Life Exists After College?! Get Outta Town!!

I know, I know. It's been waaaaay too long since my last post, I apologize. However, after 5 years I finally graduated with my undergrad.

GRADUATED. COLLEGE. WITH HONORS.


Anywho... I'm going to be making a couple changes to this blog in the next week..

So, for today, I'm leaving you with one of my favorite quotes for y'all to ponder:

"Life's most persistent and urgent question is, 'What are you doing for others?'"
-- MLK Jr.

Like, how Jewish are you??

I'm Tired. Actually I'm really, really Tired.

One word can describe the week I've had: LONG.

On Monday I drove to the Cities to spend the night at my parents'. I had to be at the airport at 4 am on Tuesday for a day-trip to DC. My parents live about 15 minutes from the airport and I live 2 hours away. Spending Monday night at my folks allowed me to get two more hours of (much needed) sleep...

As I entered my parent's home I noticed a note on the counter written by The Dutchmen:

water turned off in laundry room.

At this point, it dawned on me that Susie Q and The Dutchmen were on Holiday for 10 days in Texas, visiting Divine Miss M and Doc Holiday...

After turning on the heat (which too, had been turned off), I called The Dutchmen to discuss the fact that I was in a house with no running water. The Dutchmen did his best to explain to me how a socket wrench works. Believe you me, it's tougher than it looks. But I pulled it off thanks to The Dutchmen's step-by-step instructions and was able to take a shower before getting a few hours of sleep.

I woke up at 2 am and was at the Humphrey Terminal by 3:30. After spending the day in DC at USHMM, being awake for 22 hours--It was a very Long, Long day. But any amount of sleep deprivation is worth it (to visit USHMM) in my book.

Then, a couple days ago my advisor invited me to share in Shabbat dinner with his family. I jumped at the opportunity to do so. I hadn't seen my advisor/mentor in a couple months as he is on sabbatical this semester.

Friday afternoon and evening I was able to talk and catch-up with my advisor, The Rebel Rabbi about school, life, my future, jobs, etc... The good conversation was followed by an amazing Shabbat dinner. Seriously, Amazing does not do justice to the meal I had last night.

I stayed until around 8 pm and then drove back up to Central MN. I was tired while driving home. Tired yet content. It had been a very good day.


I had to stop at my apartment before going over to Wyatt Earp's house- where I'm house/dog sitting for the next two weeks.

I entered the door to my building, walked up the stairs, turned my key and opened my door. In the entry/hall way into my apartment I have a plaque hanging on the wall. I just bought it on Tuesday at USHMM. It says,

Blessed are you in coming in,

on one side and

Blessed are you going out.

on the other side. In the middle of the plaque there is Hebrew writing.

As I was just about to close the door behind me, I heard a voice walk by that is all too familiar.

It was the voice of a young punk who lives down the hall from me. He was walking by my door and saw the plaque on my wall.

I know this young man in the very loosest sense of the word. He likes to stand outside our building. A lot. If I happen to be letting my dog out (which I often do while I'm outside), he'll usually strike up a small conversation with me.

But nothing, I mean nothing could have prepared me for what came out of this punk's mouth.

Scenario:

Julie has unlocked her apartment door and is walking in and taking off her shoes. She was holding her door open a bit, as she took her socks off.

A young man walks by... pauses and turns around and says in a very loud voice, "Hey. Like, how Jewish are you"?

Julie: "Beg your pardon"?

Punk: "I see that Jewish thingy on your wall". He was pointing his finger at my wall.

Julie: "Oh." I didn't want to pursue this convo any further. I was tired and had only stopped home for a minute or two. I smiled shrugged my shoulders as if to say I dunno, and started to shut my door.

Again, the Punk repeats: " So like, how Jewish are you"?

Hold your Horses. Did this kid actually ask HOW Jewish I am? He didn't ask if I was Jewish. He assumed I was from a plaque. I promise you, dear readers, I tried really hard to maintain my composure as I swung open my apartment door to educate this punk on a thing or two.

