I've come to realize people have many projections of what the museum is and few, in the area, who I know have been able to face down their vision of the museum. So it is a wonder, now as tourist season is in full swing, that tickets are handed out daily to limit the number of visitors--because the architect had not envisioned so many people would come to the memorial.
On the top floor I walked the gauntlet of propaganda, never ending film loops of Hitler screeching irately to masses, book-burnings, bizarre charts and instruments that measured human body parts and subsequently determined "race," and the faded black and white striped prisoner uniforms. I passed the small wooden bunk beds that fit 5 yet it's smaller than my bed. I walked through the wooden transportation rail cart that crammed so many prisoners in it there could be either none or almost no room to move.
As I left the smell of chemicals and wood I saw discarded luggage on the ground that had been rummaged through, emptied and sorted as if it belonged to the Nazi party. I continued through the maze of people and remembrances of those who did not make it and passed the glass windows etched with the names of European towns which no longer exist. The smell of rubber shoes (sadly, worth more than human life) still clings to me. Then finally into the room of survivor's testimony. Each visit I have sat and listened for over an hour to the full loop of stories. The strength and courage of these people is profound.
As I continue with a mindful step towards forgiveness and reconciliation through our required reading The Sunflower, and continue to reflect on the course theme I feel equal parts pain, and need for relief through forgiveness. Yet, I recognize many of us who have not been tested or survived such trials blatantly admit we have difficulty asking for and granting forgiveness. How can we achieve true forgiveness if we are afraid to grant it? How can we live with the pain of the unforgiven? At this moment, I do not know.
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