What the World Needs Now is Love

Though the whole trip for me was an emotional rollercoaster, the final day I could have been on a commerical for Kleenex. The whole 11 days we focused on the hatred that led to the crucifixion of Jesus, but on the last day we focused on a hatred that has happened in recent history: the Holocaust. Out of 13 million Jews, 1/2 of them were exterminated during World War II. Studying this in textbooks kept me at a safe distance from emotional reaction, but as we entered the Yad Vashem Holocaust museum that day-- I knew that I couldn't help but be changed. Even now, I tear up thinking about just how much I was effected by what I saw. The purpose of this museum was different than most-- it was to make sure that each and every person who was killed or helped save a life has a name. They are more than a statistic and a number-- they have names. The museum was very personal, with the people's belongings, stories and survivors testimonies displayed for all to see. Each person had a story, a family, a job-- they each had passions and hobbies. Those that put the museum together did not sugarcoat the monstrosities of the time period, but instead showed videotape that made me sick to my stomach. A part of me wanted them to make it better, to put it in lesser terms that would make me numb. The better part of me, however, is glad that they didn't.

I love quotes and right when you walk into the museum they had a large one posted that gave me chills. "A country is not just what it does...it is also what it tolerates." --Kurt Tucholsky, German essayist of Jewish origin. Isn't this so true? I think you could also replace "country" with "person." I realized that I may not be participating in evil acts of the world, but I am letting them happen. I need to make a difference.

Some of the items I remember most from the museum are stacks of Jewish books that would have been burned. The Nazis tried to demolish anything that represented their culture and ways of life-- and what does that more than destroying a nation's literature? There were children's books that taught children to hate the Jews and board games called, "Out With the Jews." It blows my mind that parents would teach their children to hate. They also had some of the bunks that they stayed in while in concentration camps and next to them had pictures of starving people with hollow eyes piled on them together. Next to this display, were worn jumpsuits of concentration camp inmates. For adults, they were about the right size for a 12-year-old child. The most chilling to me was the freight train cart that carted the Jews to Auscwitz. They had it, almost in its entirety, against one wall.

I walked through the museum alone for about 2 hours before getting to the last room. In the last room, are files of every name with most of their pictures hanging from above. Family members, friends and others contribute their family members to make sure their story is added to the Hall of Names. Avner told us about two sisters that found each other after 60 years because they both entered their parents and thought they were the sole survivor! I looked around at the papers that spiraled around me and realized that every thin piece of paper that made up a file-- that was next to thousands of other files-- was a PERSON. I had to get some fresh air so I went outside, where luckily there was a beautiful overlook. I peered over the edge at all the trees below (which are all named for people who helped house Jews to protect them) and had to take deep breaths for a while. Others from our group joined me, but we didn't talk very much.

I didn't think I could take much more, but Avner led us to the Children's Memorial. It was made 15 years ago by a couple in California that survived the Holocaust, but lost their 3-year-old son. It is in his honor and in honor of the 1.5 million children that lost their lives. There are five candles in a dark room, but mirrors bouncing off of each other make it seem like there are thousands. You stand in there while a woman reads off each child's name and age. A simple, yet appropriate memorial.

We ended the day by climbing a mountain, where you could overlook the place where David fought Goliath. This was also the part of the world where Samson lived. We read the story and got back on the bus to venture to the airport.

I think you can tell just how much this trip meant to me. I hope that I never lose how I felt in each spot. Love is such a simple concept, but I have never felt like I wanted to do it so badly. My mission now seems so clear, yet so intimidating. How do I love people enough to take away the hurt? How do I get other people to do it too? How did we let hatred take over to the point that it did? I don't know if I will ever truly grasp it. And that's why I need an escape and a Savior. Because I just don't get it.