Have you ever been taught something,
whether it be in school, or church, or your own research,
and you take away from this learning experience
some of the most powerful understandings of life,
in general or your own,
and this lesson had nothing to due with what you were actually being "taught?"
Example:
I was in my second semester of college.
My teacher brought in a Holocaust survivor
and essentially conducted a personal life history interview with her (the victim) in class.
The interviewee was a sweet old lady,
with a thick polish(?) accent.
She told little stories from various times of her life,
often about how her day dreams about dancing,
which was her life's passion,
kept her going throughout various hardships that she endured during the war.
I sat in awe while listening to her speak of her life,
how there was never traces of bitterness in her words that so vividly described various tortures.
Her words were very factual, and very realistic.
Yet when she spoke of dancing,
her face would light up, and her voice became intertwined with a hopeful giggle.
I remember thinking
"I love this class.
I love this teacher.
I love this little old lady.
I love that I'm understanding the lesson."
And I was understanding what was being taught.
I was going to be able to write a paper about this,
get an A,
and move on to my next semester.
Just when I was feeling great about everything,
the little old lady said something that caught me off gaurd.
Not something that was worse than anything that she had said before;
This story actually seemed somewhat mild to the previous stories.
Yet... there was sadness in her voice now,
there was pain in her eyes,
and bitterness in her demeanor.
I quickly looked down at my notes
to see if I had missed some great detail.
I hadn't...
The war had ended,
the soldiers had come to save them,
they were on a many day journey back to (insert rescue place)
during the nights, a few of the soldiers would rape her.
(rape wasn't a foreign thing to her life)
She continued on with her story,
but I stopped listening.
I couldn't get the look in her eyes, or the twinge in her voice out of my head
when she talked about that part of her life.
Finally she finished her story,
we all thanked her,
and that sweet little old lady,
crooked back, noby knees and all left.
The class discussed her strength,
the pleasant air that surrounded her,
and the importance of passion in ones life
(hers being dance)
I stayed relatively quiet during the discussion.
Continuing to replay that small portion of her story over and over.
As I walked out of the classroom,
I turned to walk the long way out to my car.
I needed more time to think.
It was surprising to me how little time I actually needed
before I was sitting on the steps in the school,
with tears streaming down my face.
The second I stopped thinking about her trials,
and began to think of my own,
how many of them I could speak factually of,
yet there were some that would always make my heart ache,
I understood it.
Finally.
These soldiers.. had promised to save her;
they promised happiness,
they promised freedom,
and they hurt her, just like everyone else.
Now.. I'm not sure if anyone is still reading
because, lets be honest, this is really long;
and those of you who are still reading,
are you understanding?
Are you understanding the difference in the pain?
The distinction between pain caused by someone who only promised pain,
and the pain caused by someone who promised things in contrast of pain?
The contrast between Julius Cesar's conspirators
and his close friend Brutus.
I recently have sat in my car
a few (many) times
remembering that sweet little old lady,
and empathizing with her
(to a very small degree);
I sit there in my car
with those familiar hot tears staining my face
and uttering
"you too?"
Eh Tu Brute?
