Whose Shoes

When we heard the snow would finally be over, I didn’t think that that would translate to ‘abusive diagonal rain that will soak through to your soul no matter what you’re wearing.’ 

We left the hostel mid-morning to see the Shoes on the Danube memorial. Despite this array of metal-cast shoes on the river bank being one of the most famous monuments in the world, two official sources misdirected our entire group to walk about a mile in the wrong direction in the horrible rainy mess. Naturally I didn’t take my umbrella – I was asking for a drenching I guess.

The shoes are one of the most moving scenes. After walking on the Danube, I started to feel the cold drudge feeling that we might never find the spot.  When I arrived, I realized anything I felt can’t compare to what the shoe-wearers felt. 

The shoes represent the place where more than 10,000 Jews were led from the ghetto and told to take off their shoes – before they were cold-bloodly shot into that very river and murdered, just 60 years ago. The Nazis needed the shoes, so they took them – children’s booties, women’s Mary Janes, high leather boots – all shapes and sizes are represented there. All that's left there are these symbolic shoes.

Standing in the cold rain, staring down into the shallow water and rocks, looking at my own shoes, I felt a sour sort of pain I can’t describe. Go see this, and understand the gravity of what happened in our grandparents’ lifetimes. In some ways, we had to walk in the rain to really see the shoes. Our experience was transporting. But, at the end, we could walk away.

We rested at the hostel afterwards, needing to dry off and decompress after a draining experience. The afternoon brought some uplift as we went to engage with two vibrant Jewish communities in modern Budapest. 

To be continued...