Talking about the Holocaust and reconciliation

Some days I am pretty sure I teach the most incredible students ever. Seriously.

Last week we had a conversation that I still have not gotten out of my head. You see, it started off by reading a story that just mentioned a "senator's wife." But these students are from Burma, and you can't explain even a simple political word without really talking about.

So we talked.

We worked through the different parts of government in the American system as a point of comparison, and then we talked about Burma. So far, I had not had any political conversation with my Shan students, and I was a little nervous about opening it up, but I also felt it was necessary. Because politics in Burma, to migrant workers in Thailand, means everything. It's what determines whether they ever return to the places where they were born.

Amazingly, as I began to ask about the constitution, my students demonstrated incredibly maturity and insight. I asked them what they thought would happen at the next election (when a majority of the seats are going to be contested), and they tackled the issues of whether Aung San Suu Kyi's NLD party might win and what that could mean for the country. They went on to discuss their fears and how sometimes they feel inside Shan State, Burma, as second class citizens.

If we had stopped there, I would have felt the lesson a great success. My goodness, they were incredible--seriously, incredible. They came from many different walks of life with so many different experiences, and yet they held a conversation with mild debate in a respectful and considerate manner.

But the story doesn't finish with talking about government.

One of the more thoughtful students had something he needed to tell the class: you see, on the way to class that day, he had seen a man stranded on the side of the road after a motorbike accident, and he stopped to help him, only to discover this man was Burmese. For my student, who has suffered deeply by the Burmese in the past, he had a decision to make. He wanted to turn away and leave this man to suffer alone, but this student really and truly is incredible. He did not turn away. He stepped in and helped him.  He looked at the class, fresh from the emotions and asked, "Did I do the right thing? I wasn't sure if it was right, because he was Burmese, and the Burmese have hurt our people so. But he was just a person."

The students stared back at him. They did not rush to tell him he had done the right thing, because I suspect all were wondering if they would have done the same thing. After a short silence, I told him that I thought what he had done was extremely brave and good, but I would tell them a story and see if my story helped them decide for themselves.

I told them about growing up, knowing of my Jewish heritage and therefore learning early on about the Holocaust and all those that died. Since my students did not know what the Holocaust was, I gave them a history lesson and showed photographs. As I paused, you could hear only the constant whir of the fans in the students' silence.

Then I confessed the fact that I came to know sometime later than I came to know my Jewish heritage: that's the Nazi war criminal past as well. That "other" cousin.

You see, I share in my blood the blood of many who died but also of one who did much to assure that more died. That's my heritage. Both.

I have since lived in Germany and come to speak German fluently, and my sister lives in Israel and has married an Israeli. We never walk away from the understanding of humanity's deep capacity for incredible good or evil, and, knowing that terrible evil has existed even within our family, we have no choice but to walk in forgiveness. That is why I went to Germany, and that is why I learned German. That is also why I chose to love what is German. Forgiveness is my heritage.

And it's precisely that understanding of my heritage which has translated into a passion for justice and reconciliation and sent me off to work with those who have suffered most by the Burmese regime's discriminatory and violent practices. I then turned to my student, who had helped the Burmese man, and asked him if he understood why I was telling the class this story.

"Yes," he responded and smiled. "I believe in helping him too."

The next day the class continued the conversation, adding that the only chance Shan State has for true freedom exists through forgiveness and valuing all people. I was floored. This is not normal Shan speech, and my students said it, not I. This may sound like ordinary Western meaningless fluff, but this kind of speech is completely foreign here and most definitely has meaning. We watched some videos about the Holocaust, and the students talked about both what was similar and different to what the Burmese have attempted against the Shan and the incredible risk of what the Shan could attempt against its minorities if ever given independence, if they do not first deal with their own hate, fear, and other issues. I. have. never. heard. anyone. actually. say. that.

I have hope today, because my students will one day be leaders, and these leaders will lead well.

As I said, I have incredible students. I am so incredibly privileged to be their English teacher.

The heritage that drives me.

In the last three weeks, I've been asked a dozen or so times why I care... why I care about the Shan... why I care about the victims of this genocide... why I care enough to move around the world to teach in a relatively remote location. Each time I've basically stumbled through this answer, mumbling something about the last time I was in Thailand and visiting a refugee camp and memories that stay in your head... etc.

But something absolutely fundamental is missed in this answer. Why do some memories stay forever in one's head? Why do some life experiences become the driving force of direction in one's life, while others pass away with only a gently nagging tug of guilt? It's not merely the idea of responding to the other in compassion, because I have seen suffering in many places around the world, including my own country. For me, it's this soul-sickening word called "genocide" that grips me.

