Children's Memorial

There is no doubt about it: I love children.  I'm not sure I liked being a child, but I loved the idea of childhood, and I am grateful for mine.   When my Nana would despair about "what the world is coming to?" I would always respond with enthusiasm, because I spend my time with kids and they have an energy and optimism about the future.  Sure, kids make mistakes and have mood swings and have as much diversity of ethics as we adults do, but I believe in children. (Cue the music!)

Jewish folklore has an awesome story about the pre-birth stage of life.  According to this tale, at conception, an angel joins the fetus in utero and for the entire pregnancy shares wisdom with the unborn child.  Then, at birth, she blows the breath of life into the new baby, and with a flick of the philtrum, erases any memory of this time.  Life is for rediscovering all that has been forgotten, but children are closest to this deep knowledge.

Of course, I know this is just a tale, but I also know the wisdom I have gained from the kids in my life.  So, when I saw this photo of a boy who was killed by the Nazis, and he reminded me so much of a student who is dear to me, my heart stopped.  Though I don't know anything about the child in the photo, I imagined him wandering in late to class or making a wild connection to a fictional character. I imagined him fidgeting and dancing and putting on British accents.  I realized I knew nothing about him; all I know is his eyes, and his youth, and his death.   The depth of loss hit me and I cried for all the forgotten children.

Today, we visited the Children's Memorial section of Yad Vashem.  It had an even deeper impact for me, if such is possible.  First, take a look at the statues at the top of this blog post.  They are various poles, truncated at different spots.  So many truncated lives...  And these columns are all straight, in formation.  Were they like children in a class photograph? Or victims at roll call or an execution line?  So many children, so many faceless lost children.

Before the memorial was made, Abraham and Edita Spiegel wanted to honor their two year old son who was slaughtered in 1944.  Someone at Yad Vashem pointed out that there were 1.5 million Jewish children killed in the Holocaust, and urged them to honor anyone under 18.   (Just take a moment to process that: 1.5 million.)   The compromise was an amazingly conceived, powerful memorial with also a relief of their son.   Take a moment and look at a YouTube video of the experience, then read on to see my commentary. 

At first, there is a feeling like waiting on a line for a ride at Disney.  Then, suddenly it gets dark, and you need to hold on to the handrail because you can't see your way at all.  I thought about the mix of childlike giddiness and intense fear.  Then, there were pictures of children.  Not 1.5 million of them...but over the course of a week, all of the children's names are read aloud in Hebrew or English and Yiddish, along with their age and country of origin.  I tried to hang on to each name for a moment.

Then, there is this celestial room. It looks like stars in infinite reflection, but really it is a memorial candle reflected all throughout the room.  I will be walking in this room in my memory for years to come.

The children of any culture are the future, and not only were their individual lives truncated but also the Jewish cultures from which they came.  However, the sky is limitless and filled with wishes.  Candles of memory must guide us to protect ALL children of all heritages so this will never happen again.

I may have had an imaginary angel flick my nose before I was born, but it does not take wisdom to know that a great wrong was done.  It takes immense love to hold the loss and still smile, celebrating the sparks of life in the children I cherish now.