe. More than 132,000 women and children, about 20,000 men, and several thousand infants passed through its gates. Thousands died from starvation, disease, executions, and medical experiments.
The prisoners were forced into hard labor in armaments factories, sewing uniforms, and building roads. Their daily lives consisted of roll call in freezing temperatures, beatings, backbreaking labor, and the constant fear of death. Many of them never had the opportunity to write a final letter to their families.
Thus, the gesture of touching the ground after emerging from the barbed wire had a deeper meaning than one might imagine. It was not just a physical act, it was a declaration of life amidst the ruins.
Although the women left prison, the trauma scarred them forever. Freedom marked the beginning of a new journey, but not the end of their suffering. The survivors of Ravensbrück returned to a world that often refused to listen to their experiences. They had to rebuild their lives, reunite with families who had sometimes disappeared, and confront the silence of those who never returned.
Yet the memory of that moment—the first step beyond the barbed wire, the first touch of free land—remained etched in their hearts like a landmark. It was the moment when light pierced the darkness.
Today, the site is commemorated as the Ravensbrück Memorial . Tourists and researchers come to pay their respects to the victims and understand how an inhumane system attempted to strip people of their humanity. But it’s just as important to remember moments like this: a woman knelt and clutched the ground, followed by dozens of others.
It is a reminder that despite the enormity of destruction and hatred, man still desires contact with life, with nature, with what is lasting and true.
The story of Ravensbrück shows that freedom does not always manifest itself in great political or military exploits. Sometimes, freedom begins with simple gestures: touching the earth, looking at the horizon, breathing air free from the smoke of the crematoria.
For the women who survived the camp, this gesture marked the beginning of a process of reconstruction. It demonstrated that, even after years of suffering, it was possible to rediscover the joy of living.
The story of the liberation of Ravensbrück and the women’s first steps outside the camp gates is not only historical but also universal. It reminds us that freedom is never achieved once and for all and must be won, not only politically, but also personally, emotionally, and spiritually.
It is also a call to remember the survivors and their testimonies. Their stories are part of our shared identity and must be passed on to future generations.
The “first step towards freedom” at Ravensbrück in 1945 was not just a physical departure from the camp. It was a deeply symbolic moment: a return to life, to the world, to humanity. When the woman knelt and grasped the earth, her gesture testified to the indestructible strength of the human spirit.
Ravensbrück was a place of unimaginable suffering, but also the cradle of an extraordinary story of courage and rebirth. The memory of that moment—of a bare foot crossing the threshold, of earth slipping through the fingers—is a warning, but also a hope that, even in the heart of darkness, one can find light.
