Matt and I had a very patriotic yet contemplative Fourth of July weekend. On Saturday afternoon we saw Fahrenheit 9/11, which was both entertaining and depressing. Because Matt lives in the financial district, we saw the movie at the Regal Cinemas in Battery Park City, meaning that when it was over, we walked out of the fourth-floor theater to be confronted with a panoramic view of Ground Zero even before leaving the building.

There below us was where it all started.

On Sunday — the actual Fourth — we went to the Museum of Jewish Heritage, a Living Memorial to the Holocaust, also in Battery Park City. The permanent exhibits take up three floors: the ground floor covers Jewish life in Europe and the U.S. before World War II, the second floor covers Nazi Germany and the Holocaust, and the top floor covers Jewish life since the War. The museum also contained two temporary exhibits: Ours to Fight For: American Jews in the Second World War, filled with items to look at, and, on a lighter note, Shalom Y’all, a collection of photographs of Jews in the South.

After making our way through all of the exhibits, we came to an open room with rows of windows that looked out on New York Harbor. There, with the tragedy of the Holocaust and the miracles of survival still on my mind, we could see the Statue of Liberty, its torch raised high, and Ellis Island, where my grandfather arrived 81 years ago to the day. (July 4, 1923.) American flags waved in the wind.

That night, Matt and I and two of his RAs walked down to the South Street Seaport, where we saw bright, beautiful fireworks in the sky.

Happy belated birthday, America. I’m not always happy with what goes on in this country, but I’m still glad it exists.