2. When the bus dropped us off, we went inside. Before we went into the main exhibit, a curator gave me a passport of a Holocaust victim. It was not a real passport. The curator explained that if I read about this victim, he could not be forgotten. The museum says it's important to remember. I opened the passport and looked at the name and picture of a victim. I remembered Yaakov. Yaakov died.

3. An elevator took everyone up to the beginning of the exhibition. They squeezed as many people as possible into the elevator car. It was crowded. I was squashed against the back wall by an elderly woman. Her hair was in my face. I looked to the side so her hair would not get in my mouth. It tickled the side of my cheek. I could smell the scent of shampoo in her hair. It smelled fruity. I held my breath.

4. I walked through the museum slowly. It was very crowded and the light was dimmed. I could not read everything because people were blocking the text. I could not tell what all the artifacts were. There were prison uniforms, yellow stars, scrolls, pictures of Jews and Nazis, and a lot of shoes. People behind me nudged me so I would keep walking. Occasionally, someone stepped on my heel. They apologized. They wanted to see the exhibit, too. They were in more of a rush.

5. The soles of my feet began to hurt from all the walking. I watched some short films, because there were benches. I needed to rest.

1       [2]       [next->] Image: Passport issued to Oskar Fiedler on June 15, 1920 in Vienna. (Courtesy US Holocaust Museum)