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July 10, 2002 : the burden of the holocaust
Every year the Flemish celebrate their Flemishness by having the Flanderen Feest. Today every museum in Flanders was for free and open until midnight. I hopped the train to Mechelen and picked up Eva from Lu's Paragraph (her work) and we walked around Mechelen. Apparently Mechelen has a bad reputation that isn't easily shaken. It's got a sizable crime rate (apparently) and has an immigrant 'problem'. But let me tell you, it's beautiful. It's got canals (which Antwerp used to have) that twist and turn through the city, and small little streets lined with old homes. Everywhere you turn there are 3 pristinely kept 15th century homes sitting next to 2 dilapidated ones. They have a huge cathedral on the city square and little cafes tucked behind main thoroughfares. We ambled through the city and lost ourselves. It was a day with drizzle which meant that hordes of museum-goers were not out on the town. We entered a small museum courtyard and took our place on a parkbench under an umbrella and listed to a 5 piece brass band play from beneath the awnings of a terrace. Us and 5 other people. We were headed to the Jewish Museum. That was our goal. Mechelen was a center for deportation back after the Germans took over Belgium in three days. We finally made it to the museum and waited for the tour in front of us to exit. We decided to do it sans-guide because the guide would be in Flemish and the details for all of the exhibit were in Dutch, French and English. So I could manage. Eva had been there when she was a kid. I don't know what "a kid" means, but I doubt it was an age of appreciation. WWII has always been a far-off war which happened in a far-off place. Yes of course I realized that it was real and that millions of people died senselessly, but it never happened in MY town. Well now it has. Forgive me for saying this, because it may sound very harsh, but as a graphic designer, WWII propaganda posters are the cream of the crop and nearly every Nazi symbol is a well designed icon. I don't actually know if I've ever even seen a Nazi flag in person. Well now I have. And the posters? Now I've seen posters that say "Join the 'SS'" and an address where-to in Brussels. Brussels. I go to school in Brussels. We went on and it gets even more personal when a photograph shows a train bridge I have gone under many times. It's right next to a synagogue where in the picture a group of people are burning anything they can get their hands on from within the synagogue. There is a man running around with a scroll under his arm. En mijn nu stad. (In my new city.) This is 60 years ago. There are people that live in the Jewish old-folks home that were survived concentration camps and have tattoos of numbers on their forearms. There were pictures of people, no younger than me, who helped to smuggle Jewish children to places of safety. There were newspaper clippings that showed "what made a person Jewish." Just one Jew in your family a generation back made you blacklisted. Signs in Antwerp trams saying that Jews couldn't ride public transport. En mijn nu stad. (In my new city.) And what would I do? There is always the consideration of what I would do in that situation. Would I be willing to risk my life for my next door neighbor? Or would I be willing to join the hatred to save my own life. Would I turn a blind eye like so many did? Or would I do something? And it wasn't just the Hasidic in their black 18th century garb with tassels hanging out from beneath their waistcoats. It was everyday-looking people. Entire families ushered from their homes and escorted by train to Mechelen. Further on in the display there were pictures of people that were on each convoy into Mechelen with the card stating the person's birthplace and address. Addresses like 309 Lange Leemstraat which is just around the corner. The street where I catch Tram 8 to head into the city center. It's daunting and overwhelming. It bristles the hairs on my head. I moved from exhibit to exhibit...making myself aware of the fact that I should not allow myself to treat each new face and photograph differently that I had the first few. I should not become more and more used to the fact that these were people. It's so easy to let a museum overtake you and make you less and less affected. Each new fact and figure, each new family, and each new story added weight to my shoulders. En mijn nu stad. (In my new city.) This happened. And children. And men. And women. And sisters. And brothers. Naked mothers holding infants to their chests, walking in mass to their death. A man standing on the edge of a grave awaiting the bullet to their grave. Yellow stars of David. Gaunt faces, the ones we are so familiar with, wearing the striped prisoner clothes. Pictures of the building I was walking in, now a gorgeous apartment building, the check-in point for departure to eminent death. Literally only handfuls survived their next destination. So the war. The Jews. A simple museum in the basement of a deportation center. A place where people left even more of their belongings and boarded the trains we know so much about. Eva and I left burdened by our own history and walked along the canal back to the trainstation...mostly in silence, dropping tidbits of shock and our being reacquainted with knowledge. And I know we all say, "never again." And I know that the most of us that call ourselves "humans" wish for a world where this would, in fact, never happen again. But it does, and it will, and it seemingly goes on forever in a vicious cycle. What can we do except love our children, be kind to others, treat people with respect, give up our seats to our elders, learn from our mistakes, educate, acknowledge, and be aware of the world around us? IN THE NEWS: For what it's worth, I am offering this link. The internet is alive with truth and lies. We know this, urban myths about people hiding under cars and cutting ankles to missing girls. But this, regardless of whether it is true or false, is something to think about. If you are an American, you should consider trying to get your news from a non-American source. It can change the way you feel about the world. Eva found this on a newsite today, and I consider it an appropriate ending to today's entry: |