In January 2017 our own Sam Mulberry and Chris Gehrz will again take Bethel students to Europe for a three-week travel course, HIS230L World War I. It’s an especially good time to take this trip — not only is Europe in the middle of its ongoing centenary commemoration of the war (1914-1918), but 2017 also marks the 100th anniversaries of the U.S. entering the war and Russia undergoing its famous revolution, so we’ll no doubt see some special exhibits along the way.
If you’re a current student and would like to learn more, we have two events coming up in early April:
First, we’ll have a table at the 2017 Interim Abroad Fair — Wednesday, April 6th, 11am-2pm in the Brushaber Commons Atrium. Sam and Chris will be there, and perhaps some of the students from the 2015 trip.
Then we’ll have an information session about the class on Tuesday, April 12, 10:20-11:00am in CLC 109. Chris and Sam will explain the details of the trip in more detail, including the cost (tentatively set at $3,799 — lower than in the past thanks to a favorable exchange rate and more reasonable air fare.)
If you can’t wait till April, you can click through to see a day-by-day digital preview of the three-week trip — featuring video, photos, and student comments from the 2013 and 2015 courses.
To learn more about the five designs and the larger context of WWI commemoration, read “We Will Remember Them,” an essay by our own Prof. Chris Gehrz that was published last Friday by Books & Culture.
In it, Prof. Gehrz makes several references to the Bethel University travel course (HIS230L) that he and Prof. Sam Mulberry will again be leading in January 2017. For example:
Every other January, my colleague Sam Mulberry and I take a group of students to Europe, where we spend three weeks learning about the history of World War I in a few of the places it affected: Flanders and the Somme, London and Paris, Munich and Oxford. As we journey, we encounter myriad attempts to make meaning of an impossibly complicated story. More often than any other symbol or text, we see three words: “Lest we forget.”
On a centenary poster outside St Paul’s Cathedral: “Lest we forget.” On a simple wooden cross in a Belgian field, placed by English footballers where their ancestors turned No Man’s Land into a makeshift pitch during the famous Christmas Truce of 1914: “Lest we forget.” On tens of thousands of gravestones in Commonwealth cemeteries, where other words failed grieving families given the option of writing an epitaph: “Lest we forget.”
At first glance, the phrase can seem rote, unnecessary. Surely a world war—fought by 65 million people and involving far more—cannot pass from the memory of anyone who experienced it, or heard about its glories and horrors second hand. Nor from the collective memory of a community broken, defined, or otherwise affected by it.
And yet, we forget. Time marches forward, carrying our attention with it. The complicated riches of contemplating the past don’t stack up against the urgent needs of the present and the terrifying anxieties or tantalizing possibilities of the future.
So like the poet Laurence Binyon, watching the first Tommies cross the English Channel in 1914, people for a hundred years have pledged themselves against their nature:
They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
We will remember them.
Students: if you’re interested in going on the January 2017 WWI trip, check back in March, when further details are announced.
Calling all alumni — and especially those from the classes of 2010, 2005, 1995, 1985, 1975, and 1965… If you’re planning to return to campus for Homecoming next month, please plan to attend two events featuring our department’s faculty:
• On Friday afternoon, Oct. 9th, Prof. Chris Gehrz will be teaching a “class without a quiz” entitled “Remembering the Great War: Christian Perspectives on the Commemoration of World War I.” Here’s the full description:
One hundred years after it happened, how do we remember a war that killed over fifteen million people, unleashed the first modern genocide, and caused multiple political revolutions? To help us think about the commemoration of World War I – and why it’s especially challenging for Christians – Professor of History Chris Gehrz will draw on his experiences taking Bethel students to Europe, where they visit the former battlefields of the Western Front as well as sites in London, Paris, and Munich.
That talk will be at 2pm in BC 468 Benson Great Hall.
