Before we knew what the trunk was for the teacher would start with us all colouring a beautiful butterfly. We would use crayons to fill in the wings, front and back, and then rub it with vegetable oil to make it shiny and translucent. Once the little critters were dry we would hang them from the ceiling. I remember thinking how beautiful the butterflies looked dangling above our desks.
This is when we were told we would talk about the Holocaust and were introduced to a special book: I Never Saw Another Butterfly.
For those who are not familiar with this book, I Never Saw Another Butterfly is a collection of children's poetry and drawings from concentration class. We would look at other written works about the Holocaust, but the main focus would always be on a specific child. Our butterfly was to represent this child. At the end of our Holocaust lessons we would read the poem from our child to the class and then find out if the child survived or not. If the child survived the concentration camp our butterfly would remain proudly flying. If not, the teacher cut down the drawing leaving a lonely string in its place. While we were doing all this we were learning the historical side of the Holocaust from our history teacher. Even after all these years I still remember the name of my child: Miroslav Košek. His poem is as follows:
It All Depends on How You Look at It
Terezin is full of beauty.
It's in your eyes now clear
And through the street the tramp
Of Many Marching Feet I hear.
In the ghetto at Terezin,
It looks that way to me,
Is a square kilometer of earth
Cut off from the world that's free.
Death, after all, claims everyone,
You find it everywhere.
It catches up even those
Who wear their noses in the air.
The whole, wide world is ruled
With a certain justice, so
That helps perhaps to sweeten
The poor man's pain and woe.
This was a powerful lesson plan that even now makes me almost cry. The day that we read our child's poem to the class was an emotional one. To this day I can remember how thick the air was and how sore my throat was, full of un-shed tears. The girl in the front row had her head buried in her arms as two, red eyes with tears streaming down them stared back at me. As is expected most of the butterflies were cut down, and the strings were left up for the months to follow as a sad reminder of the children's death. I can still remember that my child, Miroslav Košek, died in the concentration camp. Again I say that this was a powerful lesson plan that still to this day stays with me. My English teacher was an amazing woman who knew how to make English fun and exciting.
Sources:
- https://www.amazon.com/Never-Saw-Another-Butterfly-Concentration/dp/0805210156/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1501179954&sr=8-1&keywords=i+never+saw+another+butterfly
- http://www.troup.org/userfiles/929/My%20Files/ELA/HS%20ELA/10th%20ELA/10th%20Unit%202/10.2.1%20I%20never%20saw%20another%20butterfly%20summarizer.pdf?id=13343
- http://www.holocaust.cz/en/database-of-victims/victim/102119-miroslav-kosek/