I've been trying to keep my cool these days when religion comes up... but this, this put me over the edge.

I replied with the first thing that came to my (exhausted) mind:

Julie: "How Catholic are you"? I had no idea if this punk-kid was actually Catholic, but that's a well educated guess, in Central Mn.

Punk: "What? Um..I guess I'm... oh, wait.... that's right, Jewish is a religion".

Julie: "Judaism is a religion". A person who practices Judaism is Jewish.

Punk: "I always forget that, that Jewish is,... like, yaw know, not a.... a... an ethnicity. Ya know like how Muslims' is........"


Thought in my head:

DON'T DO IT JULIE! BITE YOUR TONGUE! FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING, BITE YOUR TONGUE!!

Second thought in my head:

Aw, Screw it. This kid needed a good lesson in religion and ethnicity (not to mention grammar).

I was now leaning diagonally in my door way, arms crossed, legs crossed, my lips were pursed with anger. My body language alone should have told this punk to back down and lay off the questions.

With my forehead and eyebrows scrunched, I said to the punk, "Huh. So like, what country do the Muslim's come from?"

No lie, it took the punk about 1 second to reply with, "Africa."

My point was proven. The punk was/is an imbecile.

I was shaking my head with disbelief. In a very sarcastic tone I said: "Huh uh. Africa is a continent. The entire population on the continent of Africa are not Muslim."

Punk: "Well, you know what I mean. They're like, over there." He gestured with his hands. "Like, by Africa."

Julie: "Are you referring to the Middle East"?

Punk: "Yea, yea! The Middle East! I forget it's name".

My cheeks were the color of a fire engine. My eyes were glaring. My eyebrows and forehead were scrunched--This punk was making the crows feet around my eyes double by the second. His grammar alone made me want to whack some sense into him!

I was staring at the ground, rubbing my forehead with my hand while I thought about what I was going to say to the punk to make him understand the difference between religion/race/ethnicity.

It was late. I was tired. I started to mumble... "Ya know, I gotta get going". I pointed inside my apartment. "But you, you should really buy a ma... Hold on. Wait! Stay right there. Don't move! I'll be right back!" I ran to my living room wall. I looked over all my maps. After deciding which one I could do without I tore (one) of the three world maps I own off my wall. I walked back to my door while rolling the map up in my hands. "Here," I handed him the rolled map. "Study it. Keep it. When you find the country called Muslim or Jewish, let me know."

The punk, who now had a scrunched face of his own, replied with "Um. Thanks."

Julie: "Seriously. S-t-u-d-y IT."

And with that, I shut the door to my apartment.

Maybe with the help of a map, the punk will be able to realize the difference between religion/race/ethnicity. If not through my map, then that punk needs to start wikipedia-ing in a big, bad way.

Either way, I'm sure the punk will want to talk about this topic (if/when) I run into him again.

I'm going to have to work on my patience until then. Patience is not one of my strongest virtues.

Maps and Blacklists

I'm about 80% positive that I have been blacklisted.

I honestly think that the government keeps tabs on yours truly. I have reasons to believe this. The fact that I always get asked to step aside by airport security for an extra check, is one of the many happenings that has led to my assumption that I am blacklisted. Also, I think it's because I'm not Jewish and majoring in Holocaust Studies. And I order a lot of books online. And maps. And I travel quite frequently.

Have you seen the maps I own?



another view:



Don't mind the Elvis posters and cardboard cut-out.

Maybe it's a little hard for you to see exactly which maps I have placed on the walls of my living room? I'll walk you through a couple of them.

Here is my most valuable map:



Please understand, none of my maps are valuable (money wise), per say. They all have a reason and purpose that relates to my education. Borders, countries, names, etc... are not the same as they were during WWII, so I refer to this map. a lot.