• Then on Saturday morning, Oct. 10th, History will partner with Political Science and Philosophy to host an open house for students and alumni in AC 228 (10:00-11:00am). In addition to catching up with friends and faculty (current and retired), you can check out early versions of Senior Sem research by Political Science students, and we’ll have a couple of computers available for people who want to explore Bethel at War, 1914-2014, the digital history project by Prof. Gehrz and History alum Fletcher Warren ’15 that will officially debut for Homecoming.
Over 100,000 Americans died in World War I, yet it’s the one 20th century conflict not commemorated with a memorial on or near the National Mall in Washington, DC. But Congress has authorized a redesign of the memorial to American WWI commander John J. Pershing (a block from the White House), and the U.S. WWI Centennial Commission has opened the design competition to all comers will to pay the $100 fee!
The memorial should honor and commemorate the service of American forces in World War I with sufficient scale and gravity that the memorial takes its place within the larger network of memorials and monuments situated on and around the National Mall. At the same time, designers should forge functional and perceptual linkages to the pathways, streets, and civic spaces and architectural landmarks around the site. Design and landscape elements should contribute to the park composition and strengthen the park’s relationship to the larger urban context, while complementing, and not detracting from, the meaning of the commemorative elements (whether new or pre-existing) within the site.
…honor the heroism and valor of the American servicemen and women who served, fought, and died in World War I, and should commemorate the tragedy and magnitude of loss suffered by the United States in the conflict.
…be timeless and meaningful for future generations, which can be achieved through appropriate interpretive elements including (but not limited to) figurative or other sculpture, traditional monument forms, and relevant quotations or other texts relating to American participation in World War I. The Memorial shall not list names of individual servicemen and women who served or were killed in World War I.
…balance a sense of enclosure and dignity with openness and visibility that is inviting to passersby.
This week Prof. Gehrz hosts Past & Presence from sites along the former Western Front, in Belgium and northern France. (This past January he and Prof. Mulberry brought a camera and microphone along on their World War I travel course. Look for one more episode this spring to feature European locales.)
Also in episode nine…
We conclude our two-week conversation on Christian approaches to history, with Profs. Kooistra and Gehrz discussing “providential history,” moral judgment and reflection, and what’s transformative (even “conversional”) about the study of the past.
As the calendar turns to March, today we share one last post from our January travel course in Europe on the history of World War I: a second example of the memoirs that students wrote as their final assignment. This post comes to us from History major Angela Stephens ’16, who also contributed several beautiful images to our four-part photo essay.
I volunteered. As soon as I heard about this trip, I found the recruiting office — Professor Gehrz’s office — and put my name on the list. I wanted to prove to myself and to others that I was truly British… I mean Bethel. I could not wait to get our trip details; I was leaving school to go learn of war. It was not until the Last Post in Belgium that I realized my emotional journey though the trip had been somewhat similar to what the soldiers of World War I experienced. I started off very excited, then I became disenchanted, angry, then I eventually came to terms with what I had seen and heard.
We arrived in London after some exciting travel hiccups. The night we finally landed in our hostel, I was already fully in love with London. Something called me to it, something wild and lively. I felt comfortable walking the streets with my luggage at two in the morning. I was in a group of students that I did not know very well at all and I was actually more comfortable moving about alone through crowds and metro stations than with my peers. I believe this experience may have been similar what to brand new soldiers would have experienced. Before joining the military with many of your friends, soldiers probably did not know many of the men they were stationed with. I was in a foreign land, with foreign people, learning to be one.
As our group toured the streets and major sites of London — Trafalgar Square, Westminster Abbey, and St Paul’s Cathedral — I felt a change in my attraction to London. There was something behind my admiration for it. A slight darkness, a small doubt, something lurking. I walked the streets of London alone, and often, at night. I was surrounded by loud life and bright lights, and yet, a silent darkness. After visiting museums, art galleries and monuments, this shadow of stillness grew.
Something is only magical and mysterious if it can only be seen from a distance. Once up close, eye to eye, with war and the memories skulking through London, I was disenchanted. The glorification of man and machine was so apparent, it was suffocating. Where was God in all of this blood and metal? On one of my many rides on the Tube, a song came through my headphones and a line struck me and became my summation of London: “This city breathes the plague of loving things more than their creator.” London, plastered with fashion, metal and man, gave little notice to God.
