Hate and Hope

Shalom,

Today that word makes me think, since it means peace. They greet each other in Israel with the word peace. How astounding with all that has happened to many of their families. I just got back to the hotel from Yad Vashem, the Holocaust museum and memorials. Today, as I write this to you, I am not going to write in chronological order, but instead will start with Yad Vashem this afternoon. I cannot move back to this morning until I have responded to the museum/memorial.

We met with a tour guide, Danny, from Keshet, our tour group, in the museum. He is one who we met in Indiana before we left, and he is one who apparently is an expert on the Holocaust. He is also wonderful at guiding through it, as I learned today. Our visit started with a brief explanation of World War 2 and how the Holocaust began. We were each given headsets, and Danny had a microphone, so he could speak softly and we could hear him anywhere in each room while wandering and looking at the exhibits. Because he had to speak softly so as not to disturb other people or groups, his voice was gentle. Because it was gentle, it added to the solemnity of the museum and made it easier to stay in the mood intended. I appreciated that. It was a very solemn tour, and we were in the museum for at least two and a half hours, probably more. I did not have any clue how long we were in there until we left and I looked at my watch. In the museum we proceeded from room to room looking at early laws and ideals pushed by the Nazis and present in Europe. We looked at ghettos, occupations, work camps, death camps. It was a horrible thing to see and hear. We listened to and read translations of stories that people told about their various experiences. One man told about how as a 15 year old boy he did all that he could to survive, which meant preying on the weak. Others talked of family who died or how they survived. It was powerful and terrible to sit and be given these stories, one after another after another. Danny told us a story he heard from a man who survived. This man had been a boy, right on the edge of manhood. He, his sister, and his mother had been in the train for 3 days when they arrived at the death camp. Tensions were high in the family, as in any family where two siblings are close to each other for too long without relief. They seen death in the train and were very hungry. His mother, perhaps sensing something or guessing something, pushed him over into the men's line when she and his sister went to the women's line. He screamed, wanting to go with his mother, and went back to her. She pushed him back. Three times this happened. Finally, he had to stay there and he screamed at the "I hate you, I hope you die!" He had no idea what was coming. They thought this was just a work camp, and he was a boy. The line of women and children all went to their deaths. This story almost set me to tears, and by this point in the museum I was nauseous and upset, as you would expect. We also saw the stories and remembrances of the people who helped the Jews, because they were humans, so what else would they do? or they were Christians, so what else should they do? We talked about the countries who did nothing or little even after knowing everything that was going on. It was terrible. As we moved forward, we went into the final room of the museum where there were shelves of binders, presumably holding the stories, and many pictures. We were encouraged here to look at them as individuals, not as one of six million. Remember their lives, not just the way that they died. These were people. How would we like to be remembered someday...by how we died or how we lived? We were encouraged to think of how they lived. We walked from that room to the outside of the museum. you walk straight and see from a balcony, Jerusalem. You see the beauty of Israel and you see the city of Jerusalem, a city holy to so many, and a refuge for so many. This was the end of the museum. Everybody reacted in different ways. Some people immediately started joking around and talking about how they wanted McDonalds. Some people sat in small groups and talked quietly, I don't know what about. A few people went off and sat on a bench by themselves. I walked a bit by myself then went and sat on a bench alone until it was time to move on. I was not ready to talk.