Here's the title and key:


Let's look at another one of Julie's Maps:



This is the small city of Oswiecim located in Poland. It commonly goes by the name the Nazi's called it: Auschwitz.

I have visited Oswiecim twice.



My first trip to this city lasted for 24 hours. Yes, dear readers Julie has slept in the town of Oswiecim/Auschwitz. Right here:



The Glob Hotel. Not Globe. Glob.

My first trip to Oswiecim was with Susie Q and The Dutchmen. The Dutchmen thought it would be a great idea to spend the night at The Glob (about a half mile from Auschwitz-Birkenau) the night before we were to tour the camps. I saw nothing wrong with his idea. However what he failed to mention prior to our arrival, was that The Glob Hotel is located right in front of the railroad tracks. Also, it is the only hotel in the city. You see, most people don't see the positive aspect of spending the night in a small deserted city which houses the remains of the largest mass killing center in Nazi occupied Poland.

Crazy.

Look again:


Railroad Tracks. While seemingly harmless in any other setting I can assure you, they are not as peaceful when you're staring out a hotel window in the city of Oswiecim/Auschwitz. Tracks that are still used in Poland. Tracks that have trains running on them all night long.

Freaky. I know.

You couldn't pay me to stay there again.

Recap:
I've spent the night is Oswiecim, I own multiple (educational) maps of concentration and death camps, and too many books to count, and (of course) DVD/documentaries that are Holocaust/WWII related.

Definitely Blacklisted.

Ummm, Excuse Me? Did You Just Compare Gettysburg to Auschwitz?

Yesterday was rough day. Well, it didn't start out rough; for a Monday it was actually going quite well.

I woke up at 6 am, finished reading a book while listening to Schubert. -- I have always been a Debbie-Downer when it comes to classical music. (I mean, Elvis was born for a reason!) However, I would like to thank one of my very best friends Lawyer Lacey; for bring me to my senses. You're right Lawyer; classical music does make great background music for reading.

At 1 pm I went into work early. I made a quick stop by the admissions office on my campus to pay a balance on my account.

Here is what started my rough day-

I walked into the Student Services office. I waited a couple minutes while the Man behind the counter finished up his phone call with his wife before offering to help me. (I can only assume was his wife). All I heard of the conversation was, "Mmmm.. hmmm. Mmm...hmmm. Honey, can I call yaw back in a bit? A student just walked in. Okay. Love you, too. Buh-bye."

The Man hung up the phone and asked what I needed.

Me: " Oh, I have an outstanding balance on my account. I was just wondering if I can pay that off?"

Man: "Sure. Can I get you're student ID?"

I rattled off my ID.....

Man: "Okey, dokey. Looks like you owe $698.27."

Me: "Yep".

I start writing out a check.

You need to know what I was wearing for this story to make any sense:

I was wearing a red zip-up sweatshirt that has the word POLSKA and the Polish flag on it. I bought it while studying abroad in Poland last spring. Under my zip-up (which was unzipped) was a red Hillel t-shirt with visible Hebrew letters across the front.

As I was standing there trying to write out six-hundred ninety....on the check, the man (out of no where, I'd like to add) pokes my sweatshirt, and says "Is that from Poland?!"

I was taken a little off guard by the fact that this guy had just poked my chest. I answered "Ah, yeah.."

My main concern was spelling all the numbers correctly on the check I was writing.

I didn't agg on this conversation. I just wanted to write the darn check and get outta there. But this man, obviously thought I was there to chat it up.

Man: "Did you go there with school?"

Me: "Yes"

Man: "Really? I have always wanted to go to Poland! If I was going to go to Europe, I'd want to see something like that! Ya know, out-of-the-norm."

Me: "......Oh...that's nice" I said, while pondering this man's enthusiasm about Poland.

I tore the check out of my checkbook and handed it to him.

Man: " So, I hear when you go there, you get to see the concentration camps?!"