Oxford was a different story. This ancient-feeling city was sweet and comforting. Our tour guide, Alastair, probably had a hand in this. I was able to touch buildings that were almost four times older than the United States of America. This realization made me feel extremely small in the scope of time and space. This old city felt like a haven from the dry London. I imagine soldiers who came to the many hospitals in Oxford felt similarly. We passed lush green gardens, quiet, cool and soft. A welcoming embrace compared to London.
Belgium resembled Oxford in soft deep greens, but it was dissimilar in atmosphere. There was a sorrow that had grown deep into the ground. Quiet, but ever present. Reality struck in Belgium, the front lines of battle, death. It was easier to find God in suffering and silence. Like Wilfred Owen, “I, too, saw God through mud,” though not the mud that cracked on cheeks; I saw God in the mud of the fields and hills, now rolling and beautiful. What Satan meant for evil, God meant it for good. Out of the mud, God brought fertile beauty. He brought production out of destruction.
And yet, I could not help but be more confused and frustrated. How could God allow these horrors? How could man, either side of the line, think what there were doing was noble?
Paris was, at first, welcomed after the solemn trenches. It was as if we were on leave, allowed a distraction from the burdens we saw on the Western Front. Yet, it was a hollow comfort, which, in the end,was no comfort at all. Still, man and machine were glorified. The sight of beautiful buildings and magnificent structures comforted my eyes, but my mind still twisted with frustration and confusion. The Palace of Versailles had gardens that had no end, magnificent paintings and rooms for a select few honored guests to watch the king and his family eat dinner. This was tainted by the knowledge that while this line of kings ate lavish meals, Paris was a Band-Aid for a broken bone.
Leaving Paris, we went to Germany, where my final and most influential realization occurred.
Dachau was the end of my rope. I came to the limits of my faith in God’s goodness, or at least his power. Dachau was the product of a world that had lost sight of its creator. Man was so glorified that he was willing to place his brother on a scale. If that brother did not weigh enough, he was snuffed out. It was a place of death and absolute silence.
I was so angry and once again, God spoke to me through a song. It is well with my soul. It is not! It is well with my soul. How could he allow this to happen to so many innocent people? It is well with my soul.
Something inside broke. It was my anger. God is God even when I hate what man has done. He is God even when I could not see any goodness. He is good, he makes it well with my soul and he made it well with the people who suffered, and the people who caused the suffering. I had to let go of my confusion. I had to realize that faith can not be questioned, only lived.
In the end, I came out alive, a little bruised, but still healthy. I heard once a sermon in which the preacher said “we can never fully trust God until we have wrestled with him.” I became Jacob. I wrestled and I have been blessed tremendously. This trip helped me see that, no matter how I feel, God sees, knows and feels infinitely more than I ever could. It also gave me a warning to watch what I am glorifying. I could end up putting myself in a spiritual Dachau, and probably being angry with God for allowing it. I experienced excitement, disillusion, sorrow, anger, that all wrapped into restoration.
I hope many soldiers were able to come to the last, but this trip also helped me gain insight to what the soldiers were going through mentally. I had no fear of death, but I could comprehend what was going through their minds.
For the final assignment in HIS230L, our J-term travel course on the history of World War I, students wrote a memoir of their experience. We’ve asked two students for permission to share what they wrote, starting with this post from Lauren Gannon ’17. Lauren, who is adding a History minor to her studies in Media Production and Graphic Design, refers at several points to one of the most famous memoirs of the war, Vera Brittain’s Testament of Youth, excerpts of which students read throughout the trip.
I sit in a coffee shop. The reading packet for the trip I am about to leave for in four days sits in front of me. The packet is open to the pages with the itinerary. The small table is cluttered with the reader, syllabus, coffee cup and the recently written notes for my site preview. A whisper of a smile is on my face as I read through the schedule for the first couple of days for the x-teenth time that day.
