Amazing Women I Know

I know a lot of amