| The last memorial I went to at Ya va Shem after the
historical museum, after the flames
and wreaths for each camp, after the sculpture garden, was the children's
memorial. Walking down a dark tunnel the air felt cooler. A voice was
slowly repeating the names and ages of the 1 million children who died in
the holocaust. Standing in a dark room, with the echo of name after
name, it was like looking at the nightime sky. Candles in the center
glimmered and all around were flickering reflections, each point of
light, a child. |