In fact, that smile has been on my face for weeks. Excitement occupies my emotions with the exception of the anxiety and fear that sneak in every once in a while. Leaving my family and going on the trip of a lifetime with a group of students that I barely know causes a little anxiety, but mostly, I am prepared to change. I am excited as well as nervous for the challenges this change will bring, but I am ready for it. Or at least I thought I was.
So long as I am in the world, how can I ignore the obligation to be a part of it, cope with its problems, suffer claims and interruption? (Vera Brittain, Testament of Youth)
“Did you notice that that’s Big Ben right over there?” asked Anne-Britt as we stood in Trafalgar Square on our first full day in London. I looked down the road, and in a sun-kissed haze, I saw it. We were there! We were in a place that I had only dreamed about! My excitement was only heightened as our class began and my emotions seemed to match those of the people who celebrated Britain’s entrance into the war one hundred years earlier. Although it was a different kind of excitement, it was excitement. I found myself with seemingly boundless energy for the long walking tours and memorial visits that day. I was taking in as much as I could every second.
This attitude continued throughout the week as I got to know my professors, their wives, and my fellow classmates. I really did feel like a soldier, but a soldier headed to a much better place than war, bonding with my commanding officers and fellow soldiers. We were all in this together.
We were only a couple days into the trip when we went to the Imperial War Museum. That was the day that I experienced the reality of what we were there to learn about: war. Although we had seen memorials and monuments for those who fought in the Great War, I had yet to absorb all the knowledge I could about the war itself. The WWI exhibit in the museum was fantastically arranged. As I walked through, I could spend as much time as I needed learning about the different aspects of the war in an interactive way. I will never forget the moment that I heard the simulated gunshots and explosions coming from one of the displays and was completely terrified.
The First World War in particular had always seemed so far removed for me, existing only in textbooks. Suddenly, here I was in a place that was deeply impacted by it and much closer physically to where the fighting actually occurred. How was I supposed to handle actually walking through preserved trenches when I was impacted so much by a display in a museum? I was not sure, but, yet again, I felt a connection to the soldiers. They left home excited to fight, only to be completely disillusioned by the horror that is war. I left home excited to learn and be changed, only to find myself unprepared for what that entailed. Free time helped to lessen the anxiety, but I could not help but feel anxious about the uncertainty of how the rest of the trip would affect me.
After being in London for a week, we took our first day trip as a group to Oxford. Here was where I found my deepest connection. Vera Brittain was a student at Oxford when the war broke out. Her brother, fiancé and friends went to fight, and she was left behind. Although she had a place at an esteemed university, which was rare for a woman in this time, she left to become an army nurse and be a part of the event that would define her generation.
Although I was finding some connection to soldiers during the war, I felt the strongest connection to Vera Brittain. Her situation, her interests, her temperament, all reminded me of myself. We read a lot of excerpts from her in our reading packet, and as I read those, I found myself nodding and understanding exactly what she was saying and why she was saying it. Her recollections of the women she attended college with and their intentions reminded me of my own university in a lot of ways. I was frustrated by a lot of the same things she was and sympathized with her desire to do more than stay behind and learn while she could be a part of something bigger. Brittain’s writings and life story would shape how I viewed the war for the rest of the trip.
By the end of our time in London, my expectations for the trip had already been shattered. Overall, I was not finding the connections or changing as I had expected. I wrote in my journal my only solution: “be as close as possible.” I was learning that I could only expect to get so close before I expected to travel through time to actually be there. What I was experiencing would have to be enough, and it would be as long as I was striving to get as close as possible.
