Dream Reader

Dream Reader
Christopher Bogart

A young man He would be
And a thoughtful man,
Willing to read,
And by reading to soar -
At once upon a Dream
To be borne,
A Dream
Once raped
In a tale of quiet violence,
Then restored
Through rough redemption.

For when he reads,
Ever so slowly,
Ever so languorously,
He’ll be born again
And again
To sing sad
Songs of sound,
Of flight,
That hum on wings of mad cacophony,
Words will twist and turn
Upon his tongue.
And through his brain
In a plaintive voice that will sing
One song once so simple,
In his youth,
So very simple,
So longing to be heard
In its flight
From the night black letters
Of a stark white page.

Published on Poetsonline.com

My Book

My Book
Christopher Bogart

I bought it at Borders a few days ago.
It sat on the shelf
Somewhat surreptitiously –
Wedged between thick volumes
Of better known authors -
Half-hidden,
Yet curiously coy.

Suddenly, I found myself
Hanging,
Precariously,
On the horns of a dilemma –
Should I purchase the Pope,
(Alexander, that is),
The Milton,
Or the Dylan Thomas?
The Ogden Nash appeared
Much more impressive
Than this little volume,
Which,
On close scrutiny,
Seems somewhat pedantic,
Overly alliterative -
And a little full of itself.

But,
As I held this slim tome
For closer scrutiny,
I heard a faint voice -
The plaintive melody
Of a song that was, at once,
So simple,
And yet so longing
To be heard.

I felt I must adopt it as my own.

Later,
As I walked to my car,
I could still hear it humming
That same plaintive song.

Irony

It Seemed a Quiet Funeral
Christopher Bogart

It seemed a quiet funeral,
a dignified affair.
Everything was by the book,
with very little fuss.

There were so few mourners,
And those that were there,
Were whimpering,
Their soft broken sobs muffled
In silken handkerchiefs.

“Did you know him?” Someone asked.
“Not very well.” Another replied, “And you?”
There was a pause.
“I thought I did.”
It was the measured response.

He had been ailing, it seemed,
For only a brief space in time,
A mere wink of history’s eye.

What a paucity of liberty.
What meager remains.

“Maybe he could be revived,”
I optimistically opined.

Too late,
I fear.

They had already dug the grave.

The Broken Contract, Part 2

The Broken Contract
Christopher Bogart

3.

The trees continued to dance in the fields day after day; and, as they did, their bright green foliage began to turn in color. Green was replaced by bright red, orange and yellow as the wind grew cooler and crisper. And as they danced, their multi-colored foliage drifted from their swaying limbs, and floated to the ground below as they shed their leaves in preparation for the winter frost.

Soon, the lakes froze over and the streams became empty as the fish sought deeper, more temperate climates deep underneath the icy surface. The four-legged creatures burrowed into the earth for the long winter, venturing out only occasionally to hunt for food. And man began to freeze and starve.

Driven by desperation, they held a meeting of their own to discuss the crisis. “What can we do?” one asked. “We have kept to the contract, but now there are no more fish for us to catch and we cannot hunt the animals for we have nothing to kill them with.” As if to illustrate their dilemma, a large deer appeared outside the cave in which they met, huddled around the fire to keep warm.

“Look!” said another. “Brother Deer is willing to keep the contract, yet we cannot kill him. His meat would give us food, and his hide clothing and shelter.”

“Maybe if we hit him with a rock, we could stun him.”

“No! The contract stated that we only kill quickly and mercifully. And we have no way to kill him mercifully.”

“I have a way!” said a determined young man who had not eaten in three days. And with that, he rushed out and past the curious deer until he found a tree sapling that was dozing near the mouth of the cave. He lifted the unsuspecting sapling up, and broke off his legs and the few small limbs it had. And grabbing it by its middle, he rubbed it against a nearby rock until it was sharpened. Then, pulling his bow from around his bare shoulder, he shot the sapling directly at the deer. The sharpened sapling entered the deer and bore straight to its heart, killing it instantly.

“You have broken the contract!” the first man said in alarm.

“We have food for our meal!” the young man replied bitterly, and he skinned the deer for cooking.

“Maybe no one will find out” said the second man, as he hurried over to help the young man dress the meat and start the fire.

