The Power of Living

I was nine years old when I first read a story of a Holocaust survivor. It spoke to my heart in a way very little ever has. Between the horror and the heartbreak, I found a warmth in my heart that commanded me to dive into the history of the world’s biggest tragedy. Through all the tears from reading, listening, and watching these amazing humans survive and live, I have found a strength. I believe in the power of living.

One story that spoke to me more than any other I have read was that of a young boy and his mother, who were sent to the side that meant death. As they stood in line over a pit of corpses and waited as soldiers went down that long line shooting the people, the mother told her son she was going to shove him into the pit to save his life and there he was to remain until the soldiers returned to the camp. Then he was to hide in the woods nearby. When the opportune moment arrived, she pushed her son into the pit of corpses and soon her own murdered body covered his. The boy did as his mom instructed and lived to tell his story. Because he lived, the world was made better. I believe in the power of living.

Often I think about this boy and the way he must have felt laying in this pit, his mother’s body covering his, waiting to run. Joy was certainly not a feeling he ever expected to feel again. Courage, I imagine, was not a characteristic he felt he embodied. Feeling and emotion would have to have eluded him. Yet, he continued to live. Somewhere inside him there was a power that pushed him out of that pit. There was an energy that caused him to survive.

Through these testimonies, I found strength to see me through my own life’s heartaches. There is a power in living. When I thought there was no way to keep going, I inhaled. I continued to live. When it seemed as though everything in life was crushing me, I placed my hand over my heart and felt its gentle beat. In living, strength is restored; courage renewed; and joy reclaimed.

I believe in the power of living.