Shalom, everyone! Couple of blog posts for you today. "What's stopping you from writing an enormous blog post like you normally do," do you ask? Well, this one is dedicated to Yad Veshem, the Israeli Holocaust museum that we visited last Monday, and the other one is for the more fun and lighthearted activities that occurred during my finals week.
Anyway, here's a nice little picture of Yad Veshem:
Pretty, right? It was a really unique architectural style--I enjoyed at least the aesthetics of it all. The last time I had been to a Holocaust museum was when I was in ninth grade after reading Elie Wiesel's Night. It was powerful even then, but I think it was much more forceful this time around after learning about (and living with) Jews for the past two months.
The pain and the heartache of the Jewish people was much more tangible this time around--although the photos and things weren't as "graphic" as the ones in the DC museum, just the fact that the museum was built by the Jewish people for the Jewish people who died made it that much more meaningful. Not only did I gain a new "Jewish" perspective at the museum--I also thought a lot about things from a musician's standpoint as well. We learned about how musicians (along with art in general) were a critical part of life in the ghetto. It became a way to escape, to forget hunger and the dreadful situations that the people lived in. I was talking to my friend Emily (who also plays the violin and is an organ performance major) about it afterwards, and she told me that she's heard about the opposite--that musicians refused to play because it was too personal, too private, and too important to play in such a terrible place. And while I understand that sentiment, the thought that kept going through my mind was that if I could only bring one thing with me (other than scriptures, of course), I'd bring my violin. No question about it.
Even though we learned on site that the state of Israel was not created as a result of the Holocaust, I think that the Holocaust definitely increased the feeling in the Jewish people that there was a need for a land of safety and security. This structure was at the exit of the museum:
For those of you who're having a hard time reading the words, this is the inscription: "I will put my breath into you and you shall live again, and I will set you upon your own soil..." (Ezekiel 37:14). The meaning of this passage is clear: although the Jews suffered terrible losses during the Holocaust, there was still the ever-present hope that they would be able to return to their Promised Land. And the state of Israel is a fulfillment of that prophecy for them. Just another reason for me to feel conflicted (and confused) about my stance about the state of Israel.
Even though this trip was hard on the emotions (I rarely smiled that day), I was grateful for the new insight I gained while on this trip. It'll definitely stay in my memory.
Anyway, here's a nice little picture of Yad Veshem:
Pretty, right? It was a really unique architectural style--I enjoyed at least the aesthetics of it all. The last time I had been to a Holocaust museum was when I was in ninth grade after reading Elie Wiesel's Night. It was powerful even then, but I think it was much more forceful this time around after learning about (and living with) Jews for the past two months.
The pain and the heartache of the Jewish people was much more tangible this time around--although the photos and things weren't as "graphic" as the ones in the DC museum, just the fact that the museum was built by the Jewish people for the Jewish people who died made it that much more meaningful. Not only did I gain a new "Jewish" perspective at the museum--I also thought a lot about things from a musician's standpoint as well. We learned about how musicians (along with art in general) were a critical part of life in the ghetto. It became a way to escape, to forget hunger and the dreadful situations that the people lived in. I was talking to my friend Emily (who also plays the violin and is an organ performance major) about it afterwards, and she told me that she's heard about the opposite--that musicians refused to play because it was too personal, too private, and too important to play in such a terrible place. And while I understand that sentiment, the thought that kept going through my mind was that if I could only bring one thing with me (other than scriptures, of course), I'd bring my violin. No question about it.
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| One of the memorial areas of the museum |
For those of you who're having a hard time reading the words, this is the inscription: "I will put my breath into you and you shall live again, and I will set you upon your own soil..." (Ezekiel 37:14). The meaning of this passage is clear: although the Jews suffered terrible losses during the Holocaust, there was still the ever-present hope that they would be able to return to their Promised Land. And the state of Israel is a fulfillment of that prophecy for them. Just another reason for me to feel conflicted (and confused) about my stance about the state of Israel.
Even though this trip was hard on the emotions (I rarely smiled that day), I was grateful for the new insight I gained while on this trip. It'll definitely stay in my memory.
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