A Lesson to Remember

A Lesson to Remember

Some years ago, we visited our daughter and her husband in their temporary home in Belgium. Our son, Rob, his wife, Ann, and our grandchildren Carson and Phillip traveled with us for a wonderful family gathering. Having the grandkids along added a rich dimension to our trip. Everywhere we went their questions and observations added to our wonder. We toured around Belgium, visited the medieval towns of Ghent and Bruges and spent a misty afternoon in a fairy tale village in Germany. Cathedrals and castles enchanted us. Priceless works of art enthralled us. City and country, this part of the world is stunning, especially for those of us coming from the very young country of America. But perhaps our most poignant moment was visiting an empty house in Amsterdam. 

During the two hour drive from Brussels to Amsterdam, we noted windmills, flat farm lands, and the straightest irrigation ditches ever carved into the earth. As we drove, Ann gave eight-year-old Phillip a history lesson. She told Phillip that once there was a man who decided that there were some people that he didn’t want around anymore. He and his followers took away the rights of these people. They weren’t allowed to go to school or work. They couldn’t travel or shop in stores. They wore a yellow star on their clothes so that everyone would know who they were. Many were arrested and sent away. Many went into hiding. Many did not survive.  

When we arrived in Amsterdam, we found a long line waiting to enter the empty house. As we stood in the wind and rain, Phillip giggled with his sister and amused the crowd around us. As we edged closer to the entrance, we reminded him that this place was sacred to many and that he would need to quiet down.   

The large, wet, and cold crowd entered the house in silence. We saw the posters forbidding entrance to shops and schools. We saw the gold stars. We ducked through a doorway hidden by a bookcase and climbed steep stairs to view empty rooms that resonated with the spirit of the eight people who had hidden there for more than two years.  

We stood in a room decorated with pictures torn from movie magazines and listened for the voice of the teen-aged girl who once lived there. We gazed up into the attic to see the one window open to the sky through which this girl viewed the world forbidden to her.  

When we got to the end of the tour we saw the document that brought us here. The checkered diary lay beneath glass. We saw the careful handwriting and smiling photos. We found out what happened to the girl and her family. Our  grandchildren were quiet during the tour. We wondered what they must be thinking about the empty rooms and the story of the girl and her family. As the crowd shuffled out of the museum, Phillip asked a question. “Why did the man do this?” 

Why did one man, filled with hate and fear, want to kill a girl, filled with joy and life? A girl who, during two years living in hiding and in fear, filled a diary with her hopes and dreams, who felt that, after the war, she would find that people were still good.  

Why did the man do this? Why did other people allow him to do this? Why did Anne Frank and millions of others have to die? Why did her diary survive to inspire us? Why do thousands visit these empty rooms?  

The last exhibit in the museum asked us to make some decisions. Videos showed instances of hatred and bigotry across the world today. We were asked to express our opinions about these issues. Where do we stand? Do we follow the man who hated or the girl who hoped?  Are we the people who turned them in or the people who risked their own lives to help them? Will we remember and never let it happen again?  These rooms are empty to remind us that our hearts should not be.  

We will long remember our trip.  I hope we also remember what we learned from the children who traveled with us and the child who left us her diary. A lesson to never forget.