The Fall of The Wall

My kids don’t believe me when I tell them, “When I was a kid, the maps in the classroom had East Germany and West Germany.”

The maps during that time still had a plastic ring, a string, and you would pull them down from a roll. It was many years after the Fall of the Wall, before our classrooms could afford to have them updated to show Germany as one country.

They view WWII and the related events the same way many adults would view the Civil War: events that took place A VERY long time ago.

It couldn’t have been during their Great Grandparents lifetime- they know them!

They’re still alive today!

How could that be?

This month, we had the 35th Anniversary of the Fall of the Berlin Wall. The people of Germany lined up and joined in- they were very proud to be a part of tearing it down. They knew it stood as a symbol of hate- it was a part of their history that tarnished their name indefinitely.

They wanted to separate themselves from HIM- forever.

When I went to Berlin in 2000, I had the opportunity to see the 1.3 km that still stands today. The memorial site was not yet there, having been established in the late 2000s, I believe. Our group went to see it the day after we toured a concentration camp- only making the experience more impactful, emotional, memorable, but above all- meaningful. (At that time, when you toured the camps, there was footage shown that was recorded at the camps and you could see the “graveyard” where there were piles of bones- never to be identified.)

This was the first time I ever SAW Germany was one country- the maps I saw growing up depicted a country divided in two. But there I was, looking at the exact site where the country WAS divided; there was no division.

In 2000, people could still find pieces of the Wall to pick up & keep as “souvenirs”. I didn’t take any of it; I didn’t want the dark energy to follow me home.

I watched the Fall of the Berlin Wall on TV, with minimal knowledge of WWII events, and without the full scope of the reality of the history. My Dad explained the significance, in terms that were appropriate to my age. I was a child, but I could still feel it was important.

I could feel the passion and the relief of the German’s, as they swung their sledgehammers, cried, and embraced one another.

I knew whatever I was watching- it was REAL.

It was many years after watching this, before I knew the significance of the very strange, very faded, not at all pretty tattoos on the arm of many older people I knew and encountered signified.

It was even more years before I could understand & empathize with why so many of those people and their children, were always so upset by those in their family making the decision to get tattoos.

It was a pain the younger generation would never understand and one the older generation could never fully explain.

The pain runs as deep and as permanent- and while it may fade with time, it’s never gone.

Part of me thinks maybe it’s kind of nice that my kids don’t believe me- what a gift it is that that is no longer the world we live in.

But sometimes I look at the world around me and ask how much has really changed?

Berlin, November 9, 1989- tearing down the wall of hate, with the passion of love.