Another lifetime ago, back when I was still working as a teacher in a middle school in upstate New York, there was a novel we used quite regularly with our students. The story, set in the 1950's, is of a young girl in Hiroshima, sick with leukemia but intent on her goal of folding 1000 paper cranes, in hopes that her wish to be well would come true. Many of you know this touching story of Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes, and perhaps like me, your tears blurred the final pages. It never occurred to me that years later, one spring day would find me again with tears in my eyes as I gazed at her monument, its backdrop a virtual blanket of thousands of folded cranes sent from children around the world.
I knew the visit to Hiroshima would be difficult. How could it not be difficult? The very name of the city evokes unspeakable sadness, and it's nearly impossible to fathom the complete devastation of that August morning. And yet, it was important to go and see and hear.
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The Cenotaph for the A-Bomb Victims contains a registry
of all who have died from the bomb or from related illnesses.
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The Peace Memorial Park, with its thoughtful and deliberate design, allows for many contemplative opportunities. Monuments, inscriptions, and an occasional ruin weave the story of that day and the days and years to follow.
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Once a crowning jewel of Hiroshima, this building - now known as the
A-bomb Dome - was one of the few buildings whose outer structure partially survived the blast. |
Near the entrance of the park is the Peace Memorial Museum, though one guidebook forewarned, "It will ruin your day". No exaggeration there! The visit left me with images and stories I'll never forget, and I suppose that's as it should be. At the end of our tour, our guide presented me with a paper crane, with a soft-spoken request to take the message of peace back to students in the U.S.
Hiroshima, for all of its heartache, is once again alive and bustling. The hills cradling the city have witnessed an impressive rebirth, and the wind carries whispers of never again. You cannot leave Hiroshima without this fragile hope.
I read that book a few times and even made 500 paper cranes as a tribute to Hiroshima when I was in5th grade.
ReplyDeleteIn the book, Sadako dies before completing the 1000 cranes, and her schoolmates fold the rest in her honor. In real life, I learned that she actually surpassed her goal, and on display in the museum are some of her folded cranes. They had been given to people at her funeral and some were eventually donated to the museum. I was especially impressed by the absolutely tiny cranes - under a centimeter, I'm sure - she was able to fold using the paper from her medications.
ReplyDeleteTwo groups of 6th graders (two different years) folded 1000 paper cranes and sent them (along with a group picture of all those that participated) to Hiroshima. On both occasions, we received a heartfelt letter of thanks with a picture of our 1000 paper cranes labeled "McKenney Middle School" held up by someone from the museum among a backdrop filled with the folded cranes of others from around the world.
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