About the Anne Frank house.
I read "Life and Fate" by Grossman when I was fifteen and that was the first and only book I read about the Holocaust because l "got the point" and did not want to feel depressed. I never went to the Holocaust museum in DC, I refused to watch "The Pianist" and I never dreamt that in my right mind I'd visit the Anne Frank house. But when I travel with my children, I want to dedicate my time and energy to them, which is why when Masha asked to see Anne Frank's house, I couldn't refuse. Travel is the only time for my children to drag me into some kind of traumatic experience when I either go on a rollercoaster, which I hate, and get nauseous and scared to death, or I get bitten by some disgusting tropical bug on a crazy safari trip that left me deaf and blind for a week... And I can go on and on telling stories about my horrible motherhood experiences entertaining my wicked daughters who always manage to get some kind of pleasure out of my suffering. The Anne Frank's house tour will definitely become another jewel in my "crown of the Dedicated Mother" I am feeling like today.:))
Today I've decided to not only visit the Anne Frank's house but also to take a WW2 walking tour. We got to the meeting point and met the group of fellow tourists from all over the world who had suspiciously familiar features that made them look ridiculous and sad at the same time. The pretty Dutch girl called everyone's names and it became obvious; Jews from all around the world had gathered here just to hear another story about how much we suffered and how horrible life was. I lost my shit after the "Benjamin Baranovsky" and started giggling uncontrollably and got my fair deal of dirty looks.
The tour was actually very good. The Dutch girl didn't just repeat well known facts. The story was personal to her as her family experienced both sides of the Holocaust, her maternal grandmother was Jewish who survived the nazis but her paternal grandfather joined the nazis and contributed to the extermination of the Jews. And another part of her extended family were Danish and it was a completely different experience for them because the Danish people protected their Jews and, unlike the Dutch who shipped their Jews right into the concentration camps and robbed their abandoned houses, the Danish people sent their Jewish compatriots to hideouts, sealed their houses and protected the entire Jewish quarters until the safe return of their rightful owners. So the story goes as the little Danish Jewish girl came home one day and found her mother cooking onions. And the house was reeking onions. And literally in one hour the family had to leave everything behind and escape to a safe hideout and in five years their came back and found their house sealed, untouched and smelling like onions.
And that's where I lost at least half of my sarcasm.
The weather was gloomy, our group looked like these expelled Jews and I really wanted to go home.
The Anne Frank's house was everything I feared it to be, and at some point I became one of these cliche women who cry over sad movies. I started sobbing and sniffling and Masha looked so embarrassed.
On our way out we got into the inevitable gift shop where we got offered the stupidest toy I have ever seen: the paper Anne Frank's doll house for kids. Only for a small price of 20 euro, kids can play Holocaust with their cute dolls. I was surprised they were not selling little dolls looking like the Franks who could make the experience complete.
Masha left the sweetest comment in the guest book and we finally got out under the gray Dutch sky and got immediately soaked in the insane Dutch rain.