Belgium and the Western Front
After my realization in London that I would not be actually living WWI, the Western Front became more of a study of remembrance rather than a study of the actual war. I learned about the battles and strategies from Carl and Lucas [our local guides], but the one thing that Carl said that I do not think I will ever forget is that “every headstone, each name has a story.” As we walked through cemeteries and visited memorials, the massive number of names and headstones struck me. So many people died in a war that was supposed to be quick and relatively easy. How do we remember them? We put their names on memorials and maintain cemeteries. Even those who were unidentifiable after they died had a place to be remembered. Not only are they remembered there, but also they are remembered by anyone who visits. I visited and I know that I will remember them. That is how I can be connected. I can remember my personal experience with where they live on for all to see.
Again, I was impacted in an unexpected way. I was faced with the actual terrain on which many soldiers died and are still being found, but it did not feel that way. Although after London I was expecting to feel like this, I was still disappointed. I felt farther removed than I had been in London and I did not know why. Why was I finding it so difficult to feel empathetic to the soldiers’ experiences? I still did not know. Vera Brittain puts into words how I felt on the Front when she says, “on the whole it seemed safer to go on being a machine.” I felt as though I had no other choice if I was not satisfied with my reactions than to continue in the same manner, to go through the motions and hope that something changes.
Paris was surreal at first. After such long and tiring days, we were in the city of love and lights and I was only a little bit excited. In fact, I think I was mostly relieved. The exhaustion of the trip must have been getting to me because I felt weary and discouraged, but was ready to begin another leg of the journey. It was not until the expats tour that I felt excited and encouraged again.
Paris has a knack for feeling timeless, so as we travelled through the streets and visited the cafés and restaurants that Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald frequented, I felt as though they might as well have been there yesterday. My connection was back. It was affirmed when I went to the Shakespeare & Company bookstore and bought a copy of A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway that had a picture of him in front of the store on the cover. I felt my energy return and my excitement rise. I was encouraged. Again, it was not what I expected, but I was not about to complain.
Our time in Paris came and went so quickly that it felt as though I had blinked and we were departing to our last stop of the trip: Munich. Munich brought some anxiety to my experience. The modern urban feel of Munich was unsettling considering all that occurred there after the war, like the rise of Nazism. All that stood to remind those in Munich was a monument laid into the land in front of an official building that featured a sleeping soldier. However, I found this memorial to be the most memorable because it was different from everything else we had seen in London, Belgium and France. It gave a message of hopeful return. Germany was not defeated after World War I; they would rise again.
Being in Munich was eerie when we discussed Hitler and Nazism. I found it interesting that such a beautiful place would have been a home to such horrifying ideals. Then just outside of Munich silently sits Dachau, the manifestation of these ideals.
The day we went to Dachau was the day that I had been most nervous about. Before we went in, Sam said, “Let yourself be affected by it.” As much as I took those words to heart, I think that I unintentionally put up a wall. I was affected to an extent, but again, not to the extent that I was expecting or hoping. I found myself just walking through the yards and paths, thinking. What I thought about, I’m not exactly sure. All I know is that I walked from one place to another just thinking. It was heavy, that much I remember, and I do not handle heavy very well.
My connection to that place, besides this trip, is one that I hope I never find. I think that Dachau affected me in a way that I will learn as I grow and learn. I hope to one day understand exactly what I was thinking about in reaction to what I saw, but I do not think that that day will come soon.
I sit in a coffee shop. My notebook in front of me, my pencil in my hand, and all of my notes and reflections scattered across the table with my whisper of a smile on my face. I work through frustration and confusion before I realize the roots of it.
Who am I? Who am I in history? How do I connect to the big picture? What is my responsibility when it comes to the experiences I have had and the knowledge I have acquired? Who am I?
I’m not sure that I will ever know the perfect answers to all of those questions, but what I do know is that I am me and only I am me. No one else has had the exact experiences that I have had. So, nobody will be able to understand exactly what I have lived or how I have experienced the world, just like I will never know exactly what a soldier in WWI lived or how Vera Brittain experienced the world. However, I do know what I experienced, felt, and learned, and I am willing to share that with anyone wanting to know.
What is my responsibility? My responsibility is to live, remember, and share my experiences because that is all I have and know for sure. It’s all anyone has. I have my own portion in the big picture and it’s my responsibility to paint it. If I don’t, who else will?