You see, my response is fully rooted in the narrative into which I was born. Much literature has been written about the sense of guilt many children of the Jewish diaspora feel for surviving, for living, in light of the Holocaust and the pogroms of the 20th century in Europe. I have also witnessed the shame and guilt that is expressed in German culture over the Holocaust. As a product of American culture, where old world family histories do not determine new relationships, the memory of both types of guilt run deeply through my veins and perhaps more intensely than usual. It has always felt easier to claim solidarity with those that died (the distant Jewish relatives and the not so distant Bohemian relatives) than to recognize the ugly history of a few times removed cousin, who stood beside Hitler as one of his right hand men and directed the murder of millions. I am Bohemian, Jewish, and German (and by this I do not mean German Jewish, rather the relative a Nazi war criminal), and the histories of each have gripped me and caused me to wonder how it is that entire people groups can turn to hatred. It is what forces me to respond and to refuse to passively ignore genocide as it exists in this world.

I suppose this is not an easy answer to give when someone asks casually (as if any answer can be casual) why I care, and I will probably continue to mumble and stumble through in response, but here's the truth: I care, because the blood running through my veins dictates only two options in response to the face of genocide, either an actively compassionate response or a sickening hardening of heart. I choose the first.

What a summer I had this year!

It's strange to me to think that I have already survived the first week of my second year in TFA. My summer is already over, but I think it deserves a few words. I traveled every which way this summer and spent quality time visiting and catching up with dear friends all over the world.

It began when school ended May 20. I stuck around Louisiana for another 10 days, working desperately to finish my portfolio (a mandatory part of my certification process). That is done, and the Department of Education is sending me my certification. On May 30, I began the journey from Louisiana to Edisto Island, SC. It was an incredible drive, complete with an Exxon that had a llama and ostrich petting zoo in the back. It was full of unusual rural sights and beautiful swamp lands. Unlike most road trips, I even ate well because of the bizarre stops along rural, twisty roads with excellent home-cooked food. My favorite was this enormous peach orchard that had a country shop and cafe where I got chicken quesadillas with peach salsa. Naturally I thoroughly enjoyed the drive and the quirkiness of it all, though I missed having someone else to share it with. I'm used to making lots of road trips by myself (I've been making them since I was 18), but I've never quite experienced such a distinctly quirky/bizarre road trip that made me wish quite so much for someone else to remember it with me.

Finally I arrived at Edisto Island, where I joined my parents for the week. It was such a wonderfully relaxing time, complete with dolphins jumping at sunset on the Bay and all the usual delights that Edisto has to offer. For the first time, I actually documented it all fairly well with my camera. I wanted to show my friends far away why Edisto draws me back every year. Of course, the photos, which are on Facebook now, only tell part of the story. The other part is the memories my family has made since I was toddler. To me, the swamps and Spanish Moss of Edisto tell me that I am home in a way. It is most definitely because of Edisto that I ended up in Louisiana for two years. I knew that if I went to somewhere with swamps, Live Oaks, Cypresses, and Spanish Moss, my heart would be restored a little everyday, no matter the pain of the job. I was right. Every time I see a Giant Oak with the Spanish Moss waving gracefully, my heart sails above time and place, and I am so grateful to be living in South Louisiana.

I drove up to North Carolina, spent the night there, and then flew to visit a friend in Cambridge, MA for a week. That was also a lovely week, spending time with my friend and exploring a part of the country I had never been to. From there, I came back to North Carolina for two weeks, hung out with Mike (who had just moved down to NC) and packed for my next set of adventures.

On June 27, my mom took me up to one of the towns right next to the Dulles Airport (near DC), where we enjoyed a relaxed evening. The next day we explored a bit, ate good Vietnamese food, and in the evening I boarded the airplane headed for Amsterdam. This summer represented a significant change for me: in all the travels I have done the last few years, I've never *returned* to any country I'd been to previously. This time the entire point of the trip was to return to my German friends and family and to visit my sister in Israel, a country I have also spent two weeks in before.

From Amsterdam, I took the six hour train, with a transfer, to Bremen, Germany. The experience was strange to me to step off the plane and realize I was in Europe but I still couldn't yet speak the language and to watch as gradually, on the train, I began to hear less and less Dutch and more and more German. Even hearing so much German after five years of being away felt odd, but it also felt right. I was thoroughly jetlagged, my mind could not process any language fast, and yet I felt instantly that old sense of home rekindled at hearing German. Finally, I arrived in Germany, where my host mom met at the train station with tears in her eyes and a big hug, in the same spot where five years previously she and about ten others had waved, shouted, and ran after the train at 3am as I disappeared out of their lives.

