The Past Two Weeks, Part III- Yad Vashem (scroll down for parts I & II)

I have to confess that I had never been to a Holocaust museum before Yad Vashem, and that I was really nervous about going. Thursday morning we heard a Holocaust survivor speak, whose name I think was Hannah Gislar (she was a good friend of Anne Frank and wrote a book about her own life. I feel terrible but my bus arrived late and I missed hearing her introduction and name) and in the afternoon we went to the museum. Recently renovated and located just outside Jerusalem, it is truly an incredible monument and memorial. From the outside it appears to be a concrete triangle, and when you enter you start at one side and can see a little pyramid of light far at the other end. Every architectural feature is intentional; the walls are grey and unfinished and make you feel like you like the building is closing in on you. Guides take you back and forth from each side to different rooms, which discuss and display the chronological development of the Holocaust. It was a very factual tour at first; my European history knowledge was refreshed as I observed maps, pictures, and different types of propaganda from the beginning of the war. As we progressed through the rooms, however, I strayed from our tour to listen to videos of survivor's testimony. I only watched about 3 videos, and teared up at each. I think I have always subconciously avoided learning about the Holocaust because it is obviously incredibly difficult to hear about. But even worse for me at Yad Vashem was seeing evidence of the Holocaust's atrocities-actually looking at pictures and video of camps, emaciated people, mass killings, hangings, and public humiliation of Jews. Sadly, everything at the museum is real and the footage original to guard against Holocaust deniers. When I attended Jewish elementary school, and even at Weber, we were usually spared seeing horrifying and gory pictures, but here I made myself look at them; I had to. I guess I had to acknowledge to myself that these things happened, that people actually experienced this. The least I could do was to take it in and never forget what I saw (which is only the tiniest fraction of the awfulness that occured) so that it will never happen again, because what was hardest for me to come to terms with was that people- intelligent, emotional, sane human beings- stood by and actually photographed and videoed these acts. I know it isn't this simple, but I felt like they stood by and let the Holocaust happen.

At the end of the main museum we went to the Children's Memorial, which is housed separately on the property. It is a dark, circular room with a tape reading off the names, ages, and countries of origins of the document children who died in the Holocaust runs continuously. In the middle of the room is one lit candle, but on the walls and ceilings are hundreds of mirrors. The light bounces off of all of them and the bits of flame surround you like stars. The reflections seem infinite; each flame represening a separate child's life, each preserving a memory, each salvaging a spark of humanity and innocence from the blackness of the Holocaust. When you have walked completely around the circular path, you exit into a courtyard where you are welcomed by the view of Jerusalem. The Hebrew name for Jerusalem, Yerushalayim, can be broken into two parts: Yeru, which means to see, and Shalayim or Shalem, which can mean wholeness or peace. I emerged from the darkened room feeling grateful that the Jewish people had emerged from this period of darkness, and that Israel had emerged from it in a way as well. I looked down upon the sand-colored walls of Jerusalem, glimmering in the afternoon sun, a place radiating with light. I saw peace.