Me: "Death Camp. Yes, they took us to Auschwitz." -- of course I didn't want to be all I'm a Holocaust Studies Student on this guy, but there are noted differences between concentration and death camps. I only corrected his assumption that I had seen a concentration camp while studying with our school.

I was waiting for him to print my receipt.

Then, I kid you not, the Man says: "I went to Gettysburg a few years ago. I bet seeing the concentration camp it's a lot like that."

Thoughts in my head:

WHAAAATTT!!! Dude, are you actually comparing GETTYSBURG to AUSCHWITZ?!? Breath. Breath. --Don't agg him on Jules. Grab the receipt and walk out.

Okay, I get the 'death' theme in both cases and how it makes one feel knowing they're standing where thousands or millions have died.

But, comparing the attempted extermination of European Jewry to a three-day battle during the Civil War? Really?

I too, have been to Gettysburg. And yes, it's an ery feeling being on the battleground. But it's not really comparable to seeing the crematoria at Auschwitz.

Just sayin'.

I was almost speechless.

Almost.

Me: "seeing a death camp is pretty different than seeing Gettysburg. But yes, they're both emotional places to visit."

I grabbed my receipt, thanked the Man and walked out of the office. I stopped to put the receipt in my wallet and thought about the conversation I just had.

Gettysburg=50,000 casualties.
Auschwitz= over four million deaths.
I had on a Polish sweatshirt and a Hebrew T-shirt.
The Civil War vs. The Holocaust.

The Man was at least twice my age. He is working as a secretary at a state university; I can probably assume hasn't studied world history in a while. Maybe I should have cut him a little more slack?

Still, he flabbergasted me.

I wish I would have gone back into the Student Services office and given that Man a history lesson or two on the differences between the Civil War, World War Two and The Holocaust.

I could have exited the Student Services Office quoting Clark Gable as Rhett Butler in Gone with the Wind;

"Frankly My Dear, I Don't Give a Damn."

Well, I probably wouldn't have done the Rhett Butler impression. But it would have made me feel better.





It also might have made my day a little less rough.

Life. Death. and the CDC

Dear Beloved Readers of My Whimsical Blog,

Most who come and visit this site are people I personally know or at least have met. We are probably friends, family, or acquaintances. However, I know for a fact that some people end up here by mere happenstance.

One might have googled the word Holocaust and unbeknownst; landed here at my quirky site. After reading the introduction: Life of a Holocaust Studies Student, I may have grabbed your attention for a moment or two.

After all, you're probably curious about the kind of a person who wants to study systematic mass murder? And furthermore, why would she blog about her experience?

I blog for basically one reason. Because I want to know exactly why it is that I am choosing the career that I feel has called my name for 17 years. I thought that by sorting through memories of my past (via a blog), I would some how find the answer that I not only want; but desperately desire.

You see, I haven't quite figured it all out yet. My life, that is.

Why is it that I feel the calling to educate others of an unfathomable historical act of monstrosity? Why didn't I pursue a happier occupation? You know, like, a career with rainbows, butterflies and dandelions? Say, an elementary school teacher?

I've pondered the question of why I do what I do for years. I've never been able to find an accurate answer. However, I think my studying, or (the extent to which I choose to study the Holocaust) has something to do with the fact that I haven't had any trepidation about death or dying-- That is, since I was about 14 years old.

This is not to say that I live a reckless, carefree (or do not appreciate) my life. On the contrary.

However, I do believe that our Maker is going to take each and every one of us Home when the time is right. The worrying about how, when, or where one's death will take place; is something I really can't relate to.

I have always viewed death as a part of living. I don't view death as terrifying or scary.

Death is unavoidable and will (someday) happen to everyone I know and love. Why spend the days that I am alive worrying about a fated circumstance? It just doesn't make sense in my eyes.

Don't take me wrong. This doesn't mean I don't feel human emotion in regards to death and dying.

Or, that the thought death has never crossed my mind.

