I'm not going to try to come up with a catchy title for this one. It was a powerful afternoon. My 13-year old had a school assignment to visit the Holocaust Museum and, since she was off school today, I decided to take her.
I remember finding out about the Holocaust at about the same age, maybe 12. It horrified me then and it horrified me in college when I saw the movie "Night and Fog." So now I'm 54 and I was horrified again to see it.
I had more of a personal feeling about it this time, actually. My friend Stephie and her family - who I didn't know until I was an adult - were on the last ship to make it into a foreign port without being turned away. So close to being lost. My Uncle Bob, as a young soldier, helped to liberate a concentration camp, something he never talked about and I didn't learn until I was an adult. So I have this new knowledge to bring to viewing the Holocaust, and it made the experience more difficult for me today.
There we were, walking along with the Mandy Potemkin narrating into our ears with his lovely voice over the headsets, and I was crying and my daughter was patting my shoulder to comfort me. She was sweet. I don't remember crying when I was 12 ... maybe the sadness comes with age.