Ten days ago we arrived in Kigali with trepidation and expectation.  It seems like a day or two ago in some ways; yet in other ways it seems like a lifetime ago.

Today we drove across the entire country of Rwanda—from Bukavu at the Congo-Rwanda border to Kigali.  It took almost 8 hours.  The countryside is completely gorgeous.  But I was struck by how different Rwanda looked to me today than it did when we stopped here en route to Congo.  Once you have seen girls and women brutalized by repeated gang rapes, or children with swollen bellies and infected watering eyes, men full of shame for having failed to protect their wives and daughters,  widows carrying hundreds of pounds of charcoal or produce in massive bundles on their backs, strapped around their foreheads, bent over as they climb up and down the mountainous terrain to sell just enough to put a totally inadequate amount of food into the mouths of her children – once you have seen those things everything looks different.

The other day we were at the famous Panzi hospital in Bukavu; Panzi is the hospital which treats the massive majority of the most brutally raped rape victims in Eastern Congo.  Panzi receives an average of 300 rape victims each month. We had the honor of meeting with Dr. Mukwege, the surgeon who runs the hospital and who, with love, sensitivity and enormous skill, does everything that is humanly possible to put the women’s bodies back together.  Dr. Mukwege told us, with tears in his eyes, about the destruction and devastation he sees every day.  It is almost impossible for me to write about what he sees…what we saw…it is unfathomable…it is unspeakable.

But, we have no options.  We must fathom the unfathomable and speak the unspeakable.  If the women of the Congo must endure the brutality, and if Dr. Mukwege must confront these ravaged women each and every day and reassemble bodies which have been so hatefully and brutally destroyed, then how can we not speak?  How could any person with even a small modicum of humanity not be outraged and stirred to action to learn that men threw acid into a woman’s body, destroying that very part of a woman that was intended to bring forth life?  How could anyone with a conscience not be impelled to act when he hears about a woman whose insides were decimated by sticks and prods?

We don’t want to speak these things.  We don’t want to hear these things.  It’s too terrible and too sad and too distracting to our lives.  But, how can we pretend we do not know when we know?

What John, Diana, Naama and I experienced over the last ten days has been life changing.  None of us will ever forget the women we met.  We will remember the faces of the children and we will remember the incredible humanity we found as well.  We return to Los Angeles in 24 hours.  We do not return depressed by these images.  We do not return in despair.  We do not return with lost faith in humanity.  No, we return to you.  We return to the warm embrace of our families and loved ones.  And, we return to our incredible community of people of conscience who know that we must mobilize into action.  We know this because lives depend upon our actions, and our humanity gives us no choice.

As we drive through plush verdant fields and towering mountains on our way to Kigali and the Congo border, we pass men, women and children walking and riding bicycles.  The scenery is spectacular. Children wave with bright smiles.  The women carry baskets and packages on their heads.  Life seems easy, slow, peaceful. 

 This scene is in sharp contrast to the images we saw at the Rwandan genocide museum yesterday.  There we read about and saw pictures of such atrocities–the decimation of millions, mass killing of children, brutalization of women–such hatred, such loss.

 The museum also profiles some of the other genocides of the 20th century: Armenia, the Holocaust, Cambodia, and Bosnia.  What is startling to me is that in every case there were warnings that a destruction of a people had started and in every case the world did not come forward until it was too late.

 But there was also hope in the museum.  The goal of the museum is “never again.  It hopes to educate so that these genocides will never again be permitted. 

 Rwanda is a country that is transforming itself, economically and politically.  It has had a stable government for many years and is trying to reinvent its tourism industry.  But most importantly, it is transforming itself on a spiritual and emotional level.  Rwandans are clearly engaged in a process of reconciliation and healing.  For example, there is a program whereby perpetrators are brought to justice.  In this case justice means being required to apologize to the families of their victims who are then empowered to forgive.  The hope is that with forgiveness comes change for future generations.

 I was struck by the lack of bitterness in the people we met and their sense of optimism for and hope in the future.  As we approach Congo, my apprehension rises.  My guess is that our visit in Congo will not engender such good feelings. Perhaps, however, we will be able to carry the hope we found here in Rwanda to our experiences in the Congo.  We shall see…

I met Ingrid in person in April, 2007 when she came to California for her admissions interview at Stanford University.  At the time, Ingrid was 19 years old.  But I had actually seen Ingrid a few years before…when as a young teenager she was prominently featured in a documentary film (brilliantly produced by Global Nomads) about the Rwandan genocide.  In the film, Ingrid told the story of the day her mother, Jeanne Niyimurora, father, Mbonigaba Charles, and brother, Inama Ireni, were murdered by a Hutu neighbor.  Ingrid was only 6 or 7 at the time, but her personal story and her description of the Rwandan genocide wrenched my heart and seared my soul.  I had no idea at the time that I saw the documentary that only a few years later, Ingrid would participate in our family’s Passover seder; and, I certainly had no idea that I would ever be in a position to place a bouquet of lilies (Ingrid’s mom’s favorite flower) at a mass grave site in Kigali in which lie Ingrid’s mother’s remains.  Today I was blessed with the opportunity to do just that.

We entered the Rwandan genocide memorial museum today with the primary purpose of paying tribute to the victims –to dignify and sanctify the memories of the more than 1 million Rwandan Tutsis who fell prey to senseless hate and division.  We also went to the memorial museum to try to understand why and how this genocide happened.  The museum was incredible in every respect.  Testimonials from witnesses, survivors, perpetrators and relatives were presented with sensitivity and brilliance.  Historical and political overview and analyses were clearly articulated and thoughtfully presented.  The theory and practice of propaganda campaigns were revealed, and all of the other genocides of the 20^th century were thoroughly presented, analyzed and memorialized.  It was truly a superb museum, as evocative as the United States Holocaust Museum, if only on a somewhat more modest scale.

