This morning there is grim news out of Washington DC. A gunman has entered the Holocaust Museum and opened fire.
This is the Holocaust Museum where my Great Grandmother’s picture is. This is the Holocaust Museum that chronicles my family’s arrival to the states in the 50’s.
I stood at the Holocaust Museum the week it opened with my Grandfather and my Aunt and I realized my aunt hadn’t covered her tattoo with a longer shirt. We saw pictures of the camps where my family lived and died from Auschwitz to Sachsenhausen to Dachau and many of the stops in between.
In the quiet of our hotel room my Aunt told me about stuffing the shells of the German Munitions, and how she found her sister, her only surviving family after America freed her.
My Grandfather came as close to tears as I’ve ever seen him, as he pointed out his mother on a ship that came to America. Our great country had enough Jews at that moment in time and the ship was returned to Germany, his mother was executed upon her return.
The Holocaust Museum has records that my children may one day want to access, and serves as a reminder to us all.
A shooting in the museum that houses my history?
I am going to vomit now.