Now available on YouTube: episode 3 of Past & Presence, our department webisode series.
A clear theme runs through this episode: it’s hosted from locations in the Bethel University Library, features cameos by two of our librarians (one a former student of our department), and includes an alum interview with Kevin McGrew ’88, director of libraries at the College of St. Scholastica. Indeed, our HIS290 Intro to History met in the library this week to start work on an annotated bibliography assignment. To help guide them, our faculty conversation features Diana Magnuson and AnneMarie Kooistra discussing secondary and tertiary sources, the value of footnotes and bibliographies, and the significance of historiography.
Finally, look for ads for HIS320K History and the Human Environment and our travel course, HIS230L World War I (the latter featuring video shot by Sam Mulberry in Europe during the January 2015 iteration of that course).
A week of posts on our recent World War I travel course concludes today with these reflections from Anne-Britt Mulberry ’00, who accompanied her husband, Prof. Sam Mulberry, on the trip for its first two weeks. Anne-Britt had a unique perspective: not only an alum and faculty spouse, but a former student and TA in HIS230L back when it was taught on-campus by Profs. Neil and Virginia Lettinga…
In January of 1997 I took the J-term WWI class, taught by Professors Neil and Virginia Lettinga at Bethel College. (It was still ‘college’ back then.) I knew this class was different from most when ten minutes in we were marching and bellowing “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary.” It quickly became one of my favorite classes I had at Bethel.
So much so, I became a teaching assistant for the course in 1998 and 2000. Not only did I learn about the war, but I was immersed in the culture of that era. Unlike many history classes I took at Bethel, WWI spanned a very short number of years. Because of this, the class was able to delve into a cultural breadth that was unique: we sang songs, contemplated visual art pieces, fashion, recipes, and politics of the era, and read poems, journals, and other writings by soldiers, politicians, mothers, intellectuals, suffragettes, and others. It was a rigorous class with a lot of reading and writing. (When I became a TA, I helped grade many papers for the class of seventy plus, which helped later on when I became a seventh grade history teacher.)
But more than the overall knowledge I gained about WWI, the class also helped shape the way I felt about duty, war, nationalism, and what my response to those ideas as a Christian should be.
Eighteen years after taking the class for the first time, I was able to accompany the WWI class to Europe. I wondered what I would remember from my college class, what new things I would learn, and what differences I would experience. I quickly realized what a difference seeing the places, monuments, and graves would have on my overall sense of WWI.
The first day in London, students had a scavenger hunt that led them to Trafalgar Square. As we gathered, we were asked to read a firsthand account of the declaration of war, which described the gathering throng of pro-war supporters at Trafalgar Square. Standing there visualizing this event, I was struck with an understanding I did not have previously. Even though in my college class experience we explored the reasons why people wanted to go to war, I still found the lust for war dumbfounding. I kept thinking I would be smarter that these people to get suckered into such a bloody conflict. I’m not sure if this is mostly the result of age, or how much of it was simply standing in that very square, but I finally understood why many felt the way they did.
This happened over and over again throughout the trip. My previous knowledge and understanding of WWI constantly expanded, especially in empathetic and emotional ways.
There were differences between the abroad experience and the classroom. The abroad class focused primarily on the European experience of the War, specifically the Western Front, whereas the traditional classroom experience was able to spend more time on America, the Eastern Front, and other parts of the world during the war. Another difference was the ability to draw in other references. For example, in the classroom experience we had about 30 different slides (yes, they were slides!) of art that were chosen from all over the world to help us understand the intellectual and philosophical shift during this time. In the abroad experience we went to several art galleries to actually see first hand some of the same pieces and additional pieces from the era. Both experiences I gained a better understanding about the art and intellectual world from this era, but the experience was very different.
I went mostly because it meant getting to travel to Europe. I have visited London and Paris in the past, and loved both cities. Having taken WWI before, I knew I would enjoy seeing firsthand some of the things I remembered seeing and reading about. I did not enter into this experience expecting something life-changing, but that is what I got!
