There was a Jewish man, the owner of one of Germany’s most renowned bakeries. He would often recount a poignant story from his youth. “Do you know the reason I’m still breathing today?” he’d begin.
“In my teenage years, during the dark era when the Nazis were ruthlessly exterminating Jews, they transported us to Auschwitz by train.
Within the confines of that train car, the cold was so biting it felt as if it could cut through bone. Days felt like weeks as we remained trapped without food or even the basic comfort of a bed.
The world outside was blanketed in snow, and every gust of wind felt like shards of ice on our cheeks.
Hundreds of us huddled together during those harrowing nights—without food, water, or any semblance of shelter. It felt as though the very blood in our veins was turning to ice.
Amidst the crowd, an elderly Jewish man from my hometown was at my side. His condition was deteriorating; he shivered uncontrollably, looking every bit as frail as he felt.
Compelled by compassion, I wrapped my arms around him, offering him my body’s warmth. I clung to him, rubbing his hands, legs, face, and neck, imploring him with my actions and words to hold onto life. I spent the entire night trying to preserve the warmth in both of us.
When dawn finally broke and the first rays of sun pierced the horizon, I surveyed the scene around us. A gut-wrenching sight met my eyes: bodies frozen in the cold embrace of death.
An oppressive silence, the kind that only death can bring, hung in the air. The merciless chill of the night had claimed everyone—save for two.
The elderly man and myself were the sole survivors. He lived because I refused to let the cold claim him; I lived because in warming him, I had warmed myself.”
Allow me to share a profound truth: The secret to enduring in this world lies in warmth.
Not just physical, but emotional and spiritual. When you nurture the spirit of another, your own spirit flourishes. When you lift others, you too are lifted…