Later, when the mother tree went looking for the sapling, she found instead its torn limbs and legs. And the remains of a cooking fire. It was not long before all the trees had heard about this violation, and the trees congregated in anger.

“The men have violated the contract!” the trees howled in rage. “They have violated the contract!”

One of the trees, the one that had spoken at the meeting that the Great Spirit had called, tried to calm the others. “Brother Trees,” he said, “it is true that man has broken the contract.” The trees waved their bare branches in furious assent. “But what can we do?”

“The contract is broken!” said one of the older saplings. “We are no longer bound by it!” All of the other trees nodded their agreement. “Therefore, let us leave this place and seek another. One that is free of men.”

“My young brother,” said the first tree, “if we do that, we will upset the balance of nature and man will surely die.”

“Then let him!” responded the older sapling. “For if we stay here, we will be subject to his continued treachery, and we will surely die!” Again the trees nodded their agreement.

So, as the men slept off their first real meal in a long time, covered in the warmth of the deer skin, the trees departed. And when the men awoke the next morning, they looked out from the mouth of the cave at a landscape devoid of much of the life that had once inhabited it. For, when the trees left, so did all of the creatures that had depended on them for life. The birds of the air, squirrels and chipmunks, all were gone. All that was left was a vast expanse of empty land.

As the winter months passed, the men stripped the land of berries and all other small edibles that were the food supply for the rest of the creatures. And soon, they too departed, leaving man alone to die. And many did die. Each day, fewer and fewer men found the strength to rise from the cold sleep the night before. Until one day, the Great Spirit looked down upon the land to see how the contract was working, only to find that the land had become a barren wasteland. The Great Spirit went to the mouth of the cave that the men had inhabited. There He found the few that had been strong enough to survive. When He asked them what had happened, there was shame in their voices as they explained the killing of the deer. They had tried to follow the contract, they told Him. They had tried. But they had failed.

He told them to sleep to conserve their energy. And, leaving the mouth of the cave, He went to find the trees. He did not have to travel far, for the trees and the animals had traveled slowly, knowing that man dare not follow for they were too weak from hunger. And the Great Spirit held a second meeting of his creations, save man.

“Why have you left man to die?” the Great Spirit asked them.

“They broke the contract!” the trees replied, heatedly.

“Yes.” The Great Spirit said, sadly. “They have broken the contract.” And then He paused. “But so have you.”

“How?” asked the astonished trees.

The Great Spirit looked around at each of them. “Have I not given you everything you have needed to survive?” He asked them.

“Yes.” They nodded warily.

“But,” the Great Spirit continued, “I did not provide well enough for man. That is why I asked you to help him.”

“We did!” said many of the other creatures, nodding at each other in approval.

“No!” said the Great Spirit. And he looked at the trees. “You did not.”

“We abided by the contract!” the trees said defensively and in unison.

And the Great Spirit continued to stare at them. “The contract was flawed.” He said, calmly.

“Flawed?” the eagle asked, as curiosity replaced surprise in his wizened eyes.

“Yes.” Said the Great Spirit, never taking his eyes from the trees. “Everyone gave in equal measure. Except you.” The Great Spirit’s eyes were calm and loving, but firm. “You were generous in giving man your dead limbs in order to burn for cooking. But your dead wood is not good enough for their other needs, as it crumbles when it is dry.” And the Great Spirit looked around at his creations that he had assembled. “Each of these,” He spread his arms around, “has given his life to the other for survival.” And then He looked back at the trees. “Of what measure is a gift of something already discarded?” And the Great Spirit looked at all of his assembled creations. “I have given you life.” He said. “Not to keep. But to share. For all life comes from me and I have shared it with you.” He again looked at the trees. “Give them life. Your life.”

“But what of our survival?” one of the trees asked.
“Brother Tree,” the eagle said, turning to him, “each of us takes the life of another only in the common necessity to survive. None of us takes that life for power or greed. That, I believe, is the essence of our contract.” And, as the eagle spoke these words, the Great Spirit nodded in agreement.

The following morning, all of the creatures returned to the land. And there was a great meeting near the mouth of the cave. The Great Spirit called the trees and man together to seal the contract, and for the other creatures to witness the agreement. But after the terms of the contract were explained to man, man looked deeply disturbed. “Brother Man”, inquired the deer, “what is the source of your anguish?” One of the men turned to the trees.

