Davíd and I walk on each side of Mom, down the covered concrete path through the recreational area of the compound, heading toward the Olympic size swimming pool. Even the evening weather is scorching on this August day. It is Saudi Arabia, after all.
“Have fun, and, please, get along,” Mom solemnly hints. “This will probably be the last time we go swimming here, or even walk through here.” She looks around—towards the gymnasium door, then across to the movie rental and game room, and finally rounding her view ahead of us towards the barbershop—taking in the sights.
Davíd and I join her. Soon, we reach the commissary and then round the corner past the restaurant adjacent to the swimming area. What a beautiful place, I think. This is our home with such wonderful memories and so many places yet to explore. How can we leave it?
A brawny man walks our direction.
“I know! Because we leave on Davíd’s birthday,” I finally respond, loudly, to Mom’s previous statement.
Mom’s eyes grow wild, as she looks at me and frantically whispers, “Shhh! Jonathan, be quiet!” She straightens, smiling and nodding at the man.
He returns the greeting.
“But, Mom,” I continue, “No one knows when Davíd’s birthday is.”
Davíd laughs at this recognition. “Yeah, no one really knows that,” he says.
Mom sighs, “Yeah, I guess so. But, please, Jonathan—and Davíd—don’t let anyone know. It must be secret.”
I look across Mom towards Davíd, beaming from the ecstasy of my perceivably clever statement. I know it will be a sad day, but it will also coincide with the day that will recommit the three years seniority my brother has over me, since I turned eight in June.
We spend the next few days finishing our packing and deciding what we are to take, since there is a weight limit of five hundred pounds. I want to take the piano but am informed that it would take up the entire limit.
One night, as Davíd and I are tucked into our beds, we ask why we are being evacuated. Mom explains that a terrorist group has been threatening to bomb the American school buses in Riyadh, so the families of all active duty military members are being evacuated. It is not really affecting us in Khamis Mushayt, but our government wants to be safe.
On August 14, Mom wakes Davíd and me. I look at the clock: 10:08 p.m.
She softly commands, “Come on. It’s time to go.”
She remains mindful of our drowsy bodies and gently hustles us to the entryway of our villa. We assume our positions next to our carry-on bags.
Dad stares out the front window in the nearby living room. “They’re here!” he announces. He opens the front door and carries our luggage to a tiny bus outside our villa.
Mom leads Davíd and me to the bus with our bags. Other passengers watch us in silence as we board. Children sit with their parents, but I do not recognize any of them from school, because they are younger than me. As we settle in our seats, we watch Dad close the door to our villa one last time. This is the last I will see of our happy refuge, I remind myself. I lean my tired body against my mother for comfort. She suggests I try to sleep, but I refuse.
The bus picks up one last family before leaving the compound—before leaving our home. The bus drives the windy road to Khamis Mushayt. I love this road. I loved bounding across the backseat of our Suburban with Davíd when we drove this road times before. This is the last drive, and we are bound for a military base.
The bus is completely hushed. No one speaks. I questioningly whisper this observation to Mom.
“We must be quiet from now until we are in the air,” she whispers back. “We must be kept secret.”
“Why?” I wonder.
“Because we don’t want to hurt the Saudis’ feelings,” she answers. “They will feel bad that we are leaving. They will feel like we don’t trust them in their own country.” She pauses a moment. “We also don’t want anyone to hurt us. Someone may try to stop us from going or try to harm us with a bomb or some way. If you see anything suspicious, let me know. Since you don’t want to sleep, be watchful.”
This frightens me. Would someone really try to kill us? I decide to be watchful and observe everything that happens around us. When we arrive at the air base, two C-130’s await our arrival. Mom informs me that we only need one plane, but the extra is used as a precautionary in case the one we fly is somehow damaged. The extra one will also be used as a decoy, as the two planes will fly in opposite directions but will both land in Jeddah. The bus stops, and the door opens, welcoming our departure and boarding of the large C-130.
Never will I forget this moment—never this stress or adrenaline—never these sights or fears—never this loss of security and innocence. Never.
