Sunday, May 7th was Holocaust Rememberance Day. About five miles outside of Jerusalem's old city , Yad Vashem, the Holocaust Museum that cuts right the heart of the Har Hazikaron, or the Mount of Rememberance tells the story of Holocaust from its origins to its finale. In the middle of a forest, atop a mountain, with a view of the holy city stands a proud memorial to the culturally vibrant and strong Jewish communities that fought to stay alive. To say that I was in awe when we reached the mountain and saw the museum and arcs at the entrance displaying a quote from the book of Ezekiel is an understatement.
"I will put my breath into you and you shall live again, and I will set you upon your own soil...."
The museum, designed by Safdie, emerges as a linear steel gash in the hills, running perpendicular to the ridges and protrudes through both ends.
The experience is unlike going to a concentration camp or a history museum. The steel structure evokes emotions deep, an imprisonment and takes visitors on a historical journey. Safdie appropriated permission from The Holocaust Martyr' and Heroes' Rememberance Authority to use steel instead of traditional marble stone. The glazed glass vertex of the building allows light to filter through the center of the museum. From the outside the the museum violently cuts through the mountain. I suppose Safdie had a distinct purpose in having the museum violently cut through the land.
The museum displays force visitors to walk through trenches, a left to right forced march creating a switchback path of movement from gallery to gallery. The museum uses a multitude of techniques and media. The galleries are alive with videos, scenes from history, interviews of survivors, texts, newspaper headlines, re-created environments, the bunk beds in camps, objects and belongings. Light in the center spine of the museum, hightlights the worn out train tracks resecued from Warsaw. I never knew a set of train tracks could stir so much sentiment.
Safdie's architecture and placement of the museum and its displays is the powerful shell that does bear witness and reflects on the thoughts and events that led to extermination and ultimately a fight for freedom.
Teenage Israeli soldiers sit slumped against the steel watching a video of an extermination camp, while asian tourists read the ration card dictating the 140 calories maximum mandate at a Jewish Ghetto. High school students listen to their guides; several languages ring clear in the many alcoves.
The stories commemerating the 6 million Jews lost in the Holocaust are told in a distinctly personal fashion. Letters in a glass case from a wife to her husband speak to the desperation and yet small inclination of hope held in the hearts of prisoners; pictures of family members rescued from abandoned coats found in the remains at Treblinka are worn out. After a grueling and compelling journey through time, visitors exit to the penultimate gallery - the Hall of Names. A cable suspended zinc-clad dome overhangs bearing pictures of Holocaust victims. The walls of the perimeter embrace binders with pages of testimony.
Yesterday was our first day in Israel and we went to the Western Wall. Of all the first places to go in Israel, we made pilgrimmage to the most holy one in the country on our first Friday. Gaby's eagerness to go reminded me of how Indian and Sikh families start of every new venture/ adventure with a trip to the Gurdwara.
We walked there in the early hours of the morning right after we landed. Jerusalem was asleep at 8am. After dropping off our luggage we left Shatz Street and made our way to the Jaffa gate which led to the Old City. The old city leading the Jaffa gate is surrounded by a large beige brick wall, immense and allowing for every person to antincipate arrival to a city that houses tension, culture, commericialism, but most of all - history. We walked through the souk; It was quite and closed except for a few early risers that had just begun to set up their shops.
An Arab man intent on selling me a jewelry box, informed me that the Mosque was closed. Once we walked through the many winding streets, leading down and east towards the wall, we had to stop at the security check point, where there were soldiers and metal dectors. You could clearly see the wall and its passionate followers through the security check point. Gaby recalled that was no security was around when she visited less than 10 years ago.
Men and women separated - men to the left and women to the right. There was a fountain in the center right outside the wall complex with several taps, where visitors could take mugs with dual handles and wash their right and left hands, three times each. We followed the women to the right side. The women touched the wall. They loved the wall. They worshiped the wall. It was what they believed in. The only other time when I saw something similar, was when I went the Golden Temple in the evening time and a the Sikhs held the Guru Granth Sahib on their heads and everyone bowed their heads as the Holy book passed.
I came up to the wall and hid my hand written prayer in between the crevice near the bottom of the wall.
Later that same evening, we returned the wall, the atmosphere so vastly different. We walked around the Souk this time and not through it. We came from the Jewish quarter part of the city and as we descended cobble stone steps to the Wall you could clearly see the Dome of the Rock rising above the Wall. It was strange yet such a unique place.
Everyone was alive at the wall at night. There was an energy, a spirit filled with faith, singing and dancing, filled with energy. Women held each others arms, and danced in circles singing songs of Israel.
Teenagers and 20 something in their army uniforms with machine guns swarmed the area in groups, gossiping, flirting and acting as our security. They held their weapons casually, as casually as our 30 something new york ladies hold their louis vs. At first it seemed so daunting to watch teenagers with loaded weapons but soon it seemed quite natural.
From the Wall we walked to Brian Schnieder's house for Sabbath dinner. Brian is a Rabih, and the leader of Aish. Because it was Sabbath we could not carry anything with us so we stuffed our hotel key and some money into the creviches of our clothing (I think that might have been cheating). I also had a Benadryl tucked away under my shirt because I had some super bad allergies (left over from NY). Gaby, her friend Sharon and I, walked for quite some time and followed a band of teenagers who were likely in Jerusalem on birthright. It was a clear night and Jerusalem is bustling on Sabbath.
Dinner was a started with all the traditional Jewish rituals - prayers and hyms, most of which the guests were familiar with. Brian also lead everyone in a prayer praising his wife and her virtues. She seemed quite happy. His wife had actually made quite a few courses, including a kosher indian tandoori chicken, marinated with mayonaise instead of yogurt. She met Brian through a formal Jewish dating network, where a Rabih or 3rd party recommends that they meet, and after they meet they confirm with that party whether or not they wanted to meet again. It seemed like a structured, formal network of arranged marriage, one I can relate to.
Later that night Gaby explained to me that Brian's wife and another woman at dinner, Talia, both were wearing wigs as customary for married Jewish women. Hair being a symbol of sexuality and identity was to be regareded and appreciated by only their husbands. Their wigs were still quite beautiful.
My first day in Israel was full of so much new stimulus. Jerusalem is a really special place. I can see why someone would fight to own it as their own. I had a really amazing glass of fresh orange and mango fruit juice off the street. Apparently, people come far and wide to try it. It was really the best.
