Baltimore's Holocaust Memorial park/plaza is at the northeast corner of East Lombard Street and Gay Street, and runs the length of the block on the Lombard side to Frederick St. (this is an easy 9-block walk west on E. Lombard St. from Attman's if you're on foot, about 10 mins., or a 2-5 min. car ride west on Lombard (toward downtown area) on the right side just before and along Gay St. There is street parking on the Gay St. side. But as with most of Baltimore by car: avoid the rush hour (Mon-Fri., 7-9 AM and 4-6 PM), when parking is very scarce (and often illegal) and traffic is thick and slow. You may have to find a spot a block or two away: look for parking kiosks (little machines where you pay for your parking spot) if you don't see a coin-operated parking meter. (Many of those meters now take credit cards also.)
The sign for Baltimore's Holocaust Memorial is as simple and stark as the park, whose highlight is a haunting sculpture of a black flame made up of human bodies in pain. The plaque behind it summarizes the numbers and horrors of the holocaust (if such a thing can be said to be "summarized"), and the concrete wall along its back side features quotes of warning and sadness. Not a museum, not a big exhibit, quite the opposite, this park's memorial, though simple and small, really packs a punch. It is an uncompromising remembrance of the dead.
This stop is definitely not for small children; the sculpture alone could easily frighten them. And it's likewise not for those in a happy mood who don't want to be "brought down." But if you are up for seeing it, you won't soon forget it.
Many of Baltimore's immigrant Jewish community of the early 20th century were lucky enough to get out of Eastern and Central Europe decades before the Nazis came along (my great-grandparents and their kin were among those). But some holocaust survivors came to Baltimore; the first time I saw a number on a person's arm, it was on the arm of my grandparents' next-door neighbor in Pikesville, a quiet, unassuming single woman with only the faintest accent, who came to visit. When I asked my grandparents about it, they told me to never, ever to ask about that number if I ever saw it on anyone's arm. This was in the early 1970s. Thankfully our culture progressed in later decades to not only talk about the Holocaust but encourage the survivors who are still with us to speak to groups about it. I've been able to hear some of these speakers and the experience of hearing and seeing them will never leave me.
Baltimore has some worthy Holocaust-themed programs and film showings in its synagogues and JCCs; a recent one focused on the ongoing psychological effects of being a survivor and the family member of a survivor.
