Two museums are located close to each other on the south side of the central part of The Mall. Both are about history but they tell their stories in a very different way.
The National Museum of American History, though also includes memorabilia of war and cruelty, is full of all nostalgia for long journeys, American wilderness, self-determination and for the times of the first railroads. Nostalgia for building the state, for gaining freedom. As if it was more pleasant to gain freedom than to use it. Full of deserved and undeserved pride. With Lincoln’s hat and photos of the atomic mushroom over Hiroshima. With stylish cars, dresses of the first ladies and a helicopter straight from the Vietnam War.
The Holocaust Memorial Museum is different. And although, in American, they tell everything in a very straightforward way (going through you are encouraged to create your character from those times), which may be somehow incomprehensible to me, people walk there in silence. And thoughtfully. A little scared of the world.
You are my witness – from the Book of Isaiah is written on the wall of the museum.