We saw the Dead Sea Scrolls yesterday, and they are old. They exist, and I don't really know what else to say about them. They are copies of all the Old Testament books except Nehamiah and Esther. The Isaiah one is really long and well preserved (like his writing I guess), but they only display the copy. But it's a cool looking display. The outside of the museum is shaped like the pot they found the scrolls in. I snuck some pictures of the inside, but for some reason my camera doesn't feel like uploading anything today.
They also had a mini version of Jerusalem during the "second temple period." So you could see how the temple was in the city.
Then we went to Yad Vashem, or the Holocaust Memorial. We showed up and started walking around and someone called our names--the BYU students were starting their tour at that very moment!!! Not even planned, I mean honestly, what are the chances? (I just finished reading the first HitchHiker's Guide to the Universe, so the improbable can only be expected, right?) So we stayed close to them, but we kind of lagged behind after a while. They went fast. We didn't. There really are no words for the feeling you have in there. . . bitterness, pity, mortification, shock, relief (for survivors only, but then their lives were still miserable for years and years). They had movies, pictures, actual shoes, etc. At the end you go into a room where they hold archival boxes with the names of everyone who died. The room was huge and round and there were boxes all around you--above your head and below your feet. 
Then outside the main museum they had a tribute to the children. You walk into a dark tunnel that opens up to a huge room full of mirrors and candles which seem to go on forever in all directions--up, down, and sideways. While you're in there, a monotone voice over a load speaker reads each name of every child that was reported to have died in the camps with their age and birthplace. In the gardens outside there were moving statues depicting the persecution.
Then outside the main museum they had a tribute to the children. You walk into a dark tunnel that opens up to a huge room full of mirrors and candles which seem to go on forever in all directions--up, down, and sideways. While you're in there, a monotone voice over a load speaker reads each name of every child that was reported to have died in the camps with their age and birthplace. In the gardens outside there were moving statues depicting the persecution. We were spent after that. It took about 3 hours to go through the museum, and we just headed home. We ate Ratitoulli for dinner. 
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