The Holocaust Museum

One of the priorities for my travels was to come to Washington D.C. to visit the Holocaust Museum.  This has been high on my list since its opening. 

But as I walk through this four story labyrinth of a terrible part of our world's history, I ponder why it was so important to be here.  The museum tells the story of the rise of Nazism in Germany and the subtle ways in which Jews were scapegoated.  In telling the story, the designers do not sugarcoat the history.  They point out moments throughout when the German citizens and world leaders could have swayed the outcome but did not.  While it was sad to read such accounts, the honesty was profound.

The images from the concentration camps were difficult to look at.  And even as I gazed upon these images, I am sure that the photos could not do justice to the reality of the suffering that took place there.  Along with the photo and written accounts, there were some powerful visual displays.  In one area there were the discarded shoes, thousands of them, taken from the Jews before they entered the gas chambers.  The shoes were all sizes...men's, women's and children's.  Amid the large pile of shoes, my eyes focused on a small pair of shoes, probably belonging to a child, and I imagined the life that had once inhabited them.

In another display there were photographs of the people who dwelt in some of the villages.  The photos were of the kind of occasions we might photograph...weddings, birthdays, holidays, special occasions.  These were the people of the Holocaust looking back from better days.

While the Jews were the main focus of the exterminations, there were displays of other groups singled...gays and lesbians, political opponents, the handicapped, Gypsies and many others. 

There were several moments where I was moved to tears.  I was not alone.  Benches were sparse in the museum and people stood and cried where they were.  And I found myself asking again, why was it so important to be here.

For one I think it is important to remember the lives of those who perished.  It is a matter of paying respect. 

I also believe it was important to me to see the recognize the reality of evil in our world.  And in doing this, the point was not to isolate that evil within Nazi Germany or "bad people" who live somewhere else.  It was important to recognize that all of us have the capacity to hurt or help, myself included.  On any given day, I have the ability to lift someone's spirit or crush their dreams.  That is the nature of free will.

But most importantly, I wanted to come to the Holocaust Museum for the unexpected hopefulness that it provides.  Sad as it was, there were stories of Jews marching into the gas chambers, knowing that they were about to die, singing the prayers of their faith.  There were stories of people and communities that defied the Nazis to provide safe lodging, at the risk of their own lives, to Jews fleeing persecution.  I am touched by such stories.  And in the end, these are the reasons I wanted, perhaps even needed to come, to the Holocaust Museum.  In the midst of such unimaginable tragedy, there are stories of hopefulness and love for one another that emerge from the ruins.