Back-Dated Travelogue, Day 10: Yad Vashem

I wrote: No words. A monument and a name: Yad Vashem. Too many words. As we pulled into the Yad Vashem complex, we began in the Grove of Righteous gentiles. Walking over to a random group of benches (that [our guide] swore was indeed random) what do I see but a plaque bearing the names Jan and Miep Gies, from Holland. Anne Frank’s Miep! Tears began to well up. It feels blasphemous to say it, but all…the readings and discussion felt like a distraction. Every other thing [our guide] said sent me off onto my own thought tangents. Even if I’d tried to share them, it wouldn’t have worked into his conversational flow. So I held them, like shells collected on a beach for their odd colors or interesting shapes. The grove: all those trees; so many who helped. But the only names there were those who were known. How many more? How many people helped — or tried to help, failed, and had to live with that — without anyone ever knowing about it? A huge part of the Shoah tragedy is the idea of people not just dying, but of being forgotten. They’re trying so very hard to compile those names and those stories, the six million. But what of the forgotten Righteous, the unknown among the Gentiles, who also helped but have no tree, no plaque, no little numbered tag to cross-reference their story in the Archive? To them, as we stood to go, I offered a silent collective “Thank you.” …Then the museum. So many words. Pictures and artifacts an...
Source: Musings of a Dinosaur - Category: Primary Care Authors: Tags: Family/Personal Source Type: blogs