Witness

Last night, I decided at the last minute to attend the Holocaust Memorial service in Columbia. As I was driving there, my social anxieties started to surface. I don't like going to an event by myself. I had never attended a service at this Synagogue. As my mind started to wander, I started thinking about my maternal grandfather. A couple of years ago, I found out that he was involved in the liberation of Buchenwald. Since he did not speak much about it, I pieced together stories from my mother, and information off of the Internet. I have no details, but it is clear that he was involved. I also know that in the late 1950's, he took my mother and grandmother to visit Dachau. He took his family so that they could see in person what had happened there. This made a very big impression on my teenage mother. I have heard hers, and my grandmother's story of this trip many times.

My grandfather died before I was born. As I understand things, he suffered with alcoholism and many of the ills associated with it. I think it would be easy to say that he led a bit of a tortured life, and his family suffered with him. I never thought much about all of this until last night. At the memorial service, main speaker was a man who served in the American army and liberated one of the camps. He only spoke for about 15 minutes, but his words carried great power. He managed to give a strong sense of what he found without going into much detail. At the end of his talk, he tried to convey a story about one of his soldiers. After 65 years, and numerous speeches, this man choked back tears as he tried to tell his story. I sat in stunned silence as I recognized the immense burden this man carries. He carries the burden of being a first hand witness to the unimaginable. He has carried his burden well, but obviously there is a price.

I now look at my grandfather with different eyes. I had a glimpse at the burden he must have carried. I can only imagine how hard it was for him to reconcile his experiences. My grandfather's trip to Dachau with his family was probably his best attempt at providing witness. He could not talk much about it, but he made sure that his daughter saw with her own two eyes.

So, a chance encounter at a service helps put so many things into perspective for me. I wish that I could go back and speak to my grandfather. I have to honor the price he paid for serving in a war. I have to acknowledge the price he paid for being a witness.