Hating the Jews
[Link: www.americanthinker.com...]
A little over a month ago, I was sitting with my daughter in a darkened theater, watching with dozens of other horror-struck Americans as, on the giant screen, a little Jewish boy, accompanied by his new friend, a German boy of about the same age, were herded naked, in shocked confusion to their deaths in a Nazi gas chamber. Or the “ovens” as some slang would put it. The movie was The Boy in the Striped Pajamas.
For more than five minutes after the lights came on, no one in that theater moved. Barely a sound — only the muffled sobs of a few — could be heard. Then, one young man slowly stood, bowed his head, rose, and as if a signal had been given, others hesitantly followed. I heard not a single word passed between perhaps one hundred moviegoers, as somberly, one by one, we all filed out into the night to return to warm homes and safe beds.
I’ll never forget that night. In fact, for days after, I dreamt about it, waking in a cold sweat reaching for my own babies. I’m not Jewish; I’m human. Or at least, I like to believe I behave as a human should.
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2 comments
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Frank says: