I was extremely disturbed and horrified by what I witnessed today in school, and it made me wonder whether some people will ever grow up and see something beyond their looks, apparel, excursions, and morning hot cocoa or coffee.

Someone had set up a hot water urn in the student lounge today and provided cocoa mix, whipped cream, and marshmellows. That is all very well and lovely, and I am sure all my classmates were thankful for that, especially since if they had a free period or a few minutes between classes, they could enjoy a nice cup of hot cocoa. When you are learning and running around all day, preoccupied with your studies, refreshments are always very much appreciated.

But as we were going to Holocaust class, I noticed a few girls calmly making themselves a drink in preparation. They mixed the cocoa powder in with the boiling water, elaborately placed whipped cream on top, dropped a couple of marshmellows in, and were all prepared to go learn about the Holocaust. I asked them whether they were planning on taking that to class, and they replied that of course they were. One of the girls said that we will be watching a video. The implication was that footage of the Holocaust and hot cocoa go together well.

We were watching Genocide today, a video containing personal narratives of experiences in the Holocaust as well as extremely graphic footage of Jews being killed, of rotting skeletal corpses being swung and thrown into pits, of entire piles of corpses lying around in the death camps, of ovens and burned bodies, of the dead and the dying.

I felt physically sick at those sights, and a few girls were crying. And there were those girls, enjoying their hot drinks as if nothing happened, as if nothing mattered. One of them wanted more whipped cream to go with her movie drink, so she walked out and returned with the entire container of whipped cream and proceeded to enjoy herself thoroughly while horrifying images flashed before our eyes and survivors' testimonies were read of the cruel things they had to endure and of their separation from their beloved parents and of the agony of knowing that your entire family has been wiped out.

I heard this girl whispering with her friends, laughing loudly at the beginning, etc.

And I wanted to get out of my seat, walk over to her, and strangle her. (But I thought that it would not go over well with the school or her parents, if you know what I mean.)

You would think that by the time a girl reaches that age, she might acquire a bit more sensitivity, especially when dealing with a subject like the Holocaust. Is that really too much to hope for? Do such girls ever grow up? Because, quite honestly, I am beginning to despair of that.