Holocaust denial is for fools

Today’s little trip was by no means a joyful one, but was certainly hugely educational and emotional. Noa took me to the Yad Vashem Holocaust History Museum, which contains more information than just about any person can comprehend about the culling of the Jews (and other religions, races and whatnot) that the Nazis decided the world would be better off without.

It really is a harrowing place, though for obvious reasons given its geographical location concentrates most heavily on the Jewish aspect. I learned a lot when I was there as the story doesn’t stop when the war ends. Unknown to me, courtesy of my lousy history education, Britain pretty much ruled the roost of Israel around 1945 and refused to allow Jews who’d fled Germany into the country. Most other countries also closed their doors to them when they tried to escape from Germany prior to the war beginning. Too many people turned their heads and looked away. Shameful.

The imagery using is pretty brutal and doesn’t pull any punches. Like the War Remnants Museum in Ho Chi Minh City, this place rightfully believes that you can’t appreciate the horror without seeing it at its worst. Photographs are on display of people being hanged, shot and buried. Details are available of the “living” conditions in the concentration camps and the sheer numbers of people killed, tortured, experimented on. Poems by 14 year olds are on walls… followed by the date those same children were slaughtered.

The site doesn’t just contain the museum, but also a reference library detailing every single Jew killed during and around the war. People are invited to submit information on friends or relatives not yet included. There is a memorial hall, a garden of remembrance, trees planted and dedicated to non-Jews who helped save lives and a separate monument to the children killed – in excess of one million.

This is the one that really got to me. Inside this small structure is a darkened room with mirrored walls and a handful of lights which are reflected myriad times. Each light representing a child’s life. A light extinguished like a worthless candle by the Nazi war machine. As you stand in the near darkness, a voice reads out a different name and age every few seconds. It only takes a minute for the whole weight of the numbers to settle on your shoulders and make you realise how awful a place the world can be.

I congratulate the people who have set this site up for keeping attention focussed on one of the worst massacres in human history, and for not missing out a single detail. For not shying away from pointing a finger of blame at any country which refused to lift a finger, or delayed in doing so. And for presenting it so well. It’s truly a beautifully designed “attraction” and worth a visit… no, demands a visit from any visitor to Jerusalem.

Besides the historical perspective, anyone interested in architecture will be fascinated by the fairly recently opened prism-like building which houses the majority of the exhibits.

Leaving the museum at closing time, Noa drove me to her house where I met her brothers and mother (at last!). We decided that Jewish mothers are pretty much like Scottish grandmothers in that they will not allow you to leave their house without eating at least a certain amount of food. After forcing me to eat far too much fresh fruit (I protested so much), Noa took clippers to my head and readied my hair for Download. I’m sure she nicked my scalp on purpose.

And then back to the hostel for my last night on the roof. I was really going to miss this place. And the free wireless.

Lord of the flies…

…and mosquitoes. The 6-legged flying evil things are a lot more prevalent in Eilat than they are in Jerusalem. Despite the heat, I had to wrap myself in a blanket to limit their access overnight. The mosquitoes drilled for blood like a continent full of sheikhs who have just realised their wells are running dry. At around 5am, they were replaced by flies trying to suck up moisture from the only available source (my face) the way a fleet of Chelsea tractors drinks fuel. Oh, and some muppet decided to water the trees (and therefore, inadvertently, myself) at 1:30am.

After I woke, I went for a quick and fruitless search for a bakery to get a strudel or something. On my way I located an open-air market being set up. It just stocked the usual stuff you see at any market – cheap underwear, cheaper sunglasses, even cheaper electronic goods. The entry was blocked by a row of “Police” barriers with two gaps where bags were being searched and metal detectors run over bodies.

You don’t realise how serious the security is here until you see a granny’s handbag being rifled through and checked for Semtex. Airports, markets, bars, restaurants, bus stations, malls… Everywhere. And I’ve yet to see a single person moan or complain about the inconvenience. The probably remember all-too-recent incidents where such security has stopped more serious injury, or where it could have had it been in place. I just wish more people at airports worldwide would recognise this fact.

Well, I settled on fruit for breakfast before I was picked up shortly after 9am by another staffer from Lucky Dive and introduced to Roni (I hope I spelled that right) who looked a hell of a lot better in a wetsuit than Alan. No offense to Alan, mind. Roni’s one of these lucky people who gets paid to do her favourite hobby. If she wasn’t working showing people like me great dive sites, she’d be out there anyway diving for free courtesy of the company. I let her pick the sites for the day as she definitely knew the good ones.

Three dives followed – the Satil wreck and two from the Reserve, which incurred an extra 23NIS charge for entry. All three were superb with even better visibility than the day before. Roni was great company and it was heartening to be complimented on my diving when I’m relatively inexperienced. A shame I left my camera in the van as I could have got some great snaps on the last dive, which was fairly shallow.

With time left before my bus when I got back to the dive shop, I took advantage of their internet and allowed Israel’s friendliest cat to curl up on my lap for a while. A final falafel called my name, and a short walk around the block killed the rest of the time before catching the last coach of the day back to Jerusalem.

The route back was quiet and the bus pulled in shortly after 9pm. I gave up waiting for a local bus and walked back to the hostel via my now-regular New City shawarma shop.

Fed up and dived out, I slept like the proverbial on my rooftop perch.

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