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Wow, that's a pretty cool story! What a memory to carry! Anyways, I LOVED the excerpt from 'Night'. I thought the imagery was beautiful, and made me sad that any human beings could hate another race so much as to kill. Moreover, not only did they kill the men, but the harmless women and children. In this church, I have been raised to love all I meet, and even those I don't. It seems so foreign to me, this hate. It makes me sad and desire to make a difference. I don't know how at this time, but if I can, I hope to do such.
ReplyDeleteI am reminded of a story in a book I read this summer about the Holocaust:
ReplyDeleteA particular German officer in charge of deporting Jews to the death camps was known for his severity and occasional whims of mercy. One day he saw a young man carrying a violin and commanded him to play. The boy did. The melody, haunting and plaintive, rose to the sky as he played for his life. The last note echoed; the stillness afterward was filled with the hopeful expectation of the crowd that perhaps one might be spared the horror which awaited them.
After a moment the officer ordered the young man to board the train to his doom.
What strikes me the most about stories such as these is the sudden, merciless snuffing out of all hope. When hope is gone all truly becomes night. The wonderful thing is that in Christ, hope springs eternal.
This passage was really powerful. It made me think about all the bad things that happen in the world, and how we should do something to not let those things happen. It's so sad that human beings can be so full of hate that they would kill innocent people, some of them just babies. It's so sad that these kinds of things have happened in the world. I can't imagine how awful it must have been to have to live through that. The events portrayed in this passage are absolutely atrocious. I can't imagine anyone evil enough to commit the terrible acts that the Nazis committed during World War II. But this article made me want to make sure that nothing like this ever happens again.
ReplyDeleteHolocaust literature is always so powerful. I don't particularly like reading it for obvious reasons, but the stories need to be told. The world needs to always remember this attempted genocide. We need to remember to prevent a repeat of the events.
ReplyDeleteI've heard that some politicians and other figures are denying that the Holocaust ever happened. This seems so ridiculous!! This is the Adversary trying to make us forget, to diminish the enormity of Hitler's wickedness.
As unpleasant as these stories are to read, see, and hear, we have to learn them. We have to remember.
What a great story you shared. That was really interesting. During my sophomore year I read the book Night by, Elie Wiesel. It was an amazing and inspiring book. I often think about the courage of Elie and his family. Even in the face of death and destruction young Elie keeps his composure and is able to endure the most difficult of circumstances. Another inspiring thing about Elie is that he never looses his faith. Although he is going through the most awful things he never forgets his God, what a wonderful example to everyone. I know that sometimes I go through trivial problems I don’t always remember to ask the Lord for help. Both Elie and his father are great examples.
ReplyDeleteIt’s interesting what was mentioned in one of the comments above about not liking reading literature written about the Holocaust, but that we need to. I would add that more than not liking it, it’s more just hard to read, because we can’t help but empathize to some degree and it’s painful. A tiny fraction of such an enormous pain and weight is still extraordinary. But I think we learn more from stories like “Night” than we do with feel-good books. They make us think and analyze ourselves and the world. Most “good” books are sad in some way, or at least touch us emotionally in an extreme way. As much as we pretend, humans just don’t have it in them to be truly logical. We learn and are touched by emotions. That’s how we learn and grow from the experiences of others.
ReplyDeleteWhat an incredible story, Jonathan! Reading this exerpt reminded me of a discussion I attended a long time ago. It was given by a Nazi concentration camp survivor. Listening to the stories of these survivors never fails to give me chills. I cannot imagine a race that would inflict such atrocities on eachother. I guess we humans have an incredible potential for evil and good alike. My thoughts also drift back to the moments of silence walking through the Dachau camp last summer. It served as a powerful reminder to never forget, but also not to dwell on the evil that was. Look forward, do better.
ReplyDeleteI remember the first time I read Wiesel’s Night. I was a sophomore in high school and my Honors English teacher offered it as an extra credit assignment. At first I thought this would just be another assignment to breeze through. I was very wrong, though. I had always been horrified by the atrocious events of the Holocaust. However, I had never heard it described in such graphic terms and from a first person basis, as I did when I read Wiesel’s Night. It was, and always will be, impossible for me to comprehend how someone could treat another human being so deplorably.
