9 AM
On Facebook, I read a post written by an Israeli woman. It was about what happened to her and her husband when the couple was in Brussels, Belgium last summer -- they were asked to leave a restaurant after waiters found out that they were from Israel, a manager at the hotel warned the woman to hide her bracelet that implied her being Jewish, and they were allowed to enter a church after faking their nationality. She wanted to share the story to bring lights on the fact that such hatred was still prevailing, especially as today is the Holocaust Remembrance Day. In the comment box, people argued over whether the story was real or not.
On Facebook, I read a post written by an Israeli woman. It was about what happened to her and her husband when the couple was in Brussels, Belgium last summer -- they were asked to leave a restaurant after waiters found out that they were from Israel, a manager at the hotel warned the woman to hide her bracelet that implied her being Jewish, and they were allowed to enter a church after faking their nationality. She wanted to share the story to bring lights on the fact that such hatred was still prevailing, especially as today is the Holocaust Remembrance Day. In the comment box, people argued over whether the story was real or not.
9:30 AM
I got an online message from my brother. He asked me how things were on this side of the world.
"In Israel, it's the Holocaust Remembrance Day today. I don't know yet what I'll get to see, though."
"In Korea, it's a memorial day too. You know, it's been one year since the Sewol ferry sinking."
The sinking of the ferry in April 2014 killed 304 people, mostly high school students.
10 AM
A siren started outside. I turned to the window and stared at sunlight coming through the window blind for some time. I walked out to the living room. In front of the balcony, my flatmate, O, was looking outside the window. I couldn't go close to her somehow. Instead, I walked to the balcony from the kitchen. My ears were deafened by the siren which blanketed the whole city. Cars stopped and people walking the street also stopped their way and stood still. On the rooftop of the building on the opposite side, a man wearing no shirts on was standing still in the middle of his garden. All life came to a halt. It was like being in a vacuum or eternity. The siren continued on.
After two minutes, the siren stopped. O called my name.
"I'm in the kitchen."
"Are you okay?"
"Yes."
I thought, it was she who should be asked the question. I put my arms around her small shoulders. She lowered her head without a word.
1 PM
I went to AMCHA, the National Israeli Center for Psychological Support of Survivors of the Holocaust. It was a place that my friend suggested me to go to. Inside the building, I could see the programs of movie screenings, an exhibition of documents, lectures, and round-table talks of Holocaust survivors and the second generation, but everything was to be held in Hebrew. Obviously, there was nothing I would be able to understand. I was standing in the midst of strangers, looking completely lost, when a staff came to me. He explained what the center does.
Currently, the Holocaust survivors living in Israel number about 180,000. The center provides assistance to treat the survivors' mental traumas and help their recovery. What's surprising was that the second generation and even third generation are also the subject of therapies.
"How have they got traumas when they didn't go through the Holocaust and were born and raised in Israel?"
"Because their parents and grandparents have deeply rooted traumas. Whether the survivors tell their children about what they experienced or not, it affects their children anyway. Both the speech and the silence leave something abnormal in the end, which disturbs their children's or grandchildren's personality development."
Whether the survivors open their mouths or not, the children get wounded. No matter how one handles it, an incident like the Holocaust leaves, in the end, something that has to be cleared up, treated, and healed.
The staff said,
"This evening, we have a round-table talk between the Holocaust survivors, the second generation, and the third generation. They will openly share their views and thoughts about the past history and its aftermath."
I thanked him again for the explanation and went out of the building. Under the sun, I gazed at the center for a while and took one photo of it. It was at that instant that I saw a white-haired, old man look at me as he was about to pass by. He smiled and then talked to me.
"Where are you from? China? Japan?"
"Neither, nor. I'm from South Korea."
"Oh, South Korea! I see. That part of the world is all fascinating."
"Where are you from, can I ask?"
"Now, I'm living here in Israel. But I was born in Poland."
After a pause, he added,
"I went though the Holocaust. I was at the Auschwitz."
A survivor. That's what I thought he might be when we had the eye contact. Nevertheless, it gave me a little startle when I heard him introduce himself using those exact words.
"How old were you when it happened...?"
"I was around thirteen or fourteen."
He told me his name. I told him mine. "I would love to talk to you more, but my family is waiting for me." He directed to a few meters down the street where several people were standing outside a car, looking towards us. I wrote down my phone number and gave it to him. We agreed to get in touch again.
2 PM
At the Cafe Tamar.
I asked a guy sitting at the next table.
"What thought did you have when the siren started this morning?"
"I felt pains. It was not just the Holocaust or killings, but the cruelty that humanity is capable of. It lingered in my mind."
He added,
"There are times when I find myself just laughing in the middle of watching something really terrifying from the movies or hearing such stories. It's like, when you face something utterly unbelievable, you can't even afford to get angry, or sad, or upset, but all you can do is... just laugh."