In 1960, an educator named Gerhard Haukebo returned to Minnesota from a stint overseas with a vision. Could the language immersion methods he'd seen on German playgrounds be married to the summer camp experience he so loved?
After brainstorming the idea during a fishing trip on Lake of the Woods with friend and colleague Erhard Friedrichsmeyer, Haukebo took the dream to his employer, Concordia College. Friedrichsmeyer proposed the name "Lager Waldsee" — Camp Forest Lake — the better to evoke the idyllic landscape where the new camp might nestle. And in 1961, the first of the International Language Villages was born, a place where children could learn the German language not in a classroom, but while at play.
Buoyed by the success of Lager Waldsee, the villages eventually swelled to 15 language concentrations, where thousands upon thousands of children have been steeped in other cultures including French, Norwegian, Russian and Japanese. The reputation of the camps, eventually rechristened Concordia Language Villages (CLV), only became more burnished over time.
Then, earlier this year, nearly 60 years after Haukebo's vision became reality, Concordia faced a shocking truth:
There was another Waldsee. But this Waldsee was not a peaceful place of rest. It wasn't even a real place.
Steve Hunegs, director of the Jewish Community Relations Council of Minnesota and the Dakotas (JCRC), put it starkly.
"It was," he says, "a horrible euphemism for Auschwitz."
In Nazi-occupied Hungary during WWII, Concordia camp leaders would soon learn, Jews were herded onto trains with the promise of a lovely and tranquil destination. "We learned that our journey's end was a place named Waldsee," says the young narrator of Imre Kertész's Nobel Prize-winning novel, "Fatelessness."