Preferably, I would like to die in a situation that doesn't involve water. Drowning has always been a colossal fear of mine. (My parents put a large pool in our backyard when I was 7. This might have something to do with my drowning paranoia.)But, that's the dying part. Again, I don't see the hullabaloo of death.

Growing up, Susie Q used to (and still does) say to me and my siblings,

"Heaven is a dance floor".

(Those who know Susie Q, can tell you that to describe Susie as optimistic is an understatement of the century. My mother is the hap, hap, happiest person I know. She has been this way since I was a babe in arms).

Back to fearing death. If you think heaven is a dance floor, it makes fearing death kinda hard. I mean, who doesn't like to dance?

Other Causes of Death and Why I Dismiss Them:
Gun Shot? Well, there's a lot of crime out there. I cant say this is a positive 'no', because I do carry pepper spray for a reason.
Plane Crash? Based on the plane-crash to death ratio; I'd have to say no.
Fire? Again, the likelihood just isn't there.
Car Accident? Umm...this might actually be a possibility; there are some crazy driver's on the roads.
Heart/Health Problems? Well, heart disease does run in my family; so I cant rule this out completely.
Accidental Poisoning? I don't want to get all statistical on you, but according to the CDC only 27,000 people die from poisoning per year. Usually this happens to youngsters.
Falling? I hate heights. The thought of skydiving or bungee-jumping make my stomach churn. And again, the CDC claims that death by falling is most common in the elderly.

Yes. I'm nerdy and went to the CDC website.

By this point you're probably assuming that I have never experienced the death of a loved one.

I wish that was true.

This leaves me with a question that I don't know how to answer.

How is it possible that I can tolerate studying mass murder? Is there a reason I don't run in the opposite direction at the mere notion of death?

In all fairness,(and so you know), I would classify myself as a fairly overall happy person.

I am:
Not Depressed.
Have No Major Complaints about my life.
Have Great Friends.
Loving and Supportive Family.

So, why does a relatively happy person study death, you might ask?

I have no clue. But if someone out there knows the answer, by all means please share.

Is it because I view life differently than other's?

Or because I tend to be confident of my own mortality?

Could it be maybe, just maybe, that it takes a person such as I, who doesn't fear the unknown of an afterlife to tolerate the burden that comes with studying the Holocaust?

There is a moment when the burden of conscience (that comes with knowing what has happened and what continues to happen across the world) starts to take its toll on a person.

Believe you me.

All the Black-Eyed-Susans and fields full of dandelions can't make this girl forget that one and a half million Jewish children were murdered during the Holocaust.

Though hard to bear, I can handle the emotional baggage that is attached with my career choice. Personally, what I consider a more urgent matter, is how our world is permitting the reality of history to repeat itself.

Ignoring human-ignorance only allows narrow views to consume the minds of our youth. Young adults of today who are still cognitively processing their own conception of how the (present generation in power) regards the reminiscence of world events. This cognitive process of our youngsters is shaping the future leaders of tomorrow's world.

The actions our world makes today will predicate how succeeding generations will contemplate the importance of world issues.

Issues like, genocides. And the decision of when a Country or UN should be obligated to aid victims. Regardless of China's stance.

Just Sayin'.

Thoughts in Your Head: Wrap it up Jules, you're ranting.

So here it is: I want to know why I don't fear death. I have some inklings about my (lackadaisical view of death), but nothing that makes me 100% positive of why the thought of death doesn't scare the begeezers out of me.

Moreover, I need to know that the death of innocent victims will not go unaccounted in the hereafter. When innocent death becomes acknowledged, one would assume that(as human being to human being), we would all understand and value of life and end meaningless suffering.

That's all I have to say about that.

Love,
Julie



“The stupid neither forgive nor forget; the naive forgive and forget; the wise forgive but do not forget.” ~Thomas S. Szasz

Knowledge. Memory. and a Bookshelf.

Sorry for the delay, I'm still wrapping up the next piece of my life puzzle, which involves: middle school and trips to Europe....

