I have passed by this sign so many times on the freeway. I'd always noticed it, but didn't know much about it. Actually, something about the word "tolerance" made me feel vaguely uneasy - somewhere in my mind it seemed linked to the word "torture." I am not the only one who thought that; when I told Daughter #1 we were invited to go, she mentioned the same uneasy feelings about the tolerance/torture connection. Which seems weird, I know, because tolerance is an essential and beautiful thing. But, I guess the word also triggers a unsettling feeling of the consequences of intolerance (which is unfortunately rampant in the world.)
It wasn't my idea to go. A very dear friend whose daughter is the same age (and who will be celebrating her Bat Mitzvah next summer) invited us to join them. Which was perfect as my daughter had been studying World War II (probably part of the reason she didn't want to go as she had an inkling of what to expect.) The potential of this experience was further enhanced by our cultural backgrounds. My friend and her daughter are Jewish and lost many family members in the Holocaust; my husband's mother (now deceased) was German and lived in Germany as a teenager during WWII - she lost a brother in the war (he was a soldier) and her pastor father was tortured by the Nazi's for helping Jewish people.
Our field trip started out in a bizarre fashion. Or, rather, I've just lived a sheltered life. When we arrived at the parking garage, I was stopped by a guard who mumbled something about needing to see my driver's license and something else which I didn't catch. So I fumbled around for my license, which of course I had not put in the proper slot, while the guard walked back up the incline - which I thought was little strange, but maybe he was worried about another car possibly entering. Finally found my driver's license and waved it out the window so he would know I was ready. But he stayed where he was and sternly said something about my needing to open the trunk of the car. Oh! That's what he had mumbled before (it wasn't just me, my daughter didn't hear the dude say trunk either). That was astonishing for me - I don't think I've ever had my car inspected before as if I could be carrying dangerous weapons and this encounter suddenly highlighted for me a visceral sense of the potential danger of hatred. I thought I was just going to a museum. Instead, there existed the possibility of violence.
Upon entering the exhibit, we needed to have our persons and purses go through the scanners like at the airport. I failed the test and had to be pulled aside to get scanned with the handheld doo-hickie and for some reason I needed to lift the hem of my pants so they could see my ankles (I hadn't shaved my legs for a bit, so that was slightly embarrassing!) My thirteen-year-old found my inspection very amusing. Her dowdy old mom - a suspect!
There were swarms of school kids there for field trips - junior high and high school. We descended the spiral ramp adorned with beautiful black and white photographs of the Holocaust survivors who volunteer at the Museum of Tolerance (MOT). The tour begins with information and exhibits about bullying and hatred and social justice and tolerance by looking at both historical and contemporary examples. Many of the exhibits are interactive using video footage and computer screens.
In the school crowd, there were all types of students. Some really into it. Others just passing the time. Some just goofing with their peers. I felt grateful that our daughters were there with my friend and me. In our small group of four we got a chance to discuss our impressions and feelings about the subject matter. This was heavy-duty and sensitive material and some of the exhibit had pretty intense, violent imagery. After the video about cyber-bullying our daughters got a chance to share with us what they might do in that situation (that was actually thanks to my friend - she is great at asking questions while I usually like to take in everything silently.)
We then began the section on the Holocaust. The newly acquisitioned Hitler letter detailing his plans was on display. We tagged along with one of the groups and we got to hear the docent explain about WWII and how many people blame only Hitler for the atrocities when in fact there were so many people, ordinary people, who were also to blame for the immense human suffering that occurred. I really liked how the Holocaust section began with each person taking a card with the picture of a child who lived during that time; at the computer stations we inserted our cards and we got to know about our child and their family; at the end of the exhibit, we find out our child's fate.
Midway through the Holocaust exhibit we left to hear a Holocaust survivor speak in the auditorium. All I can say is - wow. This is a must for everyone over the age of thirteen. Hearing this incredible woman share her story left the greatest impression on me, my friend and our daughters. All we saw, heard and discussed up to this point in the exhibit was brought poignantly to life. Living and breathing in front of us.
After a quick pick-me-up lunch in the upstairs cafe (we were literally wilting as we had already been there three hours, although I felt a little guilty about feeling hungry after hearing the Holocaust survivor speak), we had enough energy to resume the Holocaust exhibit - which we all exclaimed was made so much more tangible after hearing an actual Holocaust survivor share her story with us. The part we resumed at was the point where a lot of human suffering and really unimaginable acts perpetrated on people were illuminated. This level of atrocity and suffering - there are no words to describe the feelings that learning the specifics of it invokes.
As a mother, I felt overwhelmed just imagining the heartbreak and agony of the families ripped apart. The human suffering. The gross cruelty. Since I work with mothers and babies, one of the last sections detailing newborn infants thrown out of windows their to their deaths was particularly disturbing and shocking to me - I just can't get that mental image out of my mind; the complete detachment one has to have from the very essence of their humanity to do such an act - I find that so very frightening.
I guess what is so truly frightening is that human suffering at the hands of others due to hate, fear, ignorance and bullying still happens every day. All over the world. And not just in far away places, but here. Here in our own cities. Perhaps our own neighborhoods and schools.
Going to the MOT reminded me of both our vulnerability and our responsibility. As a mother, I worry for my children, all of our children, entering a world inhabited by people who act upon intolerance, bigotry, fear and hate. As a woman with daughters, I am constantly aware of our vulnerability just as women. Hatred, discrimination and violence across the world is directed towards women. But, such acts also happen to men; and to children. Hatred is hatred and where it is fostered it will always try to find a target - any group, person, race - that it can fixate on.
Which brings us to responsibility. The responsibility of nurturing tolerance in our own lives. We can't control what others say and do. But we can control what we say and do. We can be conscious of how we respond to others and make a point to de-escalate violent words and actions. Not by force, but by trying to understand. We can become aware of our own prejudices and intolerances. We can help by being aware of what we think and say. Being aware of how we deliver what we want to say. Being aware of how we treat people. Being aware of how other people are treated. Having the courage to take action when someone is treated wrongly.
As mothers and fathers we can take action by nurturing our babies and children. Loving them, honoring them and gently guiding them seem to be the first steps in the mission to a more tolerant and accepting world. If a baby or child does not experience loving nurturance and acceptance, then how much more difficult may it be for this child to be able to give this to others? To exhibit forbearance and tolerance later in life?
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Tolerance. Compassion. Love. Believe in it and live it.
Photo credits from Flickr:
"Holding Hands" - M.MartinPhotography
"Tolerance" - Peconic Windsurfer
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