In 1995 I travelled by train from Berlin to Poznan. Part of the journey was through the woods which triggered in me unexpected feelings of deja vu.

Back home, I replayed the scenes of the woods filmed during the trip from the train, several times in slow motion. As I struggled to find an answer to my response behind
those still images, there was nothing I could see. No traces, only the resonances from the absents.

From an early age I had heard about my roots; stories were handed on to us as children, to keep, to pass to the next generation: never to forget what happened to our family and to other people during the War. I was handed a metaphor for the Holocaust, recollections from different sources, all enmeshed with pain rather than factual
information.

Those woods were a place which I knew nothing except that Poland was part of my past and, in some strange and powerful way, it was revealed to me at that moment,
part of my present.