In the mean time, I have discovered a problem. A very serious problem. I never thought this day would come. But, it has.

I know too much.

You're probably thinking, "What's she talking about?"

Let me explain.

I have, what I would call, an average - to slightly above average- memory. I'm just sayin'.

I can remember specific details that serve absolutely no purpose.(I have memories of standing in my crib, I was probably under the age of 3, and watching my neighbor walk through our back yard). Useless.

However, I also have plenty of useful memories. Useful to me, anyways.

Prior to this semester, I never had a problem 'knowing too much'. I prided myself on it, actually. Or I used to pride myself on it. Until four weeks ago.

I have a certain professor this semester who really cares about citing sources in papers. I agree with him, one needs (and should) give credit where credit is due.

Insert my problem.

You see, I thought I agreed with him. That was until he returned a paper I had written on WWII. In one paragraph, I didn't cite a source. The truth was, that I didn't know the source. I was the source. I was docked a grade for not citing one paragraph in a 3 page paper. One Paragraph. I had three other sources. Seriously.

I didn't plagiarize.

It wasn't made up.

It was just facts that I knew.

Thanks, Memory!!

At first I was furious at the professor.Who did he think he was?!? It wasn't like the information was false! This was the truth!


After re-reading my paper and my prof's overly nice comments, reality set it. Okay. Maybe I was a little at fault. For all the memorizing I have done over the years, why had I not memorized where I had gathered the information that is subsequently seared into my brain? C'mon Jules! You know better!

Fact:I do not know when I first memorized that the Holocaust is defined as: The Systematic Mass Murder of European Jewry by Nazi Germany and Their Collaborators Between the years 1933 and 1945.

I just know.

This problem surfaced again while writing a different paper for the same class. It was a paper on The Battle of Britain. I thought I'd jazz up the paragraph where I wrote about the German Air Force. Herman Goring, specifically. I added tidbits about his life during and before WWI, his faithfulness to Hitler starting in the 1920's...historical facts. Memorized facts.

This time I knew better than to not cite a source. So, in all honesty, I cited myself. In Chicago format, nonetheless. (Julie R. Holocaust/WWII Information Gathered Over the Years. 2/2010)

I was sitting on my living room couch typing my paper when I looked up. This is what sits across from my couch.

Books.


Here's some close ups:


I assure you, I did not move or re-arrange anything on this shelf before snapping a few shots











These encyclopedias were my Christmas gift (2 years ago) from Susie Q and The Dutchmen. Yes, I asked for them.

Fact: if my apartment were to catch fire I would, first: make sure my dog was okay. Second, grab my cell phone. and Third, run back in, if for no other reason than to save these glorious gems.

Clothes? No. Laptop? Replaceable. Encyclopedia's of the Holocaust? Priceless.

Here's my point:
Tally up the ton of books I've read, add 16 college Holocaust/WWII courses and 6 religious studies courses. Don't forget to add the gazillion hours I have watched documentary footage, films, interviews,PBS,BBC WWII related stuff, etc.. Or my trips to Europe, or the survivor's I've interviewed, or my trips to DC, or ... you get it.

I don't do math. Sorry.

I can not be expected to know how I know.

Don't blame me. Blame my memory.

My First Trip to D.C.

Each family has a set of rules, regulations, and traditions that (one way or another) get passed from child to child. Some of these experiences one needs to do physically, others, one only needs to speculate in order to learn.

Here are some lessons that I know:

• If you want to know how it is that a stove makes things hot; ask someone. Don't stick your fingers on a red coil.
• Having your own bedroom can only be truly appreciated after you have endured the pain of sharing one.
• Getting an American-Girl Doll is not for lackadaisical people. To obtain that beautiful doll, one first must read the books.
• If you want to get your ears pierced when your 8, you cant. Why? Because your sister chose to pierce hers when she was 12. An older sibling's decisions do impact your life.
• A father will allow you to sit on his lap when you're 5 yrs old as he drives the family's 25+ ft. RV. However, he will not teach you how to drive (sans license) until you are at least 14.
• Acknowledging that it was Yoko’s fault is the only way to heal the wounds of the Beatles breakup.
• Dying your hair without parental consent should only be done after you are too old to spanked.
  

