The following quote is from a news article which you can read in full here.
Three times I’ve walked through the ashes of Auschwitz, the most meaningful being that day with [Elie] Wiesel. I emerged looking not just at the big picture of persecution, but also looking at the small one. Asking questions like, how would I have handled it if someone stole my shoes? For inmates slavishly worked to the edge of extinction, shoes could be the margin between life and death.
I have been to Auschwitz I and Auschwitz II three times, but I have never walked through any ashes there. Where are the ashes? Visitors to Auschwitz-Birkenau [Auschwitz II] are advised to stay on the road through the camp because there are pot holes hidden in the tall grass that covers the remains of the camp.
Maybe Greg Dobbs, the man who wrote the article, was writing metaphorically. Allegedly, there was no grass when Birkenau was in use because the prisoners allegedly ate the grass.
This quote is also from the article:
But at the same time, one might have thought that Wiesel also, somehow, could have been happy, 40 years later, in that singularly sad spot. Happy that the degenerate dregs of Auschwitz no longer were a death camp but a muscular monument to his people’s survival. Happy that by becoming the archivist of arguably the most malicious mass murders in the history of mankind, he was rich, he was revered. And that because of what he wrote, the rest of us might never forget.
But he didn’t look happy. He didn’t talk happy. He didn’t act happy. He was sad.
Sad that necessity had forced him to put pen to paper, sad that for many years after the war, relatively few among its survivors dared to speak of the Holocaust, let alone write about it for the sake of time immemorial.
Why did other Holocaust survivors not dare to speak of the Holocaust? I think that it was because they didn’t want to lie about events that never happened.