This website requires certain cookies to work and uses other cookies to help you have the best experience. By visiting this website, certain cookies have already been set, which you may delete and block. By closing this message or continuing to use our site, you agree to the use of cookies. Visit our updated privacy and cookie policy to learn more.
This Website Uses Cookies By closing this message or continuing to use our site, you agree to our cookie policy. Learn MoreThis website requires certain cookies to work and uses other cookies to help you have the best experience. By visiting this website, certain cookies have already been set, which you may delete and block. By closing this message or continuing to use our site, you agree to the use of cookies. Visit our updated privacy and cookie policy to learn more.
Between 1942 and 1945, nearly 107,000 Dutch and German Jews passed through Camp Westerbork, a detention facility in the northeast Netherlands. Trains, arriving like clockwork every Tuesday, transported detainees to extermination camps including Auschwitz-Birkenau and Sobibór. Little remains of Westerbork’s 100 or so buildings except, ironically, the green clapboard house that belonged to the camp’s commander.
In 2012, Dutch firm Oving Architekten won a competition to create a protective enclosure for this deteriorating monument to infamy, but wanted their contribution to dissolve into the background: “We tried to not make a building,” explains principal Francine Neerhof Oving. The architects devised a simple yet powerful solution, encasing the entire house in a glass and steel box. Everything—including the house’s narrow yard and front step—is locked away inside this pavilion, only accessible to visitors a few times throughout the year. In its vitrine-like glazed enclosure the house becomes a surreal object, hermetically sealed into a different time and place—a place, the architect says, “that remembers the tears.”