Seventy years after its liberation, a visit to Dachau Concentration Camp — 30 minutes by train northwest of downtown Munich — raises uncomfortable questions.

First and foremost, should we be visiting at all? It seems crass that a place in which there was so much deliberately inflicted suffering should become a venue for a day out, complete with gift shop and café. It also seems awkward that, for the past seven decades, the camp has been continually repaired and repainted, preserving it in a state of suspended animation. Why not just let it decay naturally?

There is also the issue of fellow visitors. Most people tour the camp in appropriate solemnity, but we also saw a few individuals laughing and joshing, and there were even couples taking smiley portraits with selfie sticks.

But over the course of three hours, our concerns were subsumed by the sheer power of the place. To set foot in this, the first Nazi concentration camp, where more than 30,000 people died, is a profoundly moving experience. The topper came in the Catholic chapel. A group of American students assembled into an impromptu circle and sang two hymns. There were plenty of tears.

When we left, our earlier gripes seemed unimportant. The camp has a deep and lasting impact on almost every modern visitor passing through its gates. They leave pondering the bigger questions: Why did crimes against humanity happen, and why do they keep on happening? As long as visitors keep asking themselves those questions, the memorial site serves a valuable purpose.