Different religions have different places of worship, for example Catholics have a church, Jews have a synagogue, Islams have a mosque, etc. It doesn't matter what it's called a house of worship is just that; a house of worship. There have been stories of different houses of worship being burnt down throughout history, however, this was especially common during World War II and the Holocaust. The Nazi's burnt down Synagogues, which in my opinion was just terrible. A religion doesn't need a house of worship, but it is extremely nice to have. If you believe in something, you don't need to just show it at a church, synagogue, mosque, etc. you should be sticking to your faith throughout your daily life. However, in a house of worship, you have support. Everybody that attends the different masses, or meetings are there for you; they believe the same thoughts as you and go through the same things as you when it comes to those belief's. When the Nazi's burnt down synagogues they thought they were ridding the planet of "scum" when in reality they were just making their support waver, they made it a little harder to have everybody sticking with each other. I can't even imagine what they were feeling when their house of worship was burnt down; emptiness, sadness, grief, agony. I feel terrible just thinking what they had to endure when they watched them be burnt down. After they burnt, some still had faith that everything would be okay, if not now but sometime in the future whether it be five days or five years. All you need to do, is have a little faith and everything will be okay.
To the people who remained faithful to your belief's after their house or worship was burnt- I respect you, so much.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Stop the hate!
In Holocaust the other week we read an article on a city who banned together to stop the discrimination of Jews. A few years ago in Billings, Montana people were taking actions to "rid" the town of the Jewish families who lived there. There was one incident that stuck out to me. A Jewish boy had taped a Menorah to his window in celebration of Hanukkah and had laid his head down to sleep but sometime during the night a brick was thrown through his window and barely missed him. The boy could have died if the brick had only fell a foot closer, and for what- his religion? It didn't make sense- why should that little boy be put in danger for having different belief's then you? Once news got around the city, the citizens were devastated, which I understand, to hear that anybody would do this to their neighbors and friends. It didn't make sense- how could people harass and torment others about what they believe in? Billings citizens banned together to help support their Jewish neighbors by putting Menorahs in their windows during Hanukkah. They showed their bravery, and because they showed they didn't support what happened to that little boy the Jewish citizens in the community are no longer being harassed. They were all so brave and ready to stick up for their neighbors without a second thought, I truly respect them for that fore I know if that happened in my town I would be doing the same. I don't get why everyone treats people differently because of their belief's. We're all unique and have thoughts, ideas, belief's, lifestyles, something that others don't agree with. That doesn't mean we should be harassed and ridiculed for it. It only means that we should learn to accept; accept how there is going to be someone out there with different views but you're going to have to get over it.
It's time stop the hate.
It's time stop the hate.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Bad, bad, bad.
Discrimination. Everybody has witnessed discrimination in one way or another at different points in their lifes, whether they hear about acts or witness them. It can be found in history books, on playgrounds, in work buildings, and just about everywhere. I was ten years old when I first found out about discrimination, and how bad it was.
My first few years of school I spent at a catholic school where I met the best of friends you could have at ten years old. Our days consisted of the usual school subjects along with lunch and recess. By the middle of the school year everybody had become friends and had that one person in class who was their ultimate best friend everybody except a new girl who had just moved schools and was now in our class. She sat alone in class, at lunch, and played alone at recess. Everybody tried getting her to play and talk, but she wouldn't she was to shy but soon everyone's lives continued happily laughing with friends as she sat alone being known as the "weird girl". One day after school my mother picked me up from school and asked the one question everybody asks, "How was school?" That's how my ten year old self told the story of the weird girl who sits alone, and plays alone. My mother scolded me immediately and told me that was no way to treat someone, to call them weird because they didn't like speaking and that's when she told me the common phrase- never judge a book by its cover. I didn't understand what she had meant at the time, and she didn't bother elaborating on the subject instead switching topics to safer grounds leaving me to ponder that. Two weeks later the little girl had moved away for reasons unknown and I told my mother as soon as she picked me up from school. That's when I found out the true meaning to the phrase. When my mom was little she had a boy in her grade who always sat alone and didn't speak much like the little girl I had known. His name was James. James came into class with baggy clothes and didn't eat at lunch time, he just sat at a corner of the table and read and wrote. Everybody made fun of him calling him different and hurtful names everyday just because he wore different clothes and did different things. For weeks the kids terrorized the boy but he didn't acknowledge them, just ignored them and continued on with his reading or writing. One day, he didn't come to school. No questions were asked. He didn't show up the following day, or the day after. Still, nobody seemed to notice. Then, when people were starting to question his dissappearance he came to school. Sporting a black eye, and a bright white cast he strut into the room still wearing his usual baggy clothes. Everybody stared at him as he made his way to his seat, which the teacher made him evacuate as soon as he sat down. He was sent to the office where he didn't return from. The following day he didn't show up to class, nor did he show up the rest of the week. One day, during a math lesson a little girl who sat behind James asked the teacher if she knew where he was. Sighing, the teacher put away her book away and instructed the students do the same. She sat down in her large seat at the front of the room and began her story of the little boy. James has been living in a horrendous living condition. His mother left him and his little sister in the care of their father who had been an alchoholic and had been abusing them for a year. His father didn't bother buying him or his sister new clothes because he'd rather have money for the next drink he'd get which is why James wore baggy clothes. She explained how he and his little sister had been takin and put into foster care. After hearing my mother tell me his story I felt terrible. He had a terrible home life and the one place he thought he could get away from the abuse turned out to be another place he would recieve it. I was sickened with what the children did to him. They were discriminating him because of his looks, they never bothered to get to know him. Underneath the baggy clothes and the bruises most likely lay a good heart, but nobody will never know.
