Calamity: Part Two

On Wednesday, February 18, 2009 I walked into Yad Vashem for the first time. After leaving, I realized I would never see the building, jutting out of the mountainside, the same way again. Last week, on Monday, May 14, 2012 I walked through those doors for a second time. As opposed to my first visit, I became quickly distraught... hyper sensitive after my experiences at the camps and at Yad Vashem my first time. But this hyper-sensitivity didn't come about in the way I expected. At first I thought I was over reacting, and then after much consideration... I think I was right. "Why was I so distraught?" I asked my self again, "Those stupid headphones just ruin everything!"

After arriving at the main desk in the museum, we received  headsets that transmitted what the tour guide softly whispered into his microphone. "Has anyone learned anything?!" I cried to myself! Now, I hope laughter doesn't ensue my honest request for perspective, but I sincerely wonder why we have to take out the human element in EVERYTHING! We have cell phones, ipods, ipads, portable computers, and electronics for our electronics... why, may I ask, in a museum about how Nazi's stripped us of our human identity, do we, Jews, have to follow in the like: take out the human element? I was infuriated, upset, distraught, and disappointed. I took off my headphones and stood by the tour guide. When I heard his voice... it was not through those damn earphones! But, I resign, I may have over reacted. But before I move away from this topic, I implore you to listen to one last point: I could of understood the use of them for the elderly or handicapped, but with thirty young women closely packed in, tight, I dread the thought of loosing the human element.

After drifting off from the group and wandering the halls of my mind. I think I understood why the Holocaust makes me hyper sensitive. After all, I was in it.

As an advanced reader (testing at an eleventh grade reading level in second grade) I had a wide range of books available to me.Sadly. however, this made the books available to me void of age-appropriate censorship. One Holocaust book after another, I had a perfect picture of what the Shoah looked like by age ten. May I ask you if you know what the ridges of bones look like in a living skeleton? At around thirteen years of age, I was constantly having nightmares about the Holocaust. Some dreams I luckily died in, shooting me awake. Others, I watched my entire family die time after time. And others, I watched as friends and people I had once known betray me. B"H they were only nightmares and I eventually woke up. But after being horrified night after night I realized something utterly depressing: I woke up. Real Holocaust survivors, the people who had physically been through the trauma died asleep. They never woke up from their nightmares. I go to these Holocaust memorial sites and shutter to think if I was born in another generation, I may have not awoken from my many nightmares.

After I had settled on this notion, some of the "holocaust survivors dying while asleep," I decided to go find the group I had wandered away from. "Stupid headphones," I mumbled to myself. As I weaved in and out of the displays I looked up and I shuttered.

She was standing there like usual. Her long hair was flowing in the wind, like the edge of her long skirt. Her baby was pressed against her chest, while she whispered softly into her ear. That baby hasn't grown one bit, since I saw them both last. I take a deep breath and I walk up to them.


Hi. It's been a while, I'm sorry. Here, let me take her for you. No? Well, at least let me cry for you. I'm sorry. Why? Well, because you are much stronger than I. Wait what? No, no... I'm not being modest. Sincerely, you have much more strength than I. I have a question for you: are you tired of just standing there? What do you mean, what do I mean? I mean are you tired of just standing there? Why didn't you turn around? Why didn't you try to run? Weren't you tired of just standing there?! I suppose your right. Sorry, for getting upset at you. But I hate it. Hate what?! I hate how he just stood behind you like that. I DON'T CARE he was only doing his JOB! He was SIX FEET AWAY! You're too forgiving, I would of asked Hashem that he'd rot in hell. Don't "Chas V'shalom" me! Can't you look at yourself! He held a rifle to your head six feet away! You had your sweet baby in your arms! Her feet dangled above your shallow grave! ... If I can't change any of this, at least let me cry for you. 

I walked away from the black and white photograph feeling empty inside. I wanted to cry for her and her baby like I nearly did three years ago when I first met them. That picture is the cornerstone of my Holocaust education. I will meet that woman every time I step into that museum. That single picture was my calamity.

As I moved to the heroes of war. I ran into my friends and I was ready to leave. I had seen who I had come to see. Now, my group walked outside and moved onto Har Herzel, the cemetery for fallen soldiers.With numerous friends in the army and Yad Vashem lingering behind me, I looked at the graves and realized what it meant. The Holocaust led to the founding of Eretz Yisroel. These men and women are what made it real. In fact, they are what MAKE Israel real. My sadness slowly melted away as I thought of my goofy friends in the army and now I found myself smiling. I am in Israel today. I am in Eretz Yisroel. Oh my gosh, I live here. When did I start living the dream? My entire past vanished and I became excited for the future.

One day none of any of this is going to matter. One day the Beis Hamikdash will stand, the moshiach will be here, and we will once again be connected to our Source. I laugh again, when did I get here?