“When you left us, all of the animals left with you.” The trees rustled slightly with guilt. “Any many of us died. How can we believe that you will not do the same thing again?” And the man turned to the Great Spirit. “Father,” he said in the voice of a needy son, “The problem with the contract is that they do not need us to survive. But we need them.” And all of the animals murmured to each other in sympathy with man’s plight.

The trees turned to each other. There was a gentle rustle of branches in the cool night breeze as the trees entered into a deep discussion of the problem that man had presented. The tree that had acted as spokesman at the previous meetings, stood silently as he listened to each of his brother trees speak in turn. One suggestion after another was raised, only to be rejected by the others. Finally all of the trees turned toward the assembly of the Great Spirit’s creations. The tree spokesman called for attention.

“We cannot come to a common agreement on the dilemma that man has presented.” There was murmuring among the other creations. “However,” he said, “I believe that I have a solution.” His fellow trees turned their limbs to him in surprise. “Man is looking for a sign of trust from us that he can believe. Is that not right?” The assembled men nodded to themselves. “Well,” said the tree gravely, “I believe that I have found one.” All listened to the tree intently. “Great Father Spirit,” the tree spokesman began grandly, spreading his limbs out around him, “you have given many gifts to your creations. You have given flight to the winged creatures, the ability to swim to the underwater creatures, and swiftness of foot to the deer and the mountain lion, strength to the bear and the buffalo. You have given each of your creations a gift that has given it joy; but, most of all, has given it the ability to survive.” The tree paused to see that all were listening. But that was not necessary, for all were listening in suspense to hear his extraordinary offer. “However, the one gift that is most valued and enjoyed by the trees, is not really necessary for our survival. The ability to walk. The ability to dance.” The trees drew closer, for they could not believe what they were hearing. “If we surrender that ability, surrender it for all time, than man will have to trust us.”

The tree spokesman’s words were met with a tumultuous roar. “No!” cried all the trees in unison. “How could you even suggest that!” cried one.

“Hear me, brother trees!” cried the tree spokesman. And, as he raised his limbs, the other trees quieted down to listen to his words. “Great Father Spirit,” the tree spokesman said, “You have not told us of the one gift that you have given to man.” And, with this, all the creatures including man, looked around at the tree spokesman. “Why?” the tree spokesman asked, looking directly into the wisdom in the eyes of the Great Spirit.

“I did not tell you,” the Great Spirit replied calmly, “because man is still unaware that he has it.” What is it, all of the creatures asked in verbal cacophony?

“Our Great Father Spirit has given man intelligence.” The tree spokesman responded.

“How did you know?” Eagle asked the tree.

“Because I have been watching man,” the tree spokesman responded. “When he found himself unable to use our dead branches to kill prey, he quickly learned how to fashion a weapon that would.” Then the tree paused and looked at the Great Spirit.

“He is not sure how to use this gift yet,” said the Great Spirit.

“But he soon will,” responded the tree.

“Yes, he soon will,” admitted the Great Spirit. “And that is all the more reason why you all must enter into a contract with each other so that you will forever live in harmony, using each of your gifts to help the other. With this harmony, you will fashion a hoop of life that will encompass and protect you all. Each depending on the other. It is this hoop that is the essence of the contract.” Then the Great Spirit bowed his head with the weight of his thoughts. “Without it,” the Great Spirit said somberly, “there will be chaos.”

But how can we be sure that man will honor the contract?” the tree asked. “As he learns how to use his intelligence, man will become more and more clever. In time, all of the defenses that you have given all of us will be nothing compared to the intelligence that you gave to man. What if he uses this intelligence to do harm rather than good?”

I have created all of you to be interdependent. If he harms you, he will be harming himself,” the Great Spirit said gravely.

“We will honor this contract,” the man pleaded. “We have to. For without it, we will die.”

The tree turned to all assembled and, waving his limbs around to include all, he spoke directly to man. “We have behaved poorly. We have taken advantage of the gifts given to us for our enjoyment and survival and used them to hurt you. We will not do that again. And, as a sign of our pledge,” the tree continued, “we will sink our legs into the ground. For, being no longer able to roam as we please, we will find food and moisture form the earth.”

