In the cover of night (instead of the revealing light of day), the machines of a hired demolition crew(rather than Amish workers with hand tools), the Nickle Mines Amish school house was razed early this morning. The debris will be carried away to a lanfill, away from the Amish community, rather than be recycled or burned.
That the Amish decided to leave the demolition of this place of terror within their borders to the machines of neighbors in 'the world', and that it took place at night, may speak of the volumes of their grief. They would rather not handle this heavy task on their own, and would like to see the remains taken off of their land. This burden is no longer only among the Amish of Nickle Mines, but sits among the common refuse of all of the world. Communities can only absorb so much tragedy on their own. It is more than fair for them to ask of others to help, to take it it upon themselves as well. We could do no less.
Perhaps an even more powerful statement, both symbolically and concretely hopeful, will be the "quiet pasture where the schoolhouse stood."
That the Amish decided to leave the demolition of this place of terror within their borders to the machines of neighbors in 'the world', and that it took place at night, may speak of the volumes of their grief. They would rather not handle this heavy task on their own, and would like to see the remains taken off of their land. This burden is no longer only among the Amish of Nickle Mines, but sits among the common refuse of all of the world. Communities can only absorb so much tragedy on their own. It is more than fair for them to ask of others to help, to take it it upon themselves as well. We could do no less.
Perhaps an even more powerful statement, both symbolically and concretely hopeful, will be the "quiet pasture where the schoolhouse stood."
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