Berlin’s Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe

Under a moody but still sky, we walked silently through and around Berlin's Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe (aka Holocaust Memorial), consisting of 2,711 concrete slabs or "stelae", of varying heights, in a grid pattern upon an undulating field. From a distance, it captures a cemetery's sombre mood and layout.

The transition from relaxed observer to tense participant was unexpectedly swift, like a silent incoming tide that lapped, then washed over, my sense of location and logic. From out of nowhere, strangers cut across my path or silently walked ahead of me, then disappeared.

Having lost each other within minutes of entering the Holocaust Memorial, Shazzi and I agreed to keep close by once we found each other (trying not to yell out within a space of such reverence was more challenging than I'd imagined).

We were closer to its centre than the periphery when the grey clouds burst upon us. Thunder cracked, and the sky was illuminated with lightning. We were soaked before we had a chance to grab our umbrellas. Even then, the strength of the wind reversed them into redundancy. This was a blessing, given the danger of holding metal objects when lightning is nearby.

We scurried out of the Memorial, realising upon emerging that minimal protective cover was available within its immediate vicinity. Then, we spotted a thin slither of protective cover outside a large government-style building. We hurried over, relieved to have found some reprieve from the elements.

A security guard standing nearby greeted us. She asked if we had been inside the building previously. No, we hadn't. We didn't even know what the building was. She advised us that we were standing in front of the U.S. Embassy and thus, were not permitted to remain in situ.

We were in the middle of a torrential downpour, with danger in the skies above us, and she was going to send us back out into the storm? Yes, indeed, ma'am, she certainly was, and she did.

We stepped back out in search of a welcoming doorway. We found one but quickly realised we shared the space with two large metal doors. Time to pick up our bags and leave, again.

Other, more spacious portals contained crowds of pedestrians who had also been caught unawares. By the time we found safe, dry cover, the storm had started to calm, so we trudged our way back to our hotel, stopping off in a large, centrally-heated, shopping mall where we found a warm corner to dry off. End of story.

Yes, I agree that this moment is insignificant within the context in which it occurred. It's so infinitesimal that to place it within any parameter of comparison to the experience of the Jews during the Holocaust would be profoundly insulting.

So, I trust you, my reader, to take my story and appreciate the deepest respect with which I have endeavoured to share it. That is all.