“First, they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out - because I was not a socialist. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out - because I was not a trade unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out - because I was not a Jew. Then they came for me - and there was no one left to speak for me.” -Martin Niemöller

     This past December my parents, sister, and I took our annual trip down to Washington DC to stay for a few days. We started off with the basics like walking through Georgetown, visiting the National Mall, and going to the National History Museum. However, this time was different from all our other trips. This time, we also visited the National Holocaust Museum.

     When we first got to the museum, the only thing I could see was security guards standing by every door, watching everyone who was entering. We then had to go through a metal detector where we had to take off our shoes and put all of our electronics into a tray to be passed through a scanner. Everything and everyone that was entering the museum was being thoroughly checked and examined by the guards. 

     Once everyone was through security, we moved into a new room with a shelf that looked to be filled with passports. We were instructed by workers to take one of the booklets and read through it. Each booklet had the story of a person who experienced and went through the Holocaust. Instantly, I was choked up and holding back tears. We had barely been in the museum for 2 minutes, and it was already such a meaningful experience. 

     Shortly after, everyone was moved into an elevator to be taken up to the actual museum part. The workers told us that there were four floors, and as we walked down each one, the story of the Holocaust would be told in chronological order. As soon as the elevator doors opened, I saw horrific images of corpses around a fire on the wall. The absolute terror and shock that filled me caused me to begin crying. I had never seen something so inhumane and disgusting, and that image still sticks in my mind.

     As we moved through the museum, words and pictures filled the walls, describing the lead-up to the Holocaust, the Holocaust itself, and the result and impact on the world afterward. There were walls completely covered from top to bottom with the names of people who had been in the Holocaust. Seeing so many names not only brought back the sadness but also made me angry. How could something like this ever happen? How could people SUPPORT something like this happening? I was and still am absolutely baffled at how people who knew what was going on did nothing to stop it. The emotions that filled me as I continued through the museum were like none I had ever felt before.

     There was an entire room, built like a skyscraper, with images starting from the very floor, stretching far up above anyone’s head. All anyone could see was pictures. But these pictures were different from all the other pictures we had seen up until this point. These images were not of the Holocaust. These were images of people and their families before the Holocaust. The people in them looked content and happy, and it gave me so much pain to see that these innocent people were tortured and killed for no reason other than because they were Jewish.

     As the exhibit was coming to an end, I stepped into the last room and saw candles against every wall. Some were lit, and some were not. My sister and I went around to see what the room was for. We quickly realized that the names of some of the internment camps were on the walls with the candles below them; the candles were there to remember the memory of those who were murdered during the Holocaust. There was something inside me that pulled me to walk around the room to light one candle from each internment camp name. 

     That moment, although awfully sad, made me feel proud to be Jewish. It is my responsibility to help carry on all these people’s memories and legacy. As a Jewish person, it is my duty to educate other people on the Holocaust so that it never happens again. I have always felt close to my Jewish roots, but this museum brought me closer to who I am; it showed me never to back away from who I am. The National Holocaust Museum has forever changed my life, and I will always remember it and the emotions it made me feel.