The melancholic music of the duduk. The ruins of the formerly magnificent city of Ani. A winding corridor leading through corpses, ruins, mass graves. Explicit orders to murder, deport, dismember, disperse. The isolation of the unforgiving Syrian desert.
Two million were to be found over half of today's Turkey. Fifty thousand remain there. The Great Armenia is no more, the ancestral home of most of the Armenian survivors - the current Republic of Turkey. And a meagre group of countries and territories recognizing what gave rise - by a Jew, no less - to the coining of the word "genocide", recognizing what taught Hitler that you could get rid of a people, unpunished.
An open wound, no doubt, and an exhibition that, despite my acquaintance with the Armenian genocide, still left me shaken for a couple of hours, holding back sudden bursts of a need to cry. Absurd? Maybe. The non-recognition of the genocide? Absurd. Definitely.