Of all of the
museums in Washington, D.C. that my family and I have been to, my favorite is
the Holocaust Museum. It tells a story of
one moment in time and a story of a persecuted people. It tells the story of their dehumanization,
the story of the destruction of their lives, and the story of their broken and stolen
future.
At one point early
in the museum, I remember receiving a little booklet with a name and picture of
an individual. There was a paragraph or
two about their life before and after their time in the camp, most likely,
their end, how they had died. My little
booklet was written about a child who died in one of the camps. I remember my daughter, Emily, reading her
little booklet, and over and over at each exhibit, she would whisper to me, “Dad,
this is so sad!”
One exhibit was of
an oral and video history of some of the camp survivors. They spoke of their life in the camps, of their
persecution, and of their loved ones who had survived, or perhaps, who had died. They spoke of their life before, and then
they spoke of their life after.
For me, the
exhibit that was the most moving was of shoes.
A pile of shoes. Hundreds of
shoes. Shoes of the lost. Shoes of the dead. Shoes of adult men and women. Small shoes of children. And like Emily said, “So sad!”
I’ve always
admired stories of the men and women and children of the Resistance.
Simple
folks. Farmers. Small shop keepers. No one special, really. Only in that which they did would be
considered special . . . remarkable. Honorable.
They risked their
beliefs, their lives against nearly impossible odds. The risked almost certain death. Men, women, and even children. Used whatever weapons they could find, and
certainly not the weapons of those who they fought against.
The Honor Of
Resistance.
They fought against
oppression. They fought against domination. They fought against dehumanization. They spoke up and raised their voices in
outcry when it would have been so very easy to remain silent. They stood up when it would have been so very
easy to sit down.
The Honor Of
Resistance.
There might be
times in our life when we are called to Resist.
There might be times in our life when we are called to stand up for what
is right. There might be times in our
life when we are called to stand up for those who cannot stand up for
themselves, to speak for those without a voice, to demand rights for those who
don’t have any.
As I sit here
and write this, there most assuredly will be times in our life when we must do
what is right, say what is right, and not shrink away because it might be unpopular
to do otherwise. At that point in our
life, at that very moment be it great or small, will we . . . each of us . . .
have the same Honor To Resist? Will we
have that same courage? Will we have
that same strength? Something to think
about . . .
Well said, Joseph.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Dean. I appreciate it.
ReplyDelete