Yad Vashem: Keeping the Memory of the Children Alive

Emily Abramowitz

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Israel is home to the most compelling Holocaust museum in the world today,

Yad Vashem. Growing up I learned about the Holocaust in school, and I heard stories of how this devastating episode in Jewish history affected my family.

Indeed, the Holocaust is part of my Jewish psyche. Visiting Yad Vashem, however, brought all of this to life more vividly than I could ever have imagined. I have been fortunate to visit Yad Vashem twice in my life, and each time I have emerged with a new perspective. Two years ago, I explored the museum with my parents and grandparents entering each exhibit and reading only a few of the millions of facts that are held inside. But this past summer when I went back to

Yad Vashem while on a month-long summer camp trip to Israel, it was a completely different experience. Along with many of my Jewish friends who had relatives in the Holocaust, I discovered that Yad Vashem is much more than a museum. It is a very stirring place, capable of provoking difficult emotions as we are moved to think of the victims of the Holocaust and their loved ones.

I was immediately captivated by the Children's Memorial, which is set just outside the main building of Yad Vashem. As I prepared to enter the memorial, my eyes gravitated to the cluster of stark-looking, unfinished, cement pillars that stood in front. Seeing these blank, pale stumps made me think of the many children's lives that were cut short at the hands of the Nazis. The pillars were all different heights, as if to represent how children of all different ages and stages were killed.

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But what was most thought-provoking to me, as someone who appreciates symbolism, was that they were all the same width. Could this have been intended to represent how all of these children of the Holocaust endured the same physical and emotional struggles until their bitter end? I felt my own emotions welling up as my mind wandered back and forth through the artistic symbolism and the harsh realities.

The entrance to the Children’s Memorial took me down a hall which decreased in size as I walked further and further. I felt claustrophobic and confined, as if I were a child hiding from the Nazi soldiers. In fact, I wondered whether this was the intent of the memorial’s architect. The long hall led to a small, open-roofed area surrounded by a cement wall which one could conceivably climb to peer over. I put myself in the place of a child during World War II who might wonder what was on the other side of this barrier. I let myself feel the same fright that I imagined what such a child might feel standing in a similar enclosed area some 75 years ago in Nazi Germany.

As I continued walking down the increasingly dark path within the memorial, I heard names and dates being read aloud in a somber and droning voice. I put myself in the mindset of a girl walking into a concentration camp and not seeing any light of hope or a clear path. The names I heard were those of the fallen children of the Holocaust, and the dates that they had died. Walking further,

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I encountered more of Yad Vashem’s power in the bleak, black-and-white pictures of these children’s faces that now seemed to be staring at me all at once. Knowing that some of these children were the same age as I am now gave me an eerie feeling of guilt. Who am I to have escaped the horror of the Holocaust merely by being born at a different time and place? Who am I to take for granted that being

Jewish in America is relatively safe today. As I dared to look into the eyes of the boys and girls pictured on the wall, I imagined their faces as they realized the unspeakable horrors of the death camps. At that moment, something prompted me to renew my vow to carry on with the traditions of Judaism in their memory.

I proceeded further down the dark walkway, my heart pounding, to discover what seemed to be thousands of dimly lit candles twinkling in the darkness. There happened to be only five candles, but the mirrors inside made it seem as if there were 1.5 million--representing the 1.5 million children lost in the Holocaust. These candles reminded me of the candles we light for yahrzeit on the anniversary of a loved one's death. Maybe this was the purpose. The image of this remarkable illusion is now burned into my memory, as is my entire experience at Yad Vashem.

It is important that there are Holocaust memorials as powerful as Yad

Vashem to keep the memory of the victims alive, and for Jews today to be reminded of how the Holocaust is woven into the fabric of our identity. I have become particularly sensitive to the subtle (and sometimes not-so-subtle) social

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America. History can repeat itself; and after what our people have been through, as

Jews, we cannot simply be bystanders to social intolerance. Rather, I believe it is our job to help protect diversity and promote social tolerance. The raw emotions I felt during and after my most recent visit to Yad Vashem have not only given me a new perspective on World War II, but have made me more aware of the current social and political climate, and propelled me to become more active in making sure history does not repeat itself.