Traditions and life lessons are important to children.

I have come to realize that these traditions are much more significant to the youngest child.

Julie: “Mommy, why does Miss M get to do that when I can’t?” a phrase I muttered to my mom (all too often) while growing up.

Susie Q: “Well, dolly… that’s because Miss M is older.”

Julie: “That’s not fair. I wanna do it, too!”

Susie Q: “Yes, it is fair sweetheart. You’ll understand someday when you’re older."

Julie: "When am I gonna be older?"

Susie Q: "Soon, hunny. Just be patient."

Readers, Please Note: The youngest child, by definition, means there is never a day when you will become ‘older’ than your siblings. You will always be their little sister and they will forever and always remind you of that.

Anyways, in my family, one of the most anticipated traditions (which happened at a young age) was going with my dad on a business trip to Washington D.C. Well, we didn’t necessarily attend the business aspect of the trip. We tagged along for the sight-seeing and quality father/child time.

The tradition of the D.C. trip started when my dad took Miss M, my sister. At that time, it was a spur of the moment idea; my dad had to go out east for work and he thought his (oldest) 10 year old might want to see all the glory that is: Washington D.C. What he probably wasn’t thinking was how he would have to repeat this trip (with kids) two more times. Taking Miss M, meant that the next year he took my brother, Wyatt Earp, when he was 10 yrs old. Fair is fair.

Five years later, in the spring of 1996, it was my turn. I was finally the age my siblings had been when they took the glorious trip. I had reached the pivotal age. There was no more waiting. My dad and I were going to Washington D.C. My wait was over.

D.C. was everything I thought it would be. All three days of it. The first couple mornings my dad went to his business meetings, while I stayed in the hotel watching cable TV. A luxury I had not previously known. Each day after lunch, we’d hit the town.

The following days/afternoons were filled to the brim with sight-seeing, walking, talking, and asking questions. We saw (in no specific order): the Capital, The Air and Space Museum, The Washington/Lincoln/Jefferson Monuments, Ford’s Theater/ the house across the street where Lincoln died, Arlington National Cemetery, Mount Vernon, ect...

Of all the things we did in D.C., surprisingly, we did not go to the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. I would not see the inside of USHMM until 1998. This, in hindsight was a good thing. I was still young, and needed more education on how to understand the Holocaust. Bringing a child, who is too young into USHMM, can do a potential amount of damage to the child’s psyche if he/she isn’t properly educated or prepared.

One day after sight-seeing and a great seafood dinner, my dad and I were walking around taking in the night-life of D.C. (night-life that is appropriate for a 10 year old). We stumbled upon a small Indie theater which happened to be showing Anne Frank Remembered.

It had come back. Not just my interest in the story of the girl who had baffled my mind. This time it was more complex. This film had childhood friends of Anne talking about her life in the concentration camps. Her life after her diary. The life that was lost. The life that died.

While watching this film I realized that the odds of surviving the Holocaust were not good, but plausible. There are survivors. Humans, who lived, breathed, who endured the unthinkable and were/are able to talk about it. Through film I could witness these survivors.

In my family, we're not really 'sport enthusiasts'. We don't watch football (unless Miss M and her husband Doc Holiday are visiting). On occasion we enjoy a Twin's game, but that's about it.

That's because my family, deep in the depths of our souls, we're movie people. The Academy Awards might as well be the Super Bowl. It's a night filled with snacks and pop galore. Three hours of cheering (or) booing at the TV. It's an event we look forward to all year.

Susie Q, my mom, who is an overly nice and very soft spoken lady, has been known to give a good holler or two at the TV during the Academy's. It is, after all, serious business.

