The Charlotte Jewish News- Janurary 2026- Page 16
Reflections From a Living Memorial: A Teacher’ s Journey Through the U. S. Holocaust Museum
By Lynn Cooper
You don’ t expect your breath to catch in your throat the moment the elevator doors open. But that’ s what happened when I arrived at the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington D. C. and stepped into a space that changed me in ways I never anticipated.
Before I saw a single artifact or read a single name, I was confronted by a towering wall of dark matte metal with two hollow words carved directly through it: THE HOLOCAUST. The letters weren’ t printed or raised. They were cut out entirely, leaving only absences. In those empty spaces, I felt the weight of life erased. It was the first of countless moments that forced me to stop, feel, and understand history not as words on a page, but as a presence that still echoes through every hollow space it left behind.
I arrived as an educator eager to learn and left with a deeper sense of moral duty to memory, to truth, and to the students who will inherit the world formed by both. Our host and guide, Laurie Schaefer, shaped the way we moved through the museum. And she urged us to explore only one floor per day because of the emotional weight and sheer volume of history on each level. Moving with intention enabled us to fully absorb the material
By Lulu Taylor
Being part of the Friendship Circle has been an unforgettable and deeply special experience for me. When I first joined, I thought it would be a nice opportunity to give back, but I didn’ t realize how profoundly the program would also give back to me.
Every week I spend with Isaac, my buddy, is memorable. Our time at Friendship Circle is filled with pure joy. Some days, we relax in the treehouse and play board games or plunge instead of rushing through it like a traditional exhibit.
Each morning, our group gathered to discuss the day’ s focus. Laurie’ s knowledge and compassion created a space where every participant felt safe being vulnerable. Most of us had just met, yet her generous guidance invited us to share honestly. We were given journals to reflect on what we saw, and writing became essential to processing what we saw. Each afternoon we reconvened to debrief, and those conversations drew us together. What began as a room of strangers quickly became a community bonded by the weight of what we were witnessing: moments of silence, shared tears, disbelief, and reflection.
Several moments from the trip will stay with me forever. One occurred when I stepped inside the railcar. As an educator, I have taught about railcars used to transport people to ghettos, camps, and places of murder, but nothing prepared me for the overwhelming emotion of standing inside one. I initially assumed it was a replica, but it was not. When I read it was an authentic railcar from Auschwitz, the realization hit me so forcefully that my chest tightened, the air shifted, and tears began to fall.
Standing alone in that small, suffocating space, I felt immense sorrow knowing families had once been packed into this very same car. No textbook or photograph can replicate that feeling. There is an old saying:“ If these walls could talk” and in that very moment, I could almost hear the hopeless cries of desperate mothers, the trembling voices of alarmed fathers, the loud sobs of frightened children, and the whispered prayers rising in fear. The people who once stood there were trapped, facing a future from which they could not escape.
Another moment of deep reflection arrived in the Tower of Faces; a soaring memorial lined from floor to ceiling with photographs of Jewish life before the war. The images rise above you in every direction, impossible to take in all at once. Standing at the center, I felt as if the people in those photographs were looking down at me and watching, waiting, holding me accountable to learn who they were. Using the museum’ s tablet, I read their stories. Seeing each face paired with a name, a family, a life reminded me these were not victims defined simply by their deaths. They were individuals with routines, joys, humor, and identities. Surrounded by their images, I felt a responsibility to truly see them.
The museum’ s final floor features the Rescuers Wall, honoring those across Europe who risked their lives to protect the Jewish people. I read every story and knew, had I lived in this time, I would have wanted to be one of them. Because of that, I felt an obligation to know their names, their choices, and the courage behind the dangerous risks they took. I imagined if I had risked everything to save another human being, years later, I would want someone to understand what moved me to act. Those stories stayed with me long after I walked away.
As if the experience was not already overwhelming, nothing could have prepared me for into the ball pit. Other times, we tackle the slide and compete in intense games of foosball.
One of my favorite memories was a quick game of Chutes and Ladders that included me, Isaac, Dylan, and Nate. The time flew by, and when Isaac was leaving, he looked up and said,“ Thank you, best friend.” Moments like that are powerful reminders of how much this program means and the simple, profound impact it has on us both.
What also makes Friendship Circle so meaningful is the incredible teen community. I’ ve met so many other Jewish teens who share a passion for making a difference. We’ ve built amazing memories together— like the fun fall teen hangout we had just last month.
These shared experiences at Friendship Circle constantly remind me of the immense support and genuine connection I have within my community. It’ s more than volunteering; it’ s finding a second family
the Testimony Theater, where survivor testimonies play continuously. People wandered in only to find themselves rooted in place. I watched strangers of every age sitting quietly, listening intently, and wiping away tears. For those few minutes, the world outside faded entirely, leaving only the voices of those who lived through the unimaginable and found the courage to speak their truth.
I teach in the public school system in Granville County, North Carolina, where many of my students have never traveled outside the state. Few have visited historical sites or even seen artifacts connected to the Holocaust. That reality deepens my sense of duty as I want my students to feel the same urgency I felt walking through the museum. And, understanding history not only as a list of dates or facts, but as a lived human story that shapes the world they will inherit.
In my classroom hangs a poster with a quote by Robert Heinlein:“ A generation which ignores history has no past and no future.” And I believe this to be true. When a generation forgets or chooses to ignore its history, it forgets not only the lessons of what went wrong but also the examples of what went right. It loses its roots, its guidance, and its sense of identity.
Holocaust education is of critical importance because students must understand the fullness of what it was: not only the horror, but also the humanity, the choices people made, the courage that emerged in darkness, and the dire consequences of hatred left unchallenged. This visit strengthened my commitment to ensuring the students I teach do not ignore the past. By understanding the inhuman atrocities that took place, they can help build a future where such hatred never takes root again.
I am grateful to the North Carolina Holocaust Foundation for making this trip possible. Their steadfast dedication to Holocaust education made this opportunity available to teachers like me. It was not simply a trip, but a once-in-a-lifetime journey that opened my heart, reshaped my understanding, and deepened my purpose as an educator. Its impact will stay with me, and I remain profoundly thankful for the chance to carry its pivotal lessons forward.
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