When We lose Our Humanity
We Have Forever Lost The World








Little Eyes, Broken Heart
by: linda marie pharaoh-carlsonęcopyright 05, all rights reserved

I had seen one picture after another...my ears had heard multiple accounts of horror and sorrow from this one woman and then another man. Relayed with such deeply felt emotion that it shook them to their very soul.

Man's inhumanity to man, is what's it's often referred to. But the intensity of the cruelty played out, the unspeakable, unfathomable atrocities that just have to be thought of in darker, heavier, more raw and ominous terms.
And maybe there just are no words that exist which would quite describe the plight of millions, at the hands of mad men in the then considered intellectually advanced society known as fascism.

Nazi Germany.
Who could begin to imagine the wave of abject putrid rot that would waft it's way across that land to corrupt and destroy the lives of so many innocents? That would cause common man... and woman, to close eyes and ears to the obvious genocide surrounding them, visible daily to them, sometimes even coerced and goaded on by them?



I must admit that even today, in all my 56 years of living, I still fight off feelings of extreme revulsion and hatred towards German people. For allowing such things for so many years. For actively participating in the merciless and vile acts perpetrated against people for nothing more than one wild-eyed lunatic's bent and distorted ideals. How could they allow such a thing? How could they DO such a thing?
The Holocaust.

In all of the visual assaults I've ever seen of that time, one in particular broke my heart into a million pieces.
It was of a child.



Obviously Jewish, possibly from one of the ghetto's set up for Jewish people of that day while they awaited in sickness, want, and squalor... to be pushed farther into the oblivion of the death camps 'when the time was right' for them to be herded like cattle, deprived of all that is the most basic of human needs, tortured, then executed without a second thought, without a tear of regret or remorse.

He was standing alone.
Looking at someone that obviously deemed it fit to take his picture right then.
It wasn't a still picture. You could see his dirty face and disheveled clothing. But the thing that cut me to the very core was his countenance. His little face looked as if he were trying SO hard to bring up some sort of a smile, but he just couldn't quite muster it, all while his eyes harbored glistening tears that waited yet to fall. His eyes sparkling wet, and pleading ... his mouth trying to smile but forced into what seemed a look of desperation and yet hope all at once, which pierced my heart and made me cry.



What had those little eyes seen?
Where was his mama and daddy? Did he see something so awful that his little heart ceased beating at just that instant? Had he ceased to be the child standing before us at the very moment this picture was being recorded, for all of time ... so that history from then on, could then see it and wonder about him forever?

Those eyes... that face... emblazoned into my mind and my heart forever!
In tears and brokenness, I wanted to leap through the television screen and scoop him up and just hold him.
Rock him gently to sleep and caress his brow and comfort his sad little heart and make his terror all go away.
And to this day, I wonder about that little sorrow-filled face.
Did the monsters get him?
Did they hurt him to the extreme? Did heartless, soulless so-called 'men' stand by while terrible things happened to that sweet innocent soul?
My heart still aches for a boy that had he survived any of the nightmare unfolding before him, would be my senior in age, and yet ... in my minds-eye, in my heart, he is still and forever, that sad little lost boy.



And where does that picture that broke my heart leave me today?
Were I to allow the swell of hatred to grow against the perpetrators of such evil against babies and innocent lives, would I not be one just like them?

I fight such feelings every time I see the next documentary ... hear the testimonies of those who were forced to live out nightmares while awake and walking on planet earth, in a place the likes of which, hell could not rival.
Whose families were callously murdered one by one before them, who lost track of every touch of humanity every touch of dignity a person could have, who lost every ounce of kindness they had ever known, and virtually lost their sanity in the mad house run by lunatics and demons straight from the pits of hades itself.

Oh, dear God ... help me to be kind.
To spread kindness and grace to all. If I fall in the wake of a monstrous tide that sweeps away innocents across my land, then let me be found among the innocents. Hopefully with strength enough to grab the one that's hurting standing right next to me, and hold them close... no matter their color, race, creed, lifestyle, position, religion, or class.
And please, have mercy on us all.
We do not, as human as we are, deserve it. Your mercy or your grace. Even the best of us - at our very best.

Oftentimes the best of us can fall, we can fail, under the right circumstances. Help me to try to remember that when I see the little broken heart pleading from behind the eyes of that hurting small boy.



I pray for this to never happen again.
I pray concerning the sin which has festered the wickedness in men since the beginning of time, so as to bring about such evil against others, to be once and for all defeated, when all men can see the condition of their heart. Their own heart-condition which is tied directly to their immortal soul. The one in which there is no hope or escape outside of repentance and deliverance by the God whose heart too, has been broken by the tears of a single child.
Have mercy on us all.
We would all do well to remember, lest we reap the repeat of what's been sown in evil seed through centuries of allowed tolerances, by those too indifferent to care.

I wish with all of my heart that just ONE would have cared enough to spare the sorrow, the torture, the sadness of that one broken little boy that haunts my days.

If I could only see him today, even if he were seventy years old I would ask...
Are you all right little one? (These things are held in the heart as snapshots, taken in by the sensibilities and mechanisms of a small child, to be forever engraved there. To be forever reviewed there by the child who took them, even if that child lives to be seventy or eighty years of age).
I guess I will never know.



*footnote

I found the above picture of a little five year old boy that very closely resembles the picture I've held in my heart, since the time it was taken that day that I saw him on the screen. This particular boy in the picture above however, has a name, and was liberated ... thanks be to God, sometime after May of 1945. His name is Joeseph. And it very well may have been Joseph that I saw that day on my television screen.
God's Blessings to you, Joeseph.



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