This Independence Day week we have taken our kids to Washington, DC, New York City, and a field in Pennsylvania. Put a family of five in a car for a week and there have obviously been moments of levity, but the trip has really turned into one of somber reflection more than we anticipated.
At the Shanksville memorial to Flight 93, we all listened to the heartbreaking messages left by loved ones aboard that doomed, fourth hijacked plane. In Manhattan, we looked into the cavernous holes at the 9/11 memorial site situated there in the financial district. In the nation's capital, we spent the better part of three hours walking through the Holocaust Museum, viewing some of the most horrific images of human carnage I've ever seen.
I've taught about the Holocaust for over 20 years, but I had never seen some of that footage, heard some of those eyewitness testimonies, or read some of those accounts. We debated whether our kids should see it all but decided to encourage it. I'm glad we did.
Of course, in this era, not even in the most sacred places can we be free from the specter of political rancor. My middle daughter and I sat in the small theater watching the 14-minute video detailing Hitler's rise to power. Seated right beside us was a gay couple that couldn't stop themselves from murmuring loudly and chuckling contemptuously throughout the film how much they saw shades of Donald Trump. Every time there was mention of Hitler's political persecution of enemies, or his stranglehold on speech through things like book-burning, they felt compelled to comment.
It was childish, incendiary, and drew many annoyed glances from others in the room. I didn't get the impression that the irritation others expressed stemmed from their deep affection for all things MAGA, but rather from the startling lack of decorum demonstrated by the two men.
As easy as it might have been, I am thankful that no one took their bait and created an ugly scene by flipping the script. Sure, one could have highlighted the Left's relentless efforts to imprison their own political opponents, or the LGBT movement's own book-burning demands…
Doing so would not only have tastelessly distracted from the gravity of the exhibit, but it also would have fed the same spirit of marginalization and "othering" that led to the ovens of Auschwitz. Don't misunderstand, I don't think we in the United States are anywhere close to publicly sanctioned genocide as some national unity-building exercise. But our growing inability to see value in one another, to exhibit a simple decency and respect that isn't dependent upon anything other than our shared humanity, is becoming more than a bit alarming.
One of the things I appreciated most about the National Holocaust Museum was that it challenged visitors to grapple with deeper questions once they left - questions about our personal and collective behavior, our cultural vulnerability to propagandized hate, and the fragility of human life. Such introspection would be very good for our people as we celebrate the country's 249th birthday.
The most curious of our three children expressed to me as we walked back to our hotel, "I don't see how people can even do those things to other people."
I know his remark pertained to the Holocaust, but the horror inflicted by terrorists on 9/11 conjures up similar confusion. The depth of human hatred is a furnace of cold fire - burning not with passion, but with a chilling, calculated cruelty that erodes the soul. Given that we're all susceptible to it, the best birthday gift we could give our civilization this year would be shaking off our complacency, removing our biased blinders, and recommitting ourselves to constant vigilance - feverishly guarding against the temptation to see others as less than ourselves.
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Disclaimer: The opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of Not the Bee or any of its affiliates.
