As a young person and a Jew, I swore I would never visit Germany. Growing up in Houston in the late 1940s and early 1950s, I occasionally met people who had a blue number tattooed on their arm, a legacy of their time in a Nazi concentration camp. I learned about the Holocaust at religious school, not public school. With my knowledge of the Holocaust, I was determined to avoid the nation that sought to eliminate the Jews of Europe. I was fortunate that my father’s parents came to America from Poland in the 19th century, and my mother arrived from Bessarabia after World War 1. Every member of their families who remained in Europe was slaughtered. Not one survived.

In 1984, I received an invitation from the State Department to visit West Germany and Yugoslavia to speak about education. I decided to go. It was a fascinating trip, and I overcame my phobia about visiting Germany.

Years later, after the Wall had come down, I went to Germany as a tourist with my partner and our Brooklyn neighbors. The wife, an emergency room nurse, was born in Germany, and is one of the kindest people I know. For the first time, I saw Germany as a vibrant and thriving nation. I visited the Holocaust Museum in Berlin and saw the honesty with which Germany was confronting its past. Every town we visited had its memorials to those who had perished because of Hitler’s genocide.

A few days ago, I was again in Berlin. Frankly, I fell in love with Berlin. The German people acknowledge the horrors of their past. They don’t sugar coat it. Their contrition is impossible to ignore. There are memorials scattered across the city to those who were unjustly murdered—Jews, Roma, homosexuals, and others.

Right near our hotel was a field of 2,711 stelae of different sizes that looked like coffins. We stopped to view the site where Hitler’s bunker once existed. It’s now just blank ground with a large marker explaining what it was. It was where Hitler and Eva Braun married, knowing all was lost. She killed herself. Hitler killed himself. When the Soviets entered Berlin, they totally destroyed the bunker.

Several readers corrected my statement that Hermann Göring and his wife and children died in the bunker. They are right. It was Joseph Goebbels and his family who committed suicide in the bunker. Göring committed suicide in Nuremberg the night before he was to be executed by hanging.

As the war drew to a close and Nazi Germany faced defeat, Magda Goebbels and the Goebbels children joined Hitler in Berlin. They moved into the underground Vorbunker, part of Hitler’s underground bunker complex, on 22 April 1945. Hitler committed suicide on 30 April. In accordance with Hitler’s will, Goebbels succeeded him as Chancellor of Germany; he served one day in this post. The following day, Goebbels and his wife committed suicide, after having poisoned their six children with a cyanide compound. (Wikipedia)

On our last day in Berlin, we intended to go to the museum of the Stasi, the secret police that monitored every East German’s life. But we decided instead to visit the memorial center of the German resistance.

The museum tells the story of Germans who opposed the rise of Hitler in the 1930s, who worked against him during the war years, who anticipated that he would destroy Germany’s struggling democracy, and who worked to end his brutal tyranny. There were stories of opposition to Hitler by trade unionists and Communists, by Jews and Catholics and Protestants. The museum identified religious leaders, scholars, scientists, educators, students, social workers, and others who worked against Hitler. Most were killed. It went into great detail about the failed assassination attempt by leading German officers on July 20, 1944. All of them were murdered.

My partner, a former teacher of history and social studies, wondered why Holocaust studies in the schools do not tell their stories. In some sick way, the constant focus on bodies and atrocities was not having its intended effect; it was desensitizing the students to cruelty and inhumanity.

Of course, the brutality must be shown and remembered. But why not make resistance to evil the centerpiece? Why not focus on courage and heroism in the face of overwhelming force? Why not tell the story of Georg Esler, the German carpenter who tried to assassinate Hitler in 1939? Or the story of the White Rose Society, the college students who bravely distributed flyers about Nazi atrocities in 1942-43, who were captured and executed? They should be celebrated for their courage and conviction.

Meanwhile, back home, our own nation is convulsed by battles about teaching the past. Some insist on whitewashing history because the truth might make young people “uncomfortable.”We see the rising influence of groups like “Moms for Liberty,” who demand censorship and oppose honest teaching of the past and the present. They have a right to speak, but they should not have the right to impose their bigotry and intolerance on others. Moms for Liberty should learn from Germany about the importance of teaching truth.

If you visit Berlin, don’t miss this tribute to the resistance.