Saying this, the tree spokesman looked around at his fellow trees. There was a great silence as the trees looked at each other with resignation and understanding, for they knew that to agree to this would be the supreme sacrifice for them. And they understood the full impact of their decision. In their turn, each nodded silently to the tree spokesman. The breach had been healed and the contract made firm.



4.

Many years passed since the last council with the Great Spirit. The trees had done as they had promised. They had gathered into groups according to their common interests and sunk their legs into the moist soil of spring, forming small woodlands as well as thick mighty forests. The animals congregated around these groupings of trees for their needs as well as for the trees’ protection. It didn’t take long before no one could remember when they had last seen a tree dance. And, in time, trees became a predictable part of the landscape. With the exception of the rocks and stones that held all history within them, the dance of the trees was forgotten.

But not to the trees. For, although they could not move, they continued to wave their branches in the wind to melodies long forgotten. Melodies only they heard. And with each new sapling that grew from seed, the story passed down their narrow corridor of time as they repeated it again and again. And remembered.

The trees remembered. But man did not. As the small colony of men grew, they expanded across the land masses that made up the earth. They formed new colonies as they settled into new lands. Some of these colonies respected the contract made long ago. These colonies existed with the harmony of nature as the Great Spirit had ordained. There were others, however, that did not. And there developed among these men a new philosophy. One that sprung from the one gift that the Great Spirit had given man. The one gift the trees had feared most. The gift of intelligence.

For a new philosophy had developed among some of the colonies of man. And man began to use his intelligence not for survival as it had been meant to be used. But for dominance. Axes wielded by man cut down tree after tree as his colonies expanded across the vast reaches of the earth. Soon the sound of the axe was replaced by a deafening sound and an oily smell. And the trees, having long ago surrendered their ability to flee, surrendered again as whole forests fell before the sharp teeth of the buzz saw. Whole forests fell and the landscape became flat and barren as the animals that lived for centuries in the shade of these trees also departed. The contract that had been made for the benefit of man was again broken by man. But this time, the trees and the wildlife that resided among them could not call man to a meeting with the Great Spirit. For man had forgotten how to listen. So he did not hear their call.

The contract had been broken. And with it, the balance that the Great Spirit had intended, the hoop of life, had also been broken. It is this balance that must be returned to the earth. For if it is not, all life will die. If you do not believe it, listen to the trees as they moan in the wind for their lost freedom. Look at the trees, as they stretch their limbs to the sky, begging the Great Spirit to reestablish the hoop of life. Pleading with their Father Creator to force man to honor the contract.

The Broken Contract, Part 1

A number of years ago, I spent a considerable amount of time studying the culture of the Native Americans. I studied their religious beliefs, their cultures, even tried to learn the Lakota language through a series of tapes. The one key factor in all of their cultures was their love of nature and their belief that they had to live in balance with it. They believed that they should kill only for food. The Navajo used to inhale the last breath of the animal they killed so that they could carry its soul and honor its memory.

Today,we face the challenge of "global warming." We have plundered the earth for everything of value to us; and, in the process, have upset the balance of nature. And nature is now reacting to that abuse with unusual weather patterns, the melting of the polar ice caps and the deterioration of the ozone layer.

I wrote this story originally as a tribute to the Native peoples who have been the honest caretakers of the land for generations past. I looked at this story again, recently, with an eye to revision as writers do. It needs none.

So I am posting the first part of this story tonight, and will post the second half tomorrow night. I still consider it a tribute to the Native peoples, but now also as a cautionary tale. For if we do not heed its warning, we do so at our own peril.

Let us then be mindful of its message, and let us listen to the trees.


The Broken Contract
Christopher Bogart


“Well, son,” Horse said to the priest, “I think the Bible is full of mistakes. I thought I would correct them. For instance, where does it say that all living things are equal?”
The priest shook his head. “It doesn’t say that. It says that man has domination over the creatures of the earth.”
“Well, that’s what needs to be fixed. That’s part of the trouble, don’t you see?”
Mean Spirit, Linda Hogan




1.


