I had a unique experience this past Wednesday. I was present for the passing of an old man. What made this 84 year old unique was that he walked out of a concentration camp over 60 years ago. It’s hard for that to not affect you profoundly, when you look at blank eyes that saw more than you could possibly comprehend. It would be easy to be sad and mourn his passing, but I don’t think that’s the right tack. D, as I’ll call him, probably viewed his survival as nothing less than a miracle. And when you get a real one you don’t waste it. After that experience there’s nothing in life worth fearing. It’s hard to be sad about a 60 year long miracle. To pass quietly and instantly in your own home, three generations after meeting the devil himself, is one hell of a thing.
So I’ll repeat the question in this space that I’ve been asking myself since and I posed to Athena that day: What the f*** do you have to complain about and what, exactly, is it you’re scared of?
La Chaim, D. Thanks for the lesson.
Ares
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