This year I learned "holocaust" used to be a general term. Nowadays, when we hear this term, we automatically think of the Jewish Holocaust during World War II. People tend to disassociate themselves from the history of the Holocaust, especially the younger generations, because most of them don't have any personal ties to it. As a result, the history of the Holocaust turns into something you learn once at the appropriate age and then cast aside forever.
Although I am a person who has very little Jewish ancestry and no personal ties whatsoever to the Jewish Holocaust, I did not cast this dreadful moment in history aside. I actually listened to what my teachers told us about it and showed a willingness to understand why it should never, ever be repeated. Granted, I was going through weird phases in middle school when I learned about the Holocaust for the first time, so I didn't fully appreciate every detail. However, once I understood everything about it, historical curiosity took over. As I matured and explored my passions in World War II history, I became more empathetic and motivated to understand why the Holocaust happened. Here, in this article, I will share my initial behavior, actions, and feelings when the history of the Holocaust was introduced to me for the first time.
If I'm not mistaken, most American students learn about the Jewish Holocaust in middle school. First, you have a general history lesson; then you might read a novel about somebody's experience in the Holocaust, before watching a movie like "Schindler's List" and perhaps going to a nearby Holocaust museum. I had a very similar situation at my middle school. But, until eighth grade rolled around, the Holocaust was completely absent from my mind.
In eighth grade, my other classmates and I were fully exposed to the horrors of the Holocaust. Naturally, we received a general history lesson first. Then we read Ellie Wiesel's famous book, "Night", before watching a documentary about him returning to Poland with Oprah Winfrey and recalling the horrible memories at Auschwitz. Then we read a short story about Anne Frank's experience. Towards the end of our big Holocaust unit, half of my classmates went to the Holocaust Memorial Museum in Skokie, Illinois, while me and the rest of my classmates stayed behind for a shortened school day to watch a movie about the Holocaust.
While other students might have watched "Schindler's List", my class watched "The Boy in the Striped Pajamas". Although it was lighter than "Schindler's List", it was still equally effective. The ending stabbed me in the heart: I had learned about Zyklon B gas, but never knew how horrifying it was until I watched this movie. I remained mentally disturbed and unusually quiet for the rest of the day. When I finally got home, I broke down. My sister walked in the door and found me crying at the kitchen table. She asked me what was wrong. Before I shared my entire school day, I shouted angrily, "I HATE NAZIS!"
When my half of the class was going to the Holocaust Memorial Museum the next day, I was quite reluctant. I was still upset about the movie I was forced to watch. But, being a good student, I attempted to look as positive as possible. While the rest of my mature classmates only thought of going to the museum as a day off from a regular school day, curiosity was still buried deep inside my heart. When we finally toured through the museum, I was both shocked, horrified, and forever changed. My classmates had yawned throughout the tour and talked to their friends instead, but I eagerly listened to the stories from our tour guide and discovered I had a thirst for historical knowledge. Instead of complaining about wanting to go home, like my friends acted, I expressed a strong interest in learning more.
Since eighth grade, my passion for understanding the Second World War and the Jewish Holocaust remained strong and present. Learning about the Holocaust became a milestone in my historical explorations. It made more appreciative of what I have and more grateful for the fortunate lifestyle I was gifted with. And, of course, it also sparked a craving for historical knowledge. Learning from the horrors of Holocaust is an experience I can't trade for any other. I can only hope that there are others out there who will be able to appreciate history and learn vital lessons from it and perhaps pursue it professionally someday.