As I walked further from the road and into the woods, the old leaves became deeper, crunched beneath my feet. Soon I was surrounded by trees. Their tall straight trunks extended up from the dry carpet of leaves and dry twigs to the bright sky far above me. Their bodies stood straight, still and silent as I walked past them. Yet I could hear the gentle rustle of their leaves above my head, as the wind seemed to play with them, changing the warm mottled design of sunlight that danced around my feet. As I walked onward through the trees, I became aware of a new sound – the moist trickle of water. Changing my direction, I walked to the right to seek the source of this sound. Within a few steps, I found myself at the edge of something. The ground in front of me sloped steeply downward. Smaller trees dotted the decline, spaced randomly. Grabbing hold of one of these trees for balance, I began to descend. By stepping crab-like while reaching out with my hands for one small tree after another, I was able to make my way down to the base of what appeared to be a small ravine.

Once I gained a foothold on flat solid ground, I looked around me. Just ahead of me was a stream. From its source somewhere to my left, this narrow eddy of water flowed past me until it disappeared between the trees to my right. As I walked a few steps to my left, I noticed that part of the wall of the ravine had eroded, revealing the massive roots of the large trees above. Like veins, these roots snaked their way through the wall of soil, holding it in place. I walked on now, looking for a place to sit. Up ahead a little and perched right at the water line, I found a rock large enough and flat enough to sit on.

The bottom of the clear flowing water was populated with dark stones, splotched with yellow and brown. Reaching down, I scooped a few up with my fingers. They lay rounded, shiny and wet in my open hand. I tossed the first one. It plopped into the cool, clear water in front of me, then sank to the bottom. I tossed the second one with the same result. The third, I held between my thumb and my fingers to examine it closer. The stone was smooth and black, with highlights of mahogany. In a quick decision to keep it, I wrapped my fingers around it tightly.




2.

A very long time ago, trees walked over the face of the earth. Because they needed neither shelter nor heavy coats to keep them warm, they became the most independent of all creatures. They traveled over the land on short legs that made them seem to float just a little above the ground. They were truly the most independent of all the creatures that the Great Spirit created, for they did not have to look for food, as the rains and the air provided them with the minerals and moisture they needed to survive. All that they had to do was to sink a few of their many legs into the water-soaked ground to absorb all of the nutrition that they needed. Once fed, they simply pulled their legs out of the shallows, and continued on their way.

They were gentle creatures, as they had no need to hunt and had no natural predators. So day after day, they could be seen gliding over the plains, their leafy limbs swaying in the breezes, dancing to melodies that floated on the winds, melodies only they heard.

As time passed, different types of trees developed different attributes, different styles. And that diversity, as it was with many others in the very diverse spectrum of creation, only increased their ability to survive and thrive. The birch, for instance, clumped together, tall and thin, dressed in white bark and small heart-shaped leaves. The oak grew a single thick trunk with massive branches that produced leaves each of which seemed to possess six stubby fingers. The willow's trunk grew with an odalisque shape, and from it, long drooping branches with slivered leaves that tossed to and fro with the slightest breeze. The stately tulip grew tall and thick, laden with pale yellow flowers among their broad leaves. The cherry, for three days in spring, bloomed the most delicate pink flowers that were blown like pink snow, carpeting the ground below it. The sturdy pines, and their scrubby relatives, did not have leaves at all but dark green needles that remained with them throughout the change of seasons.

Their variety of species was as endless as the places each chose to locate. The oaks seemed most content to dominate the open fields, while the willows favored lakes and streams, where they could stare at themselves in endless fascination. The pines were most at home in sandy soil and on rocky hillsides where the wind could moan through their boughs. No matter where these many varieties of trees traveled, they had developed specific provisions for their future. For whether it was pine cone, acorn, or seed ball, the trees reproduced each year, even though their own life cycle was long and enduring.

To the many other species that the Great Spirit had created, he offered them too both protection and procreation. To the fish in the seas, rivers and lakes, he gave fins and scales. They reproduced by eggs. To the mammals that walked on four legs, he gave thick fur, sharp teeth and the ability to conceal themselves from their enemies. They bore their young live and spent months raising them. To the winged creatures, he gave feathers and the gift of flight. They soared through the skies over the trees to protect and provide for their progeny. Even to the smallest of insects, he gave unique and creative ways of locomotion, concealment and procreation. In short, the Great Spirit guaranteed to each of his creations the ability to sustain, as well as reproduce, life. And the only thing he demanded in return was that they ate only what they needed, and respected the life and habitats of others.

