“Whoever survives a test, whatever it may be, must tell the story. That is his duty.” ― Holocaust survivor and Nobel Laureate, Elie Wiesel

I saw the tattooed numbers peeking out from under his shirt sleeve. For some, it may have gone unnoticed…but I knew their much deeper meaning.

“I’m not ashamed,” he smiled. “My wife, she says I should have it removed – but I, I never want to forget.”

We sat together on an old park bench. As the heron took flight, dipping its wing I thought – how gracious for this moment to find me.

He shared of his life, leading up to that event – ‘the night the soldiers arrived.’ A vicious pounding shattered the peace of a family just sitting down for a meal.

“That door,” he began “had always served us well. The joy of family and friends. But, on that night..”

His voice trailed off.

There are times in lives when we realize how important it is to listen. This chance meeting was, by no means, an exception.

They were given only an hour to collect their things. A lifetime of sentiment shoved into an old woolen satchel.

The food was left untouched on the plates. “One of my only regrets,” he said.

They were separated like cattle and forced into the filth of an old railway box car. It was part of the “Final Solution” – a sinister reign of terror leading to the mass extermination of over 6 million Jews.

When they arrived at the camp, they were stripped first of their possessions, and then of their dignity. “But, they couldn’t steal our faith” he smiled.

They were a family of considerable means. His father, a reputable businessman and community leader. The conditions were intolerable by any standard. But, for this young man – it was his first ever glimpse into the heartbreaking lesson of man’s inhumanity to man.

“My father was a good man,” he said. Even to this day, I knew this to be the one truth that could never be shaken.

Though sadly, his father – once a pillar of strength – soon began to succumb to these dire circumstances. Day by day, the young man watched as his father’s body continued to fail – finding rest, as he said, ‘between the exhales.’

“One night,” he said “my father fell to sleep with a small crust of bread in his hand. And I had this thought – ‘if he dies, then I shall have his bread.'”

Can you imagine having a thought such as this before you’ve even learned to shave?

“That’s when I decided,” he smiled “that, God willing, I should survive, then I shall make this world a far better place.”

And do you know, that he’d gone above and beyond making ‘damned sure’ this promise was kept?

“When there is pain,” he smiled – “remember, there is also a gift.”

How lovely that his ‘gift’ to me was the simplicity of his message. Perhaps, we should view our own challenges in much the same way?

That our scars may serve, not as a reminder of pain, but rather – that one single moment in which our hearts found resolve?