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People are capable of both—I know that better than most.I’ve seen it with my own eyes.Good and evil, love and hate, side by side in the world.And no explanation makes sense except an otherworldly one.
But it’s soon over, and we’re ushered from the stage.Dozens of people want to meet us, shake our hands, take photographs with their fancy little cameras.I remember a camera carried by a friend in the ghetto.The pictures were never found of the bodies in the grave.His pictures died with him.
And now cameras are everywhere, carried in little soft cases and no need of a tripod.The world is truly a marvellous place, the way it rebuilds and grows back into the cracks and crevices that destruction left in its wake, turning them into something beautiful and good.
I sit after a while, fatigued but content.Andrew is beside me, staring at his hands.He turns to me, eyes glistening.
“I don’t know how you did it, Dad.”He chokes on the words.
I put a hand on his shoulder, tears forming in my eyes.“What do you mean?”
“I’ve really thought about it a lot.I don't know if I could've done those things.I want to believe I could, but I’m just not sure.”
I tell him, “No one knows until they’re in that situation.I did it because it was the natural thing for me to do.All my friends who went against their own instincts died.I never went against my instincts.My instincts were to protect the people I loved, to run when the time came, to hide when it made sense and to fight when it was necessary.I followed my instincts, and I lived.”
THE END