That winter, my 'movie-lovin' family' was (of course) watching the Oscar's. If you're a movie lover, you know what year I'm talking about.

• Whoopi was the emcee.
• BraveHeart, Apollo 13, Pocahontas, and Toy Story were all big hits.
• Brad and Gwyneth were still a couple.
• And, who could forget Kirk Douglas being honored that year? Well, an average person might have forgotten that part. According to my dad, there is no greater gift that cable TV has to offer than Turner Classic Movie (TCM). This wasn't just Kirk Douglas; this was Spartacus! It was a great night.

Then suddenly, that night became one I would never forget.

Then there it was! My D.C. movie had returned. It was nominated for Best Documentary. And, it won! Before I knew it, Miep Gies was on stage. She didn't say anything. She didn't have to. She received a standing ovation from the audience. Chills ran up and down my back.

After a brief moment of shock, I started yelling, " I saw that film! I saw that film! Mom!! It's Miep Gies. IT'S MIEP GIES!"

My family has always encouraged my interest in studying the Holocaust. But at that particular moment during the Oscar's, I can't say that they shared in the excitement.

Julie: "Dad!! We saw that film!!" I squealed with excitement.

The Dutchmen: "We sure did, kiddo." he said

Julie: "Mom! Miss M! I, like, totally saw that!! In the theater. In D.C.!"

Susie Q: "Wow, hunny. Isn't that a coincidence?" my mom said softly.

Coincidence and Fate. Two words that have played a huge part in my life. Was it a coincidence that I saw that film (a documentary that never would have been played in the theater in my small hometown)? Was it fate that I went on my trip to D.C. at the exact time that film was in theaters?

I think that my trip to D.C. (and of course, the Academy Awards) were pieces to my life puzzle.

I'll wait to share the next piece of my puzzle until next time.

One Saturday afternoon in 1993

As is the case of most American/non-Jewish children, I was introduced to the Holocaust and WWII through Anne Frank.

It was a Saturday afternoon in the fall of 1993. My mom was out of town and it was up to my dad find an activity which all three of his children would enjoy. The Anne Frank Museum was traveling around the US and happened to be in St. Paul for a couple months. Being the history-lover that my dad is, he used that Saturday as an opportunity to educate his three children on WWII. Or, in my case, introduce Anne Frank and the Holocaust to his youngest child, who was in 3rd grade.

We spent the afternoon looking at the exhibit. My siblings, who were 12 and 13 at the time, went ahead of my dad and me. This was probably because I wouldn’t or couldn’t stop asking questions.

“Who is Anne Frank?”

"What are Nazi's?"

"Why didn’t someone stop them?"

"What's an Annex?"

“Where’s Amsterdam?”

"Why did they hate the Jews'?”

I had questions growing out of my ears; you get the just of it.

After a few hours, and my very patient father who was trying his best to explain an unexplainable event to his 8 year old daughter, we left the exhibit and went into the bookstore.
I remember walking though the first couple rows when my dad picked up a book, flipped though it and handed it to me.

"Here's a good one, Hunny Bunny." he said.

And it was.

As I waited for the rest of my family to finish picking out what they wanted, I opened my book. I opened my book and it changed my life.

Seriously.

I have a theory of why I am so passionate about studying and educating others about the Holocaust.I was introduced to the unthinkable facts of the Holocaust when curiosity and questions consumed my life. Before this exhibit, most of the books I had read were fictional. With fictional characters.

There are no characters while reading about the Holocaust. There are only real Human Beings.

As an 8 year old girl, my reading consisted of books that were mainly 'series' oriented. There was the usual Boxcar Children, The Baby-Sitter's Club, Beezus and Ramona, Superfudge, Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing, etc...

After I read Anne Frank I realized that there could not be a sequel or 'series' that would follow her story of hiding in annexes or her many adventures.

Anne had died.

My curiosity of the Holocaust had come to life.