We spent hours at the museum, and hours afterwards processing our experience with our Rwandan guides and friends.  We tried to understand how bad people can manufacture hate and turn otherwise God-fearing and law-abiding citizens into mass murderers.  We tried to wrap our arms around the notions of reconciliation and forgiveness.  We compared and contrasted the Holocaust with the Rwandan genocide, theorizing at length about the different religious, emotional, social and political grieving experiences of Jewish and Tutsi genocide survivors.   At the end of the day, I am left feeling (once again—as I did in connection with Darfur) a tremendous sense of love, compassion, intimacy and grief for a people whom I might otherwise conclude were vastly different from me.

As I placed the flowers at the mass grave site today, I cried for Ingrid, for her mother, her father, her brother, her cousins, her aunts and uncles.  I cried for the people of Rwanda–the victims, the survivors; I even cried for the perpetrators.  As we huddled together to honor Ingrid’s family, we tried to find a blessing in the midst of the bones and blood and ashes on which we were standing.  It was very difficult.  But, in the end, we felt that we were blessed to be here representing the Jewish community and to give honor to the victims of this genocide.  We felt blessed to be able to honor the memory of Ingrid’s family.  We felt blessed to have Jewish World Watch through which we can help build the anti-genocide movement that will move the world towards finding genocide intolerable.  We also felt it was a blessing to have the people of Rwanda confront their crimes and engage in the painstaking and seemingly impossible task of reconciliation and forgiveness.  And, we also knew that above all, Ingrid is the ultimate blessing who brings meaning, brilliance and immortality to the lives of her mother and father.  To Ingrid and to the thousands of other of beautiful children who were orphaned during this genocide, your lives are blessed and your parents’ legacy is surely guaranteed—through you.

Tomorrow we cross in to Congo and will surely meet families who have been devastated by the ongoing atrocities there.  We will be exploring ways for Jewish World Watch to not only lay a wreath but to help ameliorate the suffering of Congolese survivors.

I knew I shouldn’t have gone into the room about children long before I stepped inside. It’s the last room of the Kigali Genocide Memorial Center here in Rwanda, and it’s not like the kind young man that greeted us at reception didn’t give me fair warning that it was coming. I was already in tears – the memorial is intensely powerful and personal – and I knew it would push me over the edge.

No little boy’s last words should be “Mama, where should I run to?” I didn’t want to know about the little girls, sisters, best friends, who shared a doll and were murdered together. I didn’t want to know about the brother who was a mama’s boy and the sister who was a daddy’s girl who were shot as if they were not, somehow, brimming with humanity and potential.

 I don’t want to know these things. There is no way of making these stories academic, of turning back to my books and explaining away this intensely personal brutality with theory and analysis. And that’s the way I operate – making the intimacy of genocide either academic or actionable. I’ve been doing this – studying genocide, analyzing genocide, trying to understand how to prevent genocide – for thirteen years.

 But now it’s personal.

 These children that died – that were murdered, whose families were destroyed by their destruction, whose potential was snuffed out so early – some were only a little older than my daughter. My sweet girl who has only just started chatting and babbling, who desperately wants to crawl and who I am desperate to see grow and develop – how lucky am I that I will have this with her? How horrible that Rwandan parents – those that survived their children – do not?  That they have to live now every day knowing their children are missing from this world?  That in some cases they need to continue to live, side by side, with their children’s murderers – possibly not forgiving, definitely not forgetting, but nonetheless coping, somehow, with the reality?

 Tomorrow morning we leave for Goma – and from here on out nothing will be academic. It will be impossible. We will hear about brutality that is unparalleled the world over. And I will know the women and children who are telling me these stories. I will hold their hands and cry with them. It will be very, very personal, and very, very hard.

 But I also know why we’re here. Because I know that behind every terrible story, there is a person with strength that is working to rebuild. And I know the incredible potential of Congo – in the character of its people, in the depth of its culture, in the richness of its resources.

 After the Genocide Memorial today we visited the Agahozo-Shalom Youth Village, where now 350 of Rwanda’s most vulnerable orphaned children have the opportunity to study as a community and grow as adults. They learn to resolve conflicts and trust themselves. After only a year they have the confidence to confront Rwanda’s government ministers on the most difficult of national questions. Their potential is only just blooming – it’s a long road, but an important investment in a country still working to rebuild.

 I know Congo can do it too. And I’m positive that we can help.

It took us 30 hours from the time we departed from Los Angeles to when we arrived in Kigali, Rwanda. We spent the evening visiting with our new Rwandan friends who will be our guides and translators   While we have not yet seen Kigali in the daytime, from our conversations tonight and by the looks of our brand new hotel, (which has free wireless, a swimming pool befitting a Hawaiian resort, a workout room, and more), Rwanda is working diligently on its tourism, its urban development, and on its economy.  And, of course, wants desperately to create an all time record for post genocide reconciliation.  We will learn much more tomorrow as we visit the genocide memorial. 

 I have the question lingering in my mind about the small village “justice courts” by which genocide perpetrators are supposed to seek direct forgiveness from the mother whose baby he killed or from the husband whose entire family he destroyed.  When almost one million were slaughtered in 100 days, can an apology assuage the pain and reduce the rage?  I know that our day tomorrow will give me lots more to think of on this theme.