“There can be no keener revelation of a society’s soul than how it treats its children.” Nelson Mandela
The last day of my 1999 fellowship in Israel was to be free for packing, shopping, resting, anything, my choice.

Considering the options in Jerusalem, I should take in the Knesset for some political science, but Yad Vashem, the Holocaust museum and memorial, sits atop one of Jerusalem’s hills.
I had avoided Holocaust museums in other places due to the time not being right but now the time and place seemed ideal.
After breakfast, I headed to Yad Vashem.
The groves of trees of gratitude, planted for each of the people who helped them during those years, took some time to negotiate but were worth the time. Then into the museum with its low light and exhibits, the images familiar since my post-WWII world had such photos throughout my childhood.
Next, the extensive section devoted to children and families. Each item, collected from those concentration camp years, inspired careful study. Precious books and toys exquisitely made by parents from scraps and bits so the children would have birthday presents. A Monopoly version of the concentration camp’s layout with small cards, colorless yet beautiful. So many treasures memorializing such love within families in those devastating, unimaginable conditions.

I reached an exit and found myself outside in a large mall, all white stone in a blazing sun. The few buildings were white stone, too. Just one or two people around. I had lost all track of time. It felt like late afternoon.
One building held the Eternal Flame.
As I left that building, I headed to the Children’s Memorial, down its sloping walkway to the entrance at a lower level.
When inside, it seemed I had this building to myself. The whole darkened structure was devoted to a vast midnight blue velvet sky with 1.5 million tiny stars twinkling as the individual names were spoken. A railing led me around and through to the exit.
Outside, I needed to sit down.
Outside the Children’s Memorial, Yad Vashem
I seek relief,
Perhaps some shade,
The superficial warmth of Sun.
Yet mournful songs
Seep from the door,
Piercing the gentle breeze,
Defying the greenness of trees.
(continued)Remember, remember, they echo.
Refreshment of any kind,
A sacrilege here.
Give me Ezekiel’s wasteland
To match my breaking heart.— Judy Harris
Judy Harris is well established in Northern Kentucky life, as a longtime elementary and university educator. A graduate of Thomas More, she began her career there in 1980 where she played a key role in teacher education and introduced students to national and international travel experiences. She has traveled and studied extensively abroad. She enjoys retirement yet stays in daily contact with university students.