I discovered something: returning is nice. It's nice to have a community somewhere. For the most part, I've lost my community in North Carolina, though I thoroughly appreciate those individuals that I still see when I visit my parents. I have had many other experiences of intense community sense then, such as while a Page or in college, but those were always temporary situations, and my friends from them are now scattered all over the world. There is no single place to return to. But Germany represents the exception.

In truth, my German friends are a bit scattered now, but they are all still connected to the same hometown that I am. When they heard that I was coming back for a bit, many of them were able to visit home for a while, because that's just it, the town I call my German town is also their home still. Even more, most of them are within two hours travel. I visited many in Hamburg, where I have more German friends now than anywhere else. And, of course, my German family is ever my German family. I celebrated my Oma's 90th birthday with the family this year, an experience I thoroughly appreciated. Somehow, experiencing the sense of being "home" in Bremen, even just for a week and a half, was a beautiful experience. I don't know if I will ever have the opportunity to live in Germany again, but I would be happy to. I would be happy to return once again.

After 10 days in Germany, I boarded the train back to Amsterdam. I purposefully took the earlier train so I could have time in Amsterdam to explore and go see the Van Gogh museum, a childhood dream of mine, ever since I decided he was my favorite artist when I was six years old. Of course, exploring a foreign city in a foreign country, where I don't speak the language and have never lived, all by myself represented a new step in my world travels. I may have traveled a lot, even traveled a decent amount by myself, but I generally either travel by myself where I speak the language or quickly pick up a buddy to experience the travels with. This represented a new exception: I was alone. My mother was initially very worried about this, but I knew I needed to prove to myself that I could do this.

I arrived at the central train station in Amsterdam, having read online that there were lockers that could be rented for the day somewhere in there. I immediately began the process of exploring and getting lost in the land of confusing signs until I finally found my way to the lockers. The instructions were all in Dutch, and I could not understand how to swipe my credit card to lock the locker, so I tried to get help from the attendants. The man who helped me was very useful. He said, "Just follow the directions. You try again." I tried again. The machine printed a receipt for me. I wasn't sure how it happened. I checked the locker. It did not appear to open. I left.

I then began the process of trying to figure out what form of public transportation I needed to get to the Van Gogh museum. Thankfully, I quickly found an information desk. After waiting in line, the man at the desk informed me I would need to stand by the 2 or 5 trains. Something in the way he was pointing seemed inconsistent with his words, but I figured I would go to the trains and try to figure it out there. I asked him how I get a ticket, and he tells me I must buy it on the train. Unfortunately, the station is a bit hectic, I get a bit lost, so I go to next information desk. He cannot tell me how to get there but emphatically reminds me I must get on the 2 or 5 train. Finally on the train platforms, I see twos and fives, but they do not appear to be going downtown, so I go to the next information desk. This lady then informs me, "No, no, not the 2 or 5 train. You need 2 or 5 tram." Okay, tram, not train. Makes sense. She then informs me I should buy my ticket, so I do. She tells me the name of my stop is "Van Gogh Museum." Thankfully she gave fairly specific directions for me: Exit the train station and go left to find the trams. I do so and rejoice at finding the trams! But now I have a new piece of confusion: I see a 10, 18, 6, and 4... but no 2 or 5. I wander about for a little while. I search every tram sign I can find. FINALLY, I give up and wander into the next information desk. She informs me that, no, I should not have turned left. Right was the way. Frustrated at having been given a thousand and one directions, I follow my new set of directions, arrive just in time for the two, board the train and found myself headed toward the museum. What a sigh of relief I breathed when I finally made it on that tram! I rode past quintessential outdoor cafes and fans preparing for final game of the world cup. Finally, I hear Museum Place Stop... I wonder to myself, because this was not the name I had been told, but I determined my gut seems to have been better this day than people's directions, and I get off. Finally, a good choice, because I immediately found the signs to get to the museum. I also had the chance walk by and photograph the famous "I AMsterdam" sculpture. Got into the museum. Loved it. Enjoyed it. Ate a meal. Went back to the train station.