The same however was not true of man. Man had no thick coat to protect him from the elements. As a matter of fact, his rather pathetic covering of hair only decreased with time, heaving him bare, his skin exposed to the winds and rain, the snows and the hot rays of the sun. He tried to eat the berries and the plants, but many of them were indigestible to his system. For a long time he kept a respectful distance from the Great Spirit’s other creations until one of them died. It was then that man would strip the carcass of its winter coat, drying it out so that he may be able to use it as his own. However, this was not enough. The Great Spirit saw man, alone among the other creatures, beginning to die from cold, from hunger and from fear. And he knew what he had to do.

As the sun began to set one evening, he called all of his creations, save man, to a meeting. “My children,” he said, “I have created you all from my love of life. I am your father, and you are brothers and sisters.” All the animals nodded to each other, and the trees waved their branches in assent. “You all have prospered on the earth where I have placed you. All except man. When I created him, I did not give him the protections that I gave all of you. And now I must do something, for if I don’t, he will surely die.” There was much murmuring among the creatures, and the Great Spirit waited patiently until it was finished, for these creatures were his children, and he wanted them to find a solution that they could all live with. Finally Brother Fish broke the silence.

“There are many of us that populate the lakes and streams. Enough to insure our continued existence for generations to come. Surely we could surrender the spirits of some among us to join you early so that man could use our bodies to eat and survive.”

“That’s very generous of you, Brother Fish.” Said Deer. “But your scales will not keep him warm in winter. However our coats would, so I think that we would be of more use to him.” Rabbit, not to be outdone, volunteered his kind as well. And so it went, until all of the creatures had spoken, offering their own flesh and blood to help to save their brother, man. All spoke, save the trees.

The Great Spirit waited patiently again as they each offered their help, satisfied that his creations were coming to the aid of their brother, man. But when the last of the animals had spoken, he again addressed them.

“All of this is good,” the Great Spirit said. “But it is not enough.” A look of complete surprise registered around the assembly. “Man can only eat food that has been freshly killed and cooked, for if he continually eats carrion, then he will die.” He paused to let these thoughts register. Then, slowly, he turned to the trees. “My sons and daughters,” he said, gazing directly at the assemblage of trees. “Could you not help us?” Somewhat distressed, the trees began to murmur to each other as the wind rustled their leaves. Finally, a great oak spoke.

“Great Father Creator,” the oak said, rather firmly, “We have considered your words, and agree that we must help. When we die, our bodies are not edible, and our bark no protection from the wind and rain. However, our bodies are burnable, if you but give man the fire from your lightning bolts. From our burning bodies, he can cook his food and keep warm. And our fallen limbs will provide him with arrows that he can swiftly kill our brother creatures, if Brother Eagle would bestow his guidance.”

“Guidance? How, Brother Tree?” Eagle said, curiously.

“Your fallen feathers, Brother, will provide our limbs with accuracy, so they may be able to find their target swiftly and mercifully.”

“Well spoken, Brother.” Eagle said, dipping his beak in respect. “Well spoken.” And with that, Eagle turned his head to the Great Spirit. “Great Father Creator,” Eagle said, “I think that all of us have agreed to help to keep your creation, man, alive.” “But.” and his wizened eyes narrowed as he spoke to the Great Spirit; “Man must only use what he needs. He must never kill for surplus, or to achieve dominance over us or his own kind. For if he does, he will endanger our own survival.” Eagle paused, looking around at the other creatures. “If he can agree to this simple contract, we will abide by what we promised here tonight. And he will be our brother.” All of the other creatures nodded in agreement with Eagle’s words.

“He will agree.” The Great Spirit responded. “He has to agree.”

So the Great Spirit visited man and explained the terms of the contract that his brother creatures proposed for his survival. And man agreed because he had to agree. For, without the contract, he would perish.

And, for a while, the contract worked. Man fished in the lakes and the streams, and cooked his catch over fire provided by his father, the Great Spirit, and fueled by the dead wood that the trees provided. Yet he left the four-legged animals alone; for, while he made his arrows with the dead branches of the trees, and feathered them with the eagle’s feathers, the branches crumbled harmlessly against the furry hides of the four-legged as they romped away. Satisfied with the fish he caught, and the berries he picked, man survived.

For a time.


To be continued tomorrow night ...

