When remembering the Holocaust memorial, the only phrase that comes to mind is gut wrenching. I am not exaggerating when I say every single step through the monument, and the museum had an impact on me. The endless rows of stone, the stories from mothers, the letters from the children all brought me to tears when walking through. This museum was perfect but perfect the most horrific way imaginable. There wasn’t an aspect of the museum that wasn’t intentional. The lights and the walls provided a gray hue to emphasize that you were surrounded by death and suffering. The silence was so powerful that it seemed like you could hear the people telling their stories of the experiences they had been through. The empty room is almost indescribable. It feels so massive with nothing in it, and the weight of these people suffering seems to sit upon your shoulders as you are reading the names of the deceased. I left this place finally wrapping my head around the idea that this wasn’t just a mass murder of millions of people. It was a slaughtering of families, children, parents, siblings and friends. They were more than just people they were individuals who had lived and were a part of the community. That is what hit home the most for me. I had been told about the mass devastation that the holocaust inflicted and knew the terrible acts the Nazis committed. What I didn’t know though was the stories of real people, and I believe that’s what will help people remember this horrific time in history. It could of just as easily have been anyone of us who were persecuted. That’s why we must learn from these events and keep them deeply engrained in our minds so that something this atrocious never happens again.
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