“There he stood, already beyond my reach, my father, the center of my life, just labeled JEW. A shrill whistle blew through the peaceful afternoon. Like a puppet a conductor lifted a little red flag. Chug-chug-chug –puffs of smoke rose. The train began to creep away. Papa’s eyes were fixed upon us. He did not move. He did not wave. He did not call farewell. Unseen hands were moving him farther and farther away from us. We watched until the train was out of sight. I never saw my father again.” ― All But My Life: A MemoirTomorrow, my Holocaust Lit class will discuss what is probably my very favorite Holocaust memoir. Gerda Klein's word-poetry as she shares her story of survival is absolutely something that lodges in your spirit.
This particular quote is one that I always take with me from the text. I can hardly read it aloud to my class without tearing up. It's not even the final goodbye in this moment that gets to me, it's the very first line.
"There he stood, already beyond my reach, my father, the center of my life, just labeled JEW."
That line echoes with the many layers and worlds that each of us have and inhabit. When I read that line, I think of my own dad. I think of his raucous laughter, his generous spirit, the joy he takes in hearing funny stories and pranking people. I think of the pride in his eyes when he looks at his kids and grandkids, the way he loves my mom (and harassing her), and the profound faith in the Lord that he has walked out throughout his entire life. I think of his gentle touch with his animals, of his adventurous spirit, and of his loyalty to his loved ones. While my dad could be called "Christian," "electrician", "cowboy", "family man", or "friend", he is so much more than any of those titles. When I look at my dad, I see the young, strong man who used to slalom ski while holding me in his arms. I see the man in his 30's who climbed powerpoles in storms. I see the middle-aged man who buried his parents. I see the aging man who keeps sick grandkids and drives people around when they need it. I see my past, my present, and I see my future in him.
And yet these Nazis, they saw only one facet of the lives of their victims. And that one facet, while something to be celebrated, they viewed as something worthy of death. Gerda's father, who held as many memories and personality traits and talents and weaknesses and laughter and interests and hobbies and goals and ambitions as my own, was seen only as the one word that condemned him to death.
Yesterday was Roman's birthday. I was searching through old photos to share some of him and I came across a photo that I actually never did see at the time, but that was sent to me later. It was the photo of him from what is called the Special Home Finding List, a list of children who are available for adoption in the Philippines who are "difficult to place", children who have physical or mental challenges, who are older, or who are part of a sibling group. Roman, as a part of a sibling group of three and a teen, fit into this category. This list is similar to the Heart Galleries of foster children that many states have and lists that other countries produce. In Roman's photo, he is labeled "Child B". The accompanying written description is about Francisco, Roman, and Angela (which I won't share).
When I look at that picture, I can't help but chuckle at the pen he has tucked in his shirt and the fact that I can guarantee you that what is cropped out is a shirt tail that is either already untucked or was as soon as the photo was taken. He always, ALWAYS has a pen because he is ALWAYS fiddling and doodling. He is never still and neither is his mind. I think of all the people who looked at this list, at my Roman, and just saw Child B. And quite honestly, I think how grateful I am that he didn't become the son of some other people who saw this list, that God knew that he was for us and we were for him.
After having all of those thoughts yesterday morning, we had a church service with special music by Voices of Lee. One of the lines from a song, "Ever Be", jumped out at me: "You Father the orphan
Your kindness makes us whole." Roman isn't "Child B" to the world anymore because he is now (again) a chosen, treasured son. But he was NEVER "Child B" to God. The moment his parents perished in that storm, he was legally an orphan, but he was never left Fatherless. God picked him up in His arms, all three of them, and named them... "Loved"... "Protected"... "Cherished". And that is who they are today, valued as such by the Lord and by us, their family.
The world will attempt to devalue those in it. It will attempt to strip identities, to slap a label and consequences that come with that label on everyone in its path. It's up to us, all at different times, to refuse to allow the labeling of "Other", "JEW", "Less Than", "Illegal", the R-word I can't even say, racist terms, "Addict", "Monster", the children abandoned and abused and rejected by their families. Every person we know is a person of layers, a person who inhabits many worlds and who carries all of time inside him or her. It's up to us to just LOOK.
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