The Freedom Writers Diary - Erin Gruwell [74]
Gerda caught up with me and started telling me about the cattle cars that the people were squeezed into. We walked into the next room and she just stopped. She started crying and when I asked her what was wrong, she raised her arm pointing at the cattle car right in front of us. We had to cross through a real cattle car in order to exit the room. She was afraid. She must have imagined her friends and family being shoved into one just like it. I asked her if she was OK. She took a step forward and then started describing how crowded the cars were. She told me that many of the people died before they even got to the concentration camps. When we finally got across it, both of us were crying. Gerda grabbed my hand and thanked me. But I should be the one thanking her.
On our way back to the hotel, I saw the swastikas that we had covered. Before, if I saw something bad happen, I probably wouldn’t have done anything. I used to think, “If it doesn’t affect me, why bother?” With the covering of the swastikas, and everything that happened today, I now know that there is not a day that will go by, when if I believe something is wrong, I won’t do anything about it. It is better to take a chance and make a change, than it is to pass and pity.
Diary 86
Dear Diary,
As we walked through the double doors and entered the cold and scary room at the Holocaust Museum, silence fell upon me as I looked at the death of millions. I never saw so many people dead in one place at the same time. What made it even worse was that it was for no reason at all. I was shocked when I saw all those dead people, but I was particularly devastated when I looked at all the twin carcasses. Quicker than a bolt of lightning, it was as if I was going through the same pain and suffering as those innocent twins who were so exploited and mutilated. The more pictures of identical twins I looked at, the more it seemed as if I, I mean, we were there.
They say one twin can’t last without the other. I couldn’t believe that all those twins were forced to test that theory. Dr. Mengele, a doctor at Auschwitz, was obsessed with doing experiments with twins. Rather than using lab mice, twins became his human guinea pigs. He became the Angel of Death and tortured every twin on the European continent that he could get his hands on. It made me wonder how it would be if I were to lose my twin. Would I have tried my hardest to run away if Mengele singled me out? Would I have tried to fight him? I really don’t know because I wasn’t there, I wasn’t in their shoes. Or would I have even tried to do anything to save any of the other twins? These are some of the questions that ran through my mind as I saw those kids lie there helplessly.
The more evil I saw that this man had in him, the more angry I became. All of these horrific pictures of children with their arms and legs cut off of their bodies and put together on another adult or child’s body was like looking at a collage of bad dreams that was put together like a picture puzzle. How could one man crush so many dreams? He must have been a man with no heart, and no mercy. He got pleasure from someone else’s sorrow.
Being at the museum made me think about how much I really need and love my twin sister. Even though growing up as a twin has had its good points and bad points, at least I always have someone to talk to, share clothes with, and experiment with. My twin gets on my nerves sometimes, but I would never dream of trading her in