My first few years of school I spent at a catholic school where I met the best of friends you could have at ten years old. Our days consisted of the usual school subjects along with lunch and recess. By the middle of the school year everybody had become friends and had that one person in class who was their ultimate best friend everybody except a new girl who had just moved schools and was now in our class. She sat alone in class, at lunch, and played alone at recess. Everybody tried getting her to play and talk, but she wouldn't she was to shy but soon everyone's lives continued happily laughing with friends as she sat alone being known as the "weird girl". One day after school my mother picked me up from school and asked the one question everybody asks, "How was school?" That's how my ten year old self told the story of the weird girl who sits alone, and plays alone. My mother scolded me immediately and told me that was no way to treat someone, to call them weird because they didn't like speaking and that's when she told me the common phrase- never judge a book by its cover. I didn't understand what she had meant at the time, and she didn't bother elaborating on the subject instead switching topics to safer grounds leaving me to ponder that. Two weeks later the little girl had moved away for reasons unknown and I told my mother as soon as she picked me up from school. That's when I found out the true meaning to the phrase. When my mom was little she had a boy in her grade who always sat alone and didn't speak much like the little girl I had known. His name was James. James came into class with baggy clothes and didn't eat at lunch time, he just sat at a corner of the table and read and wrote. Everybody made fun of him calling him different and hurtful names everyday just because he wore different clothes and did different things. For weeks the kids terrorized the boy but he didn't acknowledge them, just ignored them and continued on with his reading or writing. One day, he didn't come to school. No questions were asked. He didn't show up the following day, or the day after. Still, nobody seemed to notice. Then, when people were starting to question his dissappearance he came to school. Sporting a black eye, and a bright white cast he strut into the room still wearing his usual baggy clothes. Everybody stared at him as he made his way to his seat, which the teacher made him evacuate as soon as he sat down. He was sent to the office where he didn't return from. The following day he didn't show up to class, nor did he show up the rest of the week. One day, during a math lesson a little girl who sat behind James asked the teacher if she knew where he was. Sighing, the teacher put away her book away and instructed the students do the same. She sat down in her large seat at the front of the room and began her story of the little boy. James has been living in a horrendous living condition. His mother left him and his little sister in the care of their father who had been an alchoholic and had been abusing them for a year. His father didn't bother buying him or his sister new clothes because he'd rather have money for the next drink he'd get which is why James wore baggy clothes. She explained how he and his little sister had been takin and put into foster care. After hearing my mother tell me his story I felt terrible. He had a terrible home life and the one place he thought he could get away from the abuse turned out to be another place he would recieve it. I was sickened with what the children did to him. They were discriminating him because of his looks, they never bothered to get to know him. Underneath the baggy clothes and the bruises most likely lay a good heart, but nobody will never know.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Starting Off
Growing up I didn't know much about the Holocaust, only what we learned in school- which wasn't a lot. In seventh grade, however, my english teacher Mrs. Eichenlaub introduced my class to the Holocaust. It was close to the end of the school year when she brought up the topic. We talked about it for a week before she brought in a movie; The boy in the striped pajama's. The teachers crowded my grade into the auditorium where they played it on the big projection screen at the front of the stage. It showed life in the concentration camps for a nine year old boy compared to the life of a nine year old german soldiers son. The hardships the little boy went through just because he had different beliefs then the german boy shocked me. How could anyone be so creul, especcially to a child? Like all movies, the end was the saddest part which caused most people to end their day with teary eyes. However, when the movie was over it didn't strike me as real. It was something I couldn't quite grasp until two days later in that very same english class when Mrs. Eichenlaub again brought up the topic of the Holocaust. Once again we were meant to watch yet another movie. This time, however, it wouldn't be about the lives of two children, it would be the life of a man who was in a concentration camp as a child and how it felt when he went back to it years later. It showed him walking around and telling stories of where different events happened in his stay and the different emotions he felt looking back at everything. The movie, unlike the last, showed me the truth of the Holocaust and the devestating affects it had on millions. I chose to take this course because I truely find the Holocaust intriguing, and all I wish to take away from it is more knowledge about what happened; the cause and the effect.
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