It’s one of those places that holds deep symbolic meaning for me. It was the seat of evil Nazism in the build-up to World War 2 and so visiting there this Easter week felt poignant, important and foreboding. As I arrived, the sun shone on the main temple-like building that had once emblazoned a huge, imposing and arrogant swastika on its roof. (The American forces had blown that to pieces when they liberated Nürnberg in 1945). I looked up now and saw dark black clouds forming overhead, creating a graphic image, a dramatic re-enactment, of what that place had heralded in its time.
As I stood on the very spot where Hitler had stood, his arm outstretched in fascist salute and making impassioned speeches of violence and hate, I felt lost for words to speak. Silence felt more real. I had brought a small wooden cross with me so I placed it on the ground. As I did so, the sun came out, shone through the railings and created what looked like prison bars as shadows. I prayed for all, for victims and perpetrators of that unspeakably traumatic past who still feel trapped in that terrible time, prisoners who still carry searingly-painful scars in their bodies, minds and souls.
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