Yesterday I met a Holocaust survivor. He shook my hand. He thanked me for listening to his story. He apologized for taking up part of my day. It was strange and touching and extremely absurd.
He was a man who was sent to three separate concentration camps, and he had spent ten days at Auschwitz. He had worked like a slave, and his back was broken by an officer. He was only eighteen years old.
I am twenty-three years old. I have survived nothing. Living through a twentieth-century youth, some people argue, is enough of a struggle. We are all survivors. But after listening to this man, hearing him say, "This brings back so many memories", I know that those people are fools.
When he was liberated by Soviet forces, he had nowhere to go. He walked all the way from Poland to his hometown in Czechoslovakia. He threw away his striped pajamas, his blue and white cap. He later felt sorry for not keeping this memento, and he was able to come into possession of a different cap. He showed it to us, then dropped it on the floor, often unconsciously stepping on it while he shared. This was not a sacred memorial relic to him; it was a bitter reminder which he wished to stamp out of his mind.
I could not cry when he was speaking. I did not know how to react, and so I was silent. Later I was ashamed. Still the tears would not come. I wish I had thanked him, had told him how important I thought it was that he was sharing his story with younger generations who had never experienced anything worse than a drought or a mild recession. I wish I could have told him I admired his bravery. I should have asked a thousand questions.
At the end of his brief presentation, he gave me his email address. He said that if I had any questions or wished to hear more, I should send him a note.
But what could I possibly have to say that would even matter to man who experienced more pain in five short years than I could ever imagine in five lifetimes.
I could promise him that I will take on full responsibility for ensuring that such an event will "Never again, never again, never again" occur, but I hate making promises I cannot keep. And even though I am many - and so few - things, I am not a liar.
