The Jewish people are poetic. They named Yad Vashem from Isaiah 56:5, a memorial to the Names. So much pain; lives wasted. In the museum, my heart tries to conceal the emotion, I try to be strong, but the tears build up and pour out like an angry storm. As I stand, in this place of stolen lives, watching videos about the survivors, trying hard to hide the sadness and tears collecting on the lenses of my glasses, a woman walks up to me and asks, “Was this video worth watching?” I nod and give her a quick glance. Inside, I want to scream, “What the hell! These are people’s lives! What do you mean was it worth ten minutes of my time to listen to their stories?” A heavy weariness spreads over me. I walk away and sit on a bench to watch a different video. God is good. He sends a familiar face with a calming spirit to sit next to me, allowing my sorrow to rest.
I cry for you and I cry for me too. The Jews are God’s chosen people and the enemy has much to fear, that’s why he tried so hard to get rid of them all. As I type this, I am still filled with sadness.
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