Never Again.

January 27th is a strange day in the world of history, a day few really know or remember in our modern day unless you look it up on google.  I myself didn't know about this day until today when I checked my morning news and saw that this was the day that the Auschwitz Concentration/Extermination Camp was liberated in the last days of World War II.  

I don't have much to say on Auschwitz.  I studied about it in high school, and again in college when I had the distinct displeasure of having to watch a video of a denier in a class (a story for another time I suppose.)   I've never been there, and I am not sure I could go.  I'm a very sensitive person, literally and emotionally, I sometimes "feel" things that others can't.  When I go to a place and its wrong, I know it distinctly.  Auschwitz is such a place.  It stands as a testament to human cruelty, perseverance and ultimately, the redemption of a people.

As we enter this new century, there is a rash of anger, hatred to Jews that frightens me.  You see it all over, but more recently in Germany.  I will be talking a bit about some war stories and observations at Normandy in my France blog, but if anyone should be silent on the Jews, and respectful, its the Germans.  There is a saying when it comes to the holocaust, we will never forget, and never again.  It means we will remember the atrocities, we will remember them for the sake of the lives lost, for the sake of future generations so that we might never allow them to happen again.  

It is for that reason, for this day, I felt like writing this as a reminder.  Otherwise, we are doomed only to remember the alternative of "albrecht macht frei."

France - Part 11, Chartres

Sometimes life gives you lemons and you have to make lemonade.  For me, that time came on the morning of our departure to Chartres, France when I woke up with the same symptoms of sore throat and congestion that my Dad had the day before.  I managed to endure it though as we caught a train and left Paris far behind.   I wasn’t sorry to arrive in a much smaller and much nicer town.

Chartres is a small medieval town, with winding narrow streets and narrow wooden or stone houses and shops.  It has the feel that everyone knows everyone, though it's probably larger than the tiny area we saw.   Our accommodations were in a nice and modest hotel near the center of town and in view of the huge and impressive cathedral that dominates the skyline of the town.

This was another “Notre Dame” both in name and scope.  While the outside face is not as impressive, it is still imposing with its two huge belfries – one larger and more ornate than the other.  Like the cathedral in Paris, there was a similar feeling to this sanctuary, but it was far less crowded and as a result, far more impressive to me.  There’s extensive work on renovation, and you can see why.   The older stones have a dingy, dark look, while renovated parts look bright and amazingly new.

The stained glass was very beautiful, but it was the carvings that were the most impressive thing.  They were as intricate as the carvings I saw in Nikko, Japan, detailing the life of Mary and Jesus.   There were points that seemed like they ought to be made from cross-stitched knitting.  I will let the carvings speak for themselves.

The central sanctuary had beautiful wooden choir stalls, and behind all this were little chapels and areas for prayer.   In one was a statue of Mary and Jesus which was quite nice and in another was some kind of holy relic related to one of the more “modern” saints. 

It was such a breath of fresh air to have this be our first experience upon leaving Paris.  It put into perspective the difference between there and here.   Here, we had room to breathe, to explore and enjoy.  I felt at last we were seeing the real France, and I could understand how people outside of Paris start to resent the people from the city.  

After lunch we wound around the narrow streets of the medieval town, making our way along a river before winding back to our hotel.  It was a lovely and charming place, and we were all very pleased with our progress there.  I think if Dad and I were feeling better it would have been even more enjoyable, and we all felt like we wanted to spent more time than we were going to.

We did make another trip back to the Cathedral later in the day, and the second trip was strangely more enjoyable than the first.  There’s a local school right across the street, and it just so happened that some of the children were preparing to practice for their music lessons.  I have to say, if I went to school I would be so lucky to be able to practice music in such a place.  It was really rather sweet because they were being so respectful and attentive of their teacher and the father who was helping them. 

Listening to them sing, hearing the instruments in that great space, it lent a softer innocent sense than the first Notre Dame.  Here was a cathedral alive and very much a part of its small community.  Such a church was at the heart of so many places in France, but here I think it was that touch that reminded me of home in a sense.  I thought about the kids at my work in such a place beholding these wonders that I saw.  I was sure they’d be just as impressed and homesick.

That night we had dinner at a little pizzeria before going to the night show at the Cathedral.  The dinner was absolutely delicious, maybe one of the best Italian meals I’ve ever eaten in my life.  The show was a nice cap to a wonderful day, and we caught it at an opportune time.   This presentation lasts only through September, and is put on by the city to accentuate and enlighten tourists.  It’s quite an impressive feature, with beams of light and projections placed onto the surface of the cathedral itself.

The church seems to come alive from the darkness, and becomes a focal point for 

some really wonderful graphical achievements.  It was very fanciful and we watched two shows before finally retiring for bed.  It’s my pleasure to show what my camera could capture in the dark.  Once again, apologies for the angles.

Tragedy in Paris

I was fully prepared to launch into my continuation of a trip through France last week when the unspeakable tragedy befell Paris.   I was afraid something like this would happen, that some act would thrust blood upon the fair streets of that lovely city.   It's sad to say but my fear came true.  It was no fault of the Gendarme or politicians, or even Parisiens.  This was an act of terror.  Such things are almost never forseen, and once enacted, things drastically change.

This post isn't about terror, but rather about speech and the freedoms I as a blogger know I hold.  I can speak here, and people can agree or disagree in discourse.  We live in violently shifting times, though, where that freedom is threatened.   People who disagree with others are killed or worse, simply for holding that different view.   As a writer, I fear what is coming, the violently shifting spectrum of speech.

What we saw in Paris is a prelude to a shift in human nature, in what we as writers and readers must either fight or cope with.   We should not be afraid to speak our minds, to speak civilly.  We can agree to disagree.  I've never brought my own politics into this blog, but as a writer I should not be afraid to write, no one should.

Freedom of speech is absolute to a point.  It is a fundamental foundation on which all blogs can count on.  We shouldn't be afraid to speak our minds with the possibility of repercussion that endangers us.

Could anything have been done to prevent this?  Absolutely.  We live in a world of 20/20 hindsight.

My heart goes out to the people of Paris, to the families of the victims.  Let us not be silent, let us speak as one on this matter.   Death for a difference of opinion is the death of humanity.

Food for thought.