We went through the Holocaust museum just now.
My throat hurts as if I've been screaming non-stop all day. I took in less then 1% of the information in the exhibits. Even that much was to much for me to bare. One exhibit talked of all pregnant mothers being to death. The Nazis didn't want any more Jews being born.
Before that I read a journal entry that described mothers fighting like desperate cats, biting and scratching to keep their children from being taken away. They were not successful.
I made the painful mistake of imagining myself and my family in their situations. Sara, my dear wife, is pregnant and would have been put to death without a second thought from the solders carrying out these horrific deeds.
She would have fought like the most desperate cat to protect our little Ari though, as would I. I can't imagine her having to fend for herself as many of those women whose husbands had already been taken or had abandoned them did.
One man talked about his efforts to get his brother to flee with him before the Nazis came. His brother wouldn't leave his wife and children. His wife told him to "leave us and save yourself. You will get over us in time and will still have your life." Like he, I could never do that. I would rather die with my family then to ever leave them behind.
After walking through the main museum there is a children's memorial. It was recommended to us to go through it. It is very dark inside. There is are no signs, no pictures, nothing but hundreds of lights that look like candle lights, reflected in mirrors that bounce them back and forth giving it great depth. As you walk through there is a woman's voice speaking the names of the children who died. She says the child's name, their age and the country they came from. As I left I mimicked the voice in my head only inserting another name, "Ari Joseph Frye..." I began to say. It was to much for me to handle. It broke my heart and I began to sob. Holding back from the rest of the group so I wouldn't be noticed, I tried to keep my composure but found myself quietly sobbing as I walked back to the bus.
Choking on my own throat, unable to swallow, I couldn't stop feeling for these people as if what happened to them was happening to my own family.
This isn't the first time I've felt this deeply about the idea of family. Ever since Sara became pregnant the first time, I have been deeply protective and painfully emotional as I see what other families have endured. I cannot imagine anything happening to my family members and it deeply pains me to know of it happening to any other family.