From the museum, we went toward the bus but stopped at 3 of the hundreds of memorials on the properties. The first was to the heroes. It looked triumphant, and it makes sense for a people who choose to longer be victims. The second was the children's memorial. We walked through it single file and silently. I walked second in line, behind Danny, and let my hand trail the railing. The room we entered was dark. You could hear a recording in various languages saying names, ages, and home countries of the children who died. First, we walked straight through a room with about 10 pictures of children of the walls, which opened into a circular room. this circular room had a walkway somewhat like a donut. You walked in a circle in a dark room that has glass on either side of you. Behind the glass are small lights that then reflect all over the room in the glass, making it look a little like walking in stars, when the stars are more of a fire color than white. We walked around the room, slowly, one and a half times then out the exit door. When we got out, I do not know what my face looked like, but Danny tuned around, we locked eyes, and he kind of nodded then looked away to watch everybody else walk out behind us. I felt understanding, which was nice. I turned to look at everybody walking out and looked in their eyes. I saw people recently crying, people shocked, people numb, people with pain and people who showed no reaction. for the rest of the walk, I continued to walk in the front, because I did not want to see anybody else's reactions, because they were either reacting like me or they weren't. Either way, I did not want to deal with it. The final memorial was for a man who ran an orphanage and protected the children to their death. After the memorials, we walked through a garden where trees were planted for the "Righteous Gentiles" who helped the Jews. We saw the trees for Oskar Schindler and his wife, which makes me feel better about not seeing his grave.

I spoke with Danny some about the museum and the Holocaust museum in Washington D.C., which I went to about 9 1/2 years ago. Apparently, when the D.C. museum came out, it put to shame what was in Israel, so Israel built Yad Vashem, causing new scholarship and some competition, improving the museum. Danny took us through the museum and memorials at exactly the right pace for me. I did not see everything, and some day I will go back and spend days there to see as much as possible, but for today, the pace was perfect. I could not have handled more, and would have been dissatisfied with less. As you may know, I have been fascinated, obsessed, with the Holocaust since I was a young child. This museum, was perfect, horrible, terrible, and perfect. I got onto the bus, still not wanting to speak to anybody. Perhaps others had this reaction, since they also sat in silence as we waited for the bus doors to open so we could go on. Some people by now were joking around and back to normal moods. When I got on the bus, since human conversation was out of the realm of conceivability for me--I was not ready yet--I listened to some soft music on my iPod. My raw response is this blog, so now I feel like I can deal with talking to people again. This museum gave me the same ultimate feeling that I felt when I walked from the Washington D.C. museum 9 1/2 years ago. I do not know if this museum was better or worse. For me, it was at least equal. I felt sick at 12 in D.C. and felt sick at 22 in Jerusalem. I learned from both and took away the feeling of horror but hope from both. I am grateful to everyone who knew not to talk to me as I dealt with this.

Now that I have written about Yad Vashem, I will relate to you this morning's experiences. First, we started the day early with a visit to the Temple Mount. We had to pass through security to enter. Just as I got to the walk-through metal detector, the power went out and I had to stand and wait. Everybody else in the class had gone through or moved over to the other metal detector that was working. The guard had me stay where I was. Eventually, the power came back on, I walked through, and my bag went on the belt. It got to the end, they picked it up, and put it through again. Then they opened my purse and emptied everything out. I guess my ipod, camera, wallet, and medicine looked threatening. So, then I had the joy of stuffing it all back in and catching up with the group. Prof. Arnold was waiting for me and accused me of being a suspicious person. Finally, we made it on to the Mount. We were not allowed to go into either the Al-Aqsa Mosque or the Dome of the Rock, but it was still pretty cool to be where the temple had been. as it was cold outside, we moved on rather quickly to look at the excavations to the Roman road, outside the Temple Mount. We sat in the giant freezing wind tunnel of the Roman road, at the level where Jesus would have walked, as we listened to many explanations of the site. It was neat to be there, but the excitement was dulled by the shivering. I still don't understand why we couldn't sit in the sun to hear the explanations then go down and see what was talked about. Finally, after all these excavations, we got back on the warm bus for a ride to the Herzel cemetery, where we saw the military cemetery and Theodore Herzel's grave, among others. For there, we went to the Holocaust museum, Yad Vashem, which I have already told you about.

Well, I am drained and hungry, though I did have a chocolate bar upon arrival at the hotel. As we all know from Happy Potter, chocolate helps when you have been faced with evil. So, I am going to leave off for the night.

Shalom.