elizabeth, jayne and i went to the jewish museum in berlin today, and all i can say is you need to go. i can't give any justice to a description of the museum -what it looked like -all i can do is try and tell you how it felt. the museum is housed in a grey squarish building with jagged slits placed randomly on all sides. my first impression was a building that had been cut apart, mangled, burned, left for dead -then later found, piece by piece, and put back together. the parts belong, but they don't fit the way they should. the sight is eerie and uneasy, appropriately.

you walk in on the first floor and are instantly struck with the feeling that things aren't right -and they aren't. the floors are sloped, the walls are dead white, the hallways jag out at uneven points, and there is nothing giving order to the way you should go. there are three hallways -the axle of exile and the axle of continuity run parallel and then the axle of the holocaust cuts through them with no regard for either. it was disorienting, confusing, uncomfortable, scary, and anything but numb. i kept looking behind me and searching for elizabeth and jayne because i felt like i was lost and i needed constant reassurance that i was not alone.

the only things on the white walls are black windows telling stories of men, women, and children affected by the holocaust. parents who sent their children to countries ahead of them, planning to join them soon, only to be arrested before they could leave germany. husbands and fathers taken before they could help their families to safety. postcards from mothers in concentration camps assuring their children not to worry -things are not as bad as they seem. letters urging friends and family to "keep your chin up," "God is near."

at one end of the axle of the holocaust is the holocaust tower. it's a huge stone cave type tower with only a slash in the top that lets in the tiniest bit of light. the first time i walked in the huge metal door, i turned around and walked right back out. there was no one else in the room, and i was literally blasted with the darkness, the cold, the vast emptiness and yet almost solid mass of despair. i couldn't do it. and victims of the holocaust couldn't either -but they had no choice. it's something no one should ever experience -it's the epitome of loneliness and the opposite of how humans are made to thrive. i went in again later with jayne and elizabeth, but still couldn't handle it for more than a few seconds. it was so real.

when leaving the first floor, the stairs stretch on and on and continue into the wall at the top. leading nowhere. the next floors documented jewish history from day one to the present, it was beautifully done, well arranged, and full of information, but the first floor is what makes it real. i can't describe it, -i felt so helpless and small. and yet it made me more resolved to live in a way that demonstrates the immense respect and love i believe each person deserves and is created to experience.

the world is not right. it's not right at all. i'm reminded of this daily -when i see a homeless person on the street or a parent screaming at an obstinate child on the subway. sometimes i wonder if it's good to be so aware -if a passive optimism isn't just as effective or even better than a deep sorrow at what i see behind pasted smiles. at this point, i can't go back, so i have no choice. but what i do have is a hope that dives down deeper each time i see joy behind tears.