While at Freie, I took a course called, ‘Art and Dictatorship’ which focused on the relationship between art and tragedy. Being in the spaces where the Holocaust took place, needless to say, was a completely different experience than what I had learned in Mrs. Daily’s 9th grade History class. Interacting physically with the different places where immense tragedy took place; concentration camps, speaking with Holocaust survivors, hearing the stories, the immensity of lives lost, brought me to a place of grasping and comprehending the unimaginable evil human beings are capable of.
 

One of my professors at Freie, would ask us after our incredibly depressing 'field trips', “How does anyone heal from tragedies? Do we?” We went to countless memorials around Berlin created by artists: Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, The Missing House by Christian Boltanksi, and Jewish Museum Berlin by Daniel Libeskind, to name a few. These artists created these works of art to begin to somehow make sense out of the senselessness and allow healing in moving forward. Art was a way to speak the language no one else could in such a tragedy as the Holocaust. These works of art in Berlin were incredibly moving in finding a type of language to communicate such immense loss.

In another course, ‘Islam and Europe’, we began to unpack the world of Refugees who are fleeing war and injustice in different parts of the world, particularly the middle east. Incredibly inspired by this class, I began to volunteer at refugee centers in Berlin, primarily working with the child refugees who ranged from 4-12 years old. The refugee centers I volunteered at held anywhere from 1,000- 1,5000 people. We would draw pictures, paint, play music, dance and create funny skits to put on for the other refugees. Multiple families would share a living space that was created by four tall dividers. The kids would tell me different stories about the members of their family who they traveled with and others who didn’t make it. I would sometimes work in the kitchen during meal times with the adult refugees. Meal times could be tense because the food had to be rationed accordingly, to make sure everyone was fed. Each person got one scoop of rice, beans, vegetables and a piece of fruit. I remember one night there was an argument over a woman wanting an extra banana. As everyone watched the argument go on, we all knew it wasn’t about the banana; it had to do with everything other than the banana.
 

As my time continued in Berlin, my professor’s question would often come into my head, ‘How does anyone heal from tragedies? Do we?’  These people’s lives were uprooted, fleeing to another country leaving an entire world of language, culture, family and friends. Listening to their stories; the immense horror they overcame in their journey to Berlin-- their resilience was beautiful but so many of their situations were devastating.
 

From learning about the Holocaust to the Refugee crisis, each experience started to accumulate. I began to feel numb; the people, generations, that lost not only their lives but worlds---where was their conclusion or justice? I didn't know how to take away their pain or loss. I began to deeply question how much hate can exist in the world, and more importantly how do we fight it? How do we address such immensely depressing and destructive issues while still moving forward?

One night helping clean up after dinner I was talking with one of the women, Nia. We were talking about her journey to Berlin and how she honestly dealt with moving forward, after facing such adversity, and she told me: “You have to find the laughter to get through this life”.

As I continued to work with the refugees, I began to see what Nia was talking about. There was a language beyond German, Arabic, Turkish or English that allowed them to foster healing, and begin to deconstruct the difficulties within their situations: humor. These people turned and found laughter in some of the darkest realities. When the children spoke about different things they missed, lost, didn’t understand or even feared, they would often turn to laughter as a refuge. Skits that we would put on playing different characters and animals, somehow always resulted in a storyline of a comedy. We would laugh at all the things we thought of that could take place in the skit, and each kid would continue to add something else to make the story even more absurd-- the more absurd, the more hilarious they found it.
 

When everything was so heavy, the ability to turn to humor made something just a little bit lighter— And that fraction of a moment made a difference, an impact, helping carry them forward. There wasn’t an immediate solution to their situation and what happened couldn’t be undone. But from where they stood, it was so much closer than that— It was about how are we supposed to get up tomorrow morning and face this—these horrors and somehow believe that there is still some type of light in the world? Humor created a bridge to break down, and deconstruct pain.

From this place of immense anguish, I began to see through the refugees I worked with, artists responding to the Holocaust, and even myself, the unique way humor allows a person to begin to process an overwhelming situation they find themselves in. From these experiences, I saw the way humor allows people to begin to process some of the horrors they are faced with, as an individual and society. By being able to deconstruct circumstances and/or situations through the eyes of laughter, provides people the ability to process, speak and in turn, move forward with painful topics that need to be addressed. Humor and horror have the ability to exist in the same space, and within this dynamic, something powerful can happen.