Into a Writer's Head: Day 7

Sunday, August 05, 2007

Day 7 - Yad Vashem

I know you're all hoping for witticisms here, but sadly I'll have to disappoint. I also have no photos to share, as I could not bring myself to turn on my camera this day.
Yad Vashem is the Israeli Holocaust Museum. It is chilling in the telling of the story of 6 million men, women and children murdered. The last time I visited Israel, I barely made it through the door without breaking down and spent the rest of the visit on the bus, waiting for my family.
For this visit, I challenged myself to see how far I could make it through. I spent much of the morning mentally preparing myself to face the devestation and horrors to come. Like many Jews, I've grown up with the stories. My dad's parents were survivors. They met in a displaced persons camp in Austria after the war. Growing up, my bubbe shared her stories, believing that only through telling these tales could we hope to avoid repeating the past.
It was with these stories rolling through my head that I approached the museum. With the support of several friends I made it through the two memorials set up at the beginning of the museum (weeping, true, but I made it). Surprisingly, by the time I entered the museum proper, I had calmed down enough to view it from an academic standpoint.
That being said, I think I may have set a landspeed record for how fast a human can move through the exhibits
The day became one of reflection to me. Many of the survivors have died in recent years, as their generation grows older. It begs the question: Who will be around to tell their story? Who will bring the human face back to the academic knowledge? Who will continue to say, as we do every year on Yom HaShoah (Holocaust Memorial Day), "Never again,"?
The answer is all of us. It is up to us all, regardless of religious background, to remember what has happened and to do everything within our powers to keep it from happening again. My bubbe recently asked me to write her story one day. I don't know that it's a story I'm ready to tell, but it's one that has to be written. One day I'll put fingers to keyboard and share her voice with my family, and maybe even the world.
Until then, I can only pray and remember those who are lost.

Labels: memories, travel