At the train station, I went to pick up my bag and went to the machine to insert my receipt as the pictures seemed to show, but the machine wouldn't take it. Just like last time, I went to get one of the attendants, who was also not Dutch and could not speak English or German very well. As soon as I showed him the receipt though, he says, "No good. You must try again to pay."

I start to laugh and then ask, "You mean, it's not locked?"

"Yes, no good," he repeats again. "I help you. Come."

I try to tell him that's not necessary and walk up to my locker to assure that I can, indeed, get it out. Sure enough, it hadn't been locked all day.

Again, the attendant insists, "I help you pay."

"I am leaving," I try to explain.

"But it is not locked," he insists.

"Yes, I am picking up my bag," I again explain. "I'm leaving."

"You take your bag somewhere else?" he asked indignantly.

Finding no better way of responding, I say, "Yes, to the airport."

"But you not store it here?" he asks again.

While he continues to waste my time with linguistic confusion, I searched my bag through entirely, finding nothing missing or added to my bag, crossing my fingers that no security guard would ask if my bag had been at all unattended during the day. Finally, I looked up at the confused attendant and told him goodbye, silently wishing I had learned Dutch or better Arabic, as that would have been the language of choice for this man, I believe. The man kept shouting that he could help me as I left, and I felt somewhat guilty for having had free storage for my luggage all day. I would have paid if I could ever have found a way of explaining to him what happened.

Off to the airport I went to board the airplane for Tel Aviv... Seeing Sharona was wonderful! Both Sharona and Ariel picked me up at the airport. They had to wait a bit because my plane was delayed and then I was delayed a little longer for questioning, due to my interesting passport. Thankfully everyone was respectful, however. No security horror stories. In fact, I got the sense they were laughing at me when I didn't even know what Sharona was getting her degree in. Oops. But I was confident in what I did know, and eventually my answers sufficed.

Sharona and I explored all over the North, visited Ariel at the camp he was working at several times, explored Jerusalem, visited friends in Tel Aviv, visited with Ariel his family in Ariel (yes, he has the same name as his hometown), and genuinely enjoyed ourselves. Of course, many of Sharona's friend don't quite get why I have no interest in making aliyah or moving to Israel myself, but that's okay, if rather amusing. I still liked them, and I liked the world Sharona has entered. I feel called elsewhere, but I sense that Sharona has found her own home. Due to the time we experienced together, I can positively say congratulations to Sharona and Ariel on their recent engagement!

Then quickly back to the states, a few days in North Carolina, and down to Louisiana. After a week in Louisiana, I flew to Ohio, where Brooke and Benjamin married each other! It made me so happy to be a part of their special day, a couple I (and all in MESP) watched slowly come together from the day they met each other, as we flew to Egypt. Seeing Brooke and helping her get ready for the wedding was very special. I don't know when I will see Brooke again, but she will always be a very special friend to me, with whom I can talk about all the most awkward topics. It was also good to see other MESPers, whom I haven't seen in years. For all of us, it was a very exciting mini-reunion, and I was reminded why that semester was so very special and pivotal in all of our lives.

And now back to teaching. I'm loving this year so far. It'll be tough again, but this time it's a challenge that I truly desire. Strange how very much a year has changed me. :)

Only two more days of students and one more teacher day... Strange. It's all wrapping up, and it turns out that I survived my first year of teaching. Actually, I think I should stop using that word even if there is a degree of reality to it, because though surviving is all I did at times, most of the year I did a lot more than survive. I connected with sixteen students, whose futures will forever matter to me, no matter what. Somewhere across the year, these kids grew, and they grew a lot. I could give you numbers and data about how much they grew (TFA thankfully requires careful tracking), but, instead, I'll just tell you that these kids are true superstars and deserve all of our respect for their willingness to shoot for unlikely goals because a strange woman tells them to and then to achieve them. I'm so proud of them. About half of them will no longer be my students next year, and I have no words for how I will miss them. These same students took me, a recent college graduate with clear dreams for her own future, and hijacked all of those plans. I don't know what the future holds, because I realize more and more that my dreams for myself are now intertwined with my dreams for my students. It's a strange thing teaching does, and I now understand why 2/3 of all TFAers continue working in or on education issues. I cannot ever let down my students, whom I love... we shall see where that leads...

On another note, this summer I will be traveling overseas, and for the first time in my life, going overseas does not mean going somewhere new. Instead, I will be returning to two familiar places: first to my German friends and family in Bremen, and second to visit my sister in Jerusalem. Keep checking here for all my updates! Thank you for all your e-mails, comments, and phone calls of concern and support this year. :)