A major theme of the class was remembrance. As we walked through cemeteries and past memorials in England, Belgium and France, we were asked to think about what we choose to remember in our culture and how we remember it. This led me to think about how I choose to remember events and people in my life, and in my world. The experience also made me contemplate my choices and my courage to live out my convictions as a Christian in our world. I am still contemplating lingering questions and convictions this experience had me wrestle with.
I was also surprised to discover how emotional the war became for me. Whether it was in an art gallery, on a busy street looking at a monument, walking through a trench, or in a cemetery viewing row after row after row of nameless graves, I was often overcome with a new sense of the enormity and the impact the war had on so many lives.
In the end, it’s difficult for me to choose one thing about the trip I enjoyed the most. The lame (but true!) answer would be to say all of it, so I won’t do that. But I will say two things:
My favorite thing that I experienced in terms of the class was the three days in Belgium and northern France, where we spent time traveling to memorials, monuments, battlefields, and cemeteries. Contemplating memorials from Canada, South Africa, Wales, America, Australia, France, and many other nations as well as seeing graves of men from places like Germany, China, and India was an amazing, sometimes overwhelming experience. I was able to truly appreciate how indeed the world was consumed with this war. Also, being able to see the devastation and change of the land 100 years after the war was jaw dropping. Viewing the craters, bunkers, and trenches that are still part of the Belgium landscape is rather indescribable. There was one experience in particular where we walked up a hill in Belgium to a serene, beautiful wooded pond. The sun was setting in the distance, and there was a perfect, still image of the surrounding trees, brilliant sky, and birds in the reflection of the pond. As we sat there as a class, wondering why we were there, our tour guide explained that the land we were standing on and the pond was created by the Allied forces mining under the hill and blowing up the top where German forces were positioned. We sat there a while struck with the beauty and knowing the violence and death that created it.
The other thing I most enjoyed and was surprised at was the wonderful relationships I was able to form with the class. Being the wife of one of the leaders, I wondered if I would be able to really get to know the students. I soon discovered that our experiences together helped form a close bond. Even though there was free time spent apart, there was a lot of time spent together exploring the city, traveling, eating meals, playing games, and talking at our hostel. The relationships that we formed there have continued here and I am so thankful for them.
Today we conclude our World War I travel course photo essay. Having already revisited England, the Western Front, and Paris, we finish in Munich, Germany…
The Bavarian WWI Memorial in Munich’s Hofgarten (Chris Gehrz)
Munich’s famous Hofbräuhaus, a popular meeting place for the National Socialists in the 1920s (Angela Stephens)
Lauren (left) visiting Neuschwanstein during our off day in Bavaria
Others joined Profs. Gehrz and Mulberry in going to Nuremberg, whose Nazi Documentation Center is built out of the ruins of the Nazi Party Rally Grounds (Angela Stephens)
The tour of Nuremberg’s Nazi Documentation Center ends with this exhibit on the role of the German railroads in implementing the Final Solution — each card between the rails names a victim of the Holocaust, and stands for 100 more… If all the victims were named in this way, the exhibit would have to stretch several kilometers back to the center of the city (Chris Gehrz)
The concentration camp memorial at Dachau, not far from Munich (Chris Gehrz)
Mass grave near the crematorium at Dachau (Angela Stephens)
Looking back towards the main grounds of Dachau from within its Jewish memorial (Chris Gehrz)
Our final class in Munich took place at the Pinakothek der Moderne, where we considered how the work of WWI veterans like Max Ernst and Max Beckmann spoke to the traumas of the 20th century (Chris Gehrz)
Our last event in Munich: supper together at the Augustiner Keller (Katie Gehrz)
One last group selfie after we arrived back at MSP (Ellie Harder)
Thanks to our student-photographers — Ellie Harder, Molly Magnuson, and especially Angela Stephens — for sharing some of the pictures they took during the trip!