Museum of Tolerance

           The pit in my stomach deepened as we walked down the spiral walkway filled with photos of survivors. Just thinking about what those men and women went through made me feel sick. We were given a card with a child on it, as soon as I saw the little girls face I instantly began to cry. The little girl couldn't have been more than nine. She was wearing a small bow in her hair. I don't know what maybe me cry more the thought of that bow being forgotten in their home when soldiers raided it or the idea of someone so young seeing all of that. We were told about our kids' life, and what they went through, we went through the whole museum carrying this card waiting to find out if they lived or died. I saw the pain in others face when they saw that their child died and the tinge of happiness with those whose kids lived. We held these kids close to our heart when hearing about soldiers talking about the final solution, Hitler's campaign but closest when we went into the gas chamber. Before we went in our tour guide Walter told us that mothers and fathers were separated from their children, the kids screaming for them and by the end of his speech I was a waterfall of tears again. I held the card tightly in my hand with my two friends crying next to me. When we left the museum I was upset, the rest of the day in Los Angeles wasn't a happy day my mind kept going back to that little girl and what she had beheld. The pain, the horror, the sadness. Be a witness, watch the world around you and be the change you want, don't let things pass by, change the world, be a witness.