When my grandmother was in Auschwitz, she used to sneak out of the barracks at night to forage in the garbage for potato skins to eat, because the Nazis barely fed the prisoners enough not to starve.
One night, as she was sneaking back, she came across a Nazi soldier. She looked at him. He looked at her. She figured that was the end; he was about to shoot her.
But he didn’t. She kept walking. He let her go.
I don’t know why. It’s not what he was supposed to do, trained to do, brainwashed to do. He’d be punished if it were to be found out he didn’t. He had no particular reason to discover some humanity in that moment, but he did.
And because of that choice – I’m here. I’m alive. I exist.
I’m here posting loon pictures and spicy goblin discourse and Jewish holiday stuff and cat pictures and lik-the-bred-memes and headcanons and the Fantastic Beasts version of My Immortal. I’m here posting about resistance and social justice and trying to figure out how to make the world a better place.
I don’t know where he is now, or even if he’s still alive. But I know I’m alive, because one person made one choice in one moment to do what was right.