"Whoever Saves One Life, Saves the World Entire"

I have been home for the last few days, recuperating from a recent illness. Today, I watched Schindler's List for probably the twelfth time. It is a very powerful movie about a topic that most of us know a great deal about from the various TV specials and books that have been authored about the Holocaust over the last sixty years. The New Jersey State Core Curriculum has a Holocaust Study unit in the curriculum itself. However, that curriculum was not there when I was in high school. The first I learned about the Holocaust was when I was a sophomore in high school and found a book by Rudolph Vrba, a Holocaust survivor, titled I Cannot Forgive. I was amazed by what I read in that book. Amazed and horrified. After all, my father fought in World War II. He was on a minesweeper that took part in the Invasion at Normandy. I was born four months after Japan surrendered in August, 1945. Yet, I never heard anyone speak about the dozens of concentration camps that spotted the European landscape only a few years before.

Over the years, I viewed, read and learned about this abomination in human history, and tried to grapple with what could have motivated a people to put ten million people to death, people who had done nothing them. So when I first saw Schindler's List, it was not a new experience even though it was a very powerful one. The story of Oskar Schindler fascinated me in a way none of the previous information I learned had. Here was an ethnic German, and a member of the Nazi Party, who seemed to turn from what his country's policy had been to the Jews, and took a different path. Oskar Schindler was a womanizer, an alcoholic and a man that was addicted to the "good life." He was an industrialist who was more than willing to take advantage of the bad fortune of the Jews to absorb Jewish money to increase his own fortune. Jews, who once owned their own businesses, were now absorbed into Schindler's future, their money financing Shindler's industry, their bodies working in his factories.

As I learned about this story, I looked for something to explain what would make a crass materialist and opportunist change his whole focus in the middle of a war to transform himself from a materialist to a humanitarian. What would motivate a Nazi Party member to defy his country's policy of the racial extermination of a people to help that people to survive at the cost of his own fortune. His past did not indicate that he had the profile of a hero, yet a hero he was for he ended up saving, at the risk of his life and at the expense of everything he owned or had formally held dear, almost 1,300 people. What made him do that? Did he have what some call a "Damascus moment", a reference to Saul, a Roman citizen and persecutor of the Christians, to Paul, a Christian saint? If so, what was the motivation? When was the moment? History doesn't tell us. He just did it.

The writer Herbert Steinhouse, who interviewed Schindler in 1948 at the behest of some of the surviving Schindlerjuden (Schindler's Jews), wrote:
Oskar Schindler's exceptional deeds stemmed from just that elementary sense of decency and humanity that our sophisticated age seldom sincerely believes in. A repentant opportunist saw the light and rebelled against the sadism and vile criminality all around him. The inference may be disappointingly simple, especially for all amateur psychoanalysts who would prefer the deeper and more mysterious motive that may, it is true, still lie unprobed and unappreciated. But an hour with Oskar Schindler encourages belief in the simple answer. Wikapedia, the free encyclopedia

Whenever or however he made that decision, he made it none the less. And that decision was made at an immense expense in treasure, the real risk of his own life, and the peril of his future. That decision saved almost 1,300 people to live to be over 10,000 today. That decision made it possible for the state of Israel to declare a German, a member of the Nazi Party a "righteous gentile" and allow him to be buried in Jerusalem, the capital of the Jewish state, where Jews from all over the world leave a stones on his grave, year after year, as a tribute to his courage in making it. And that is the decision that fascinates me. For in a world that seems to be getting more selfish and greedy every year, here was a man that, in perilous times, was able to make a decision against his own self interest, and at the peril of his own life, to "save the world entire" for over 10,000 people.

That decision that Oscar Schindler made over sixty years ago, makes me believe that making decisions like his are a part of our humanity. It is that belief that gives me hope that each one of us can get beyond our baser instincts to choose to be righteous ourselves.

Sonnet 13

Sonnet 13
Christopher Bogart

I saw him on the street not long ago,
Surrounded by cold stone and wrapped in rags.
I thought it’d been so long I’d barely know.
His form reminded me when memory flagged.
His boyish face bore marks of both extremes –
An innocence he was ashamed to bear,
With eyes that pleaded out in high pitched screams,
Betraying features drawn in stark despair.
I stood upon that city street and stared,
As half-abandoned buildings gathered ‘round.
He called to me as if he knew I cared.
I stood there mute – feet rooted to the ground.
I’ve often stood upon that street to see
Whether that boy with eyes that plead is me.