In the fires after the gas chamber the burning flesh of people smelled like pork cooking, and not only do I not eat pork, but if someone was cooking it, I couldn't be in their house because it literally made me feel like running outside and vomiting.
This memory was not with me as a young child, as a young child I ate pork a few times - it kicked in at an older age, maybe late teens, something triggered it for me.
Visiting Dacchau in my twenties was a profound experience - walking through the gate was incredibly difficult and there was a photograph of one young man that I particularly identified with and was stricken by. As I walked through the gas chambers by the furnaces I thought to myself - something is different here - this is not exactly right. At the end of the visit I found myself laying down on my belly taking a photograph of the view from under the barb wire fence with such a longing in my heart that I knew I had been there before on the other side of the wires. After an acceptance of what I went through I now can be in the house while pork is cooking, the extreme aversion has left me, but I have never cooked it and still don't eat the meat.