Most of our life flies right past us, collecting in a bottomless pool of forgotten ideas, aspiration and dreams. It was on this day that I felt for the first time a handprint imprint into my heart, twisting and turning until it merged with my soul. I will never forget those words in the Holocaust Museum.
On November 17, 2011 my eight grade class flew all the way across the country to Washington D.C. After a week full of history and sight seeing, we decided to visit the holocaust museum last. The bus gradually crept up to the museum as I stuck my nose against the crisp window allowing a blanket of fog to appear under my warm breath. With heavy feet, all 74 of us ascended onto the blanket of blood red leaves covering the cobblestone path leading up to the lifeless brick building. We passed through security with ease and a woman passed out identification booklets describing whom we would be as we traveled through the horrors of the Holocaust.
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