ReplyDeleteHolocaust literature is very difficult for me to read, too. Usually
ReplyDeleteI looked forward to reading the novels that we read in my high school English classes, but when we read Night, I dreaded each chapter. But I think it's also necessary to read these stories. They help us to remember, because forgetting would be dangerous. If we forget, atrocities like these could happen again. I don't even understand how anything as horrible as the Holocaust could ever happen, but we need to make sure people understand just how truly horrible it was so it never loses that shock value. I really admire the people who were able to not only survive the Holocaust, but forgive and move on. It's like that story that they always tell us at church about the Jewish woman who met one of the Nazi guards from her concentration camp at church and was able to shake his hand and forgive him. Their strength amazes me.
I had to read this book in my 11th grade lit class and it was... I don't want to say a huge hit because that seems to be a bit morbid... but it was amazing to see the impact it had on the guys in the class, who normally put on their macho-nothing-can-make-me-have-a-feeling face everyday, but were sitting at their desks crying like a bunch of 2 year olds. It makes me wonder if the church wrote books like this about what all the saints went through at Far West and other such places, if that would make people as aware of that torture as they are of the Holocoust
ReplyDeleteWow that is a really interesting story Jonathan. I also remember reading Night my sophomore year in high school. Like many of you said, it was horrible but necessary. I admire Elie Weisel and the courage he had to be able to put into writing everything he went through, as only a teenager and to do it with such power. It must have been a very painful experience for him to recall all of those memories.
ReplyDeleteFor me, the Holocaust was most realistic and repugnant to me when I saw the pictures taken of the prisoners at liberation. Their skeletal bodies show the horrible things they went through. At the exhibit on the Holocaust in the Imperial War Museum in London, it also felt very real to me. They have actual shoes and clothes that were taken from the children, and other relics of the past, and they tell the story very well. However horrible it is to think that people could do that to others, we really can't forget. As a nation, and as human beings, it is our duty to remember.
I did not like reading Night, but for different reasons than most would think. I hated his rejection of God, his defiant call towards the heavens that God was wrong to let this happen, and that he must be a cruel and uncaring person, or not exist at all. What happened in the Holocaust is among some of the worst atrocities man has seen, but it was man's doing, not God's. He allows such things to happen so that the perpetrators may, literally, burn in hell for it. Actions must be carried out for man to be properly judged -- so, in order for Hitler and others responsible to face the punishment they justly deserve, such things had to happen. And, as the scriptures say, the blood of the innocents will cry unto God for justice. This is why God allowed it to happen - not because he is not present, or because he doesn't care, or because he is cruel, but because he is allowing the mechanics of justice to be carried out. A heavenly due process, if you will.
ReplyDeleteI visited the Holocaust Memorial in DC this summer and this story brings up the emotion I felt during that trip. I think the line that stands out to me the most is where he says that he will never forget. That is what I feel when ever I read or think about the Holocaust. What a horrific event in human history. We need to remember and not let it happen again. I agree with Ashley that this young man shouldn't be so defiant to God. Maybe if I had to go through that I would have felt the same way so I am cautious to judge him.
ReplyDeleteWell, Ethan just ruined my night. lol no i'm kidding, but he brings up a good point. Hitler was a very evil man, but he is our brother. Even he can receive forgiveness of some things. This doesn't seem fair after what he did to the Jews, but this gospel is a gospel of love!
ReplyDeleteBut this passage was extremely powerful; literature from any war is powerful, but especially from WW2. I hate it, but love it so much. As I read these stories of hate and death, I am drawn to the stories of survival and forgiveness. Almost all of the stories from the Holocaust conclude with forgiveness and a new understanding of life and themselves. It makes me think of the scripture that talks about all of life's trials being a benefit to your life. If these people who were tortured and worked to death can forgive, than surely i can forgive my sister for stealing my shoes.