The Power of Words

From The Book Thief by Markus Zusak

In a small gap in the procession, there was a man, older than the others.
He wore a beard and torn clothes.
His eyes were the color of agony, and weightless as he was, he was too heavy for his legs to carry.
Several times, he fell.
The side of his face was flattened against the road. On each occasion, a soldier stood above him. "Steh' auf, " he called. "Stand up."
The man rose to his knees and fought his way up. He walked on.
Every time he caught up sufficiently to the back of the line, he would soon lose momentum and stumble again to the ground. There were more behind him--a good truck's worth--and they threatened to overtake and trample him.
The ache in his arms was unbearable to watch as they shook, trying to lift his body. They gave way one more time before he stood and took another group of steps.
He was dead.
The man was dead.
Just give him five more minutes and he would surely fall into the German gutter and die. They would all let him, and they would all watch.

Then, one human.
Hans Hubermann.
***
It happened so quickly.
The hand that held firmly on to Liesel's (Hans' daughter) let it drop to her side as the man came struggling by. She felt her palm slap her hip.
Papa reached into his paint cart and pulled something out. He made his way through the people, onto the road.
The Jew stood before him, expecting another handful of derision, but he watched with everyone else as Hans Hubermann held his hand out and presented a piece of bread, like magic.
When it changed hands, the Jew slid down. He fell to his knees and held Papa's shins. He buried his face between them and thanked him.
Liesel watched.
With tears in her eyes, she saw the man slide farther forward, pushing Papa back to cry into his ankles.
Other Jews walked past, all of them watching this small, futile miracle. They streamed by, like human water. That day, a few would reach the ocean. They would be handed a white cap.
Wading through, a soldier was soon at the scene of the crime. He studied the kneeling man and Papa, and he looked at the crowd. After another moment's thought, he took the whip from his belt and began.
The Jew was whiped six times. On his back, his head, and his legs. "You filth! You swine!" Blood dripped now from his ear.
Then it was Papa's turn.
A new hand held Liesel's now (read the book and you will love her friend, Rudy) and when she looked in horror next to her, Rudy Steiner swallowed as Hans Hubermann was whipped on the street. The sound sickened her and she expected cracks to appear on her papa's body. He was struck four times before he, too, hit the ground.
When the elderly Jew climbed to his feet for the last time and continued on, he looked briefly back. He took a last sad glance at the man who was kneeling now himself, whose back was burning with four lines of fire, whose knees were aching on the road. If nothing else, the old man would die like a human. Or at least with the thought that he WAS a human.

I have read so many books on the Holocaust. When I had to teach "The Diary of Anne Frank," I had to learn so much about WWII. I am struck with the power that words had. Hitler had words and had an idea and crafted pure evil with the words he used. People followed his words. They took them into their hearts and followed blindly. I hope that they didn't know the magnitude of things that were happening. But, how did they not when they saw so much of what was going on? I mean, this is just one example of Jewish people being paraded in front of their homes.

I am also struck with the ability of words that feed the soul. How was it that some people took those words and knew they were wrong? They knew that evil was crafted through words and never took it into their hearts. Was it because it went through their heads first? I don't know.

I wonder what I would have done. Would have I ran out and given bread knowing what would then happen to me, or to my family? I hope so. I hope I would have risked everything to fight the horribleness of it all. I hope that the words wouldn't have ever penetrated and I would have always discerned evil from humanity.

I guess the lesson that I can learn now is about the power of words. I can never take words back. I can apologize for them and feel bad about something I've said, but I can never truly take them back. I can use words to influence for good or bad. I can use words to show love or hate. I can use words to belittle and berate or words to uplift and feed the soul. Words can be damning or brilliant.

I can also learn that there are people in my life who need help in many different ways, and I can either sit back and do nothing or choose to help someone in need. I choose to get up and see if I can make a difference. I might not end up running out in the middle of a parade of desperately ill Jewish people being marched to Dachau, but I can get in the middle of things when I see hate...and I will.

There is beauty and there is brutality. I am contantly overestimating and underestimating the human race and maybe I just need to estimate it....and do the best that I can.