As the day wanes, this twentieth anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall, I came upon this set of pictures about the wall (HT: Mockingbird). When I got up this morning and the wall came up in some blogs and news articles, my interest was piqued and it caused reflection throughout the day.
While I don't remember the fall of the wall from personal experience, it elicits an odd emotion in me. German history always interests me in part because I was born in Germany. But the odd thing to me is that, though all my memories are from after the fall of Soviet East Germany, I was born in West Germany. These events happened in my lifetime, and are in some way involved in my life. I can't really explain more than this, but beyond my birth in West Germany, there is something about the wall itself that stirs my heart. This wall that separated families, friends, and others by geography and government, but not by culture and language was finally torn down. The wall that was an emblem of Soviet control in parts of Germany, that caused much heartache was destroyed.
I'm glad the wall is down. If that didn't make sense, it won't. But it makes sense to me.
And I started writing this on November 9. I really did.