On a narrow street of what looked like an apartment building, so inconspicuous and ordinary that we almost walked past, was the posted sign National Socialism Documentation Center. Inside was an old Nazi prison, preserved in it's original state. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but the air felt heavy with the weight of memories.
We accidentally made a backwards loop and started down below where the cells were.
The prisoners had left behind names, stories, poems and etchings, hoping that by leaving a trace, they wouldn't just disappear into the void. But that some mark would remain saying, I was here, I lived, I mattered.
|The wall of the first cell|
|The original handles were still on the doors to the cells|
|An artist who had fled to Holland made this depiction of Hitler's heirarchy|
|Padlocks to the doors|
|A series of displays showing the progression of events.|
|The Jewish star|
|Items left behind|
|Items found in the cells|
|An America soldier scratched his name on the wall the day after liberation, and I whispered to the walls that I was sorry we hadn't come sooner.|