I found myself on the floor with a young German woman in our group, both of us shaking, as half of the people in our trip watched. She was recreating the moment when she found a chest in the closet filled with old items belonging to her Grandmother. There were Nazi-related objects. I told her that she needed to ask her Grandmother about her photos, which included friends of the family wearing Nazi clothing. Her Grandmother claimed that she forgot what the puicture was about, but the woman sitting across from me did not believe that this was true.
She feared that her questions might make her Grandmother cry, but I assured her that my questions to my Grandmother made her cry. My Grandmother had been strong enough to tell her story to me. I trusted her. I respected my Grandmother. She was strong enough, I knew. This woman was not so sure about her Grandmother.
"It's ok to cry and it's ok for her to cry. Her story is important." Then we embraced.
I looked up, there were people surrounding us. They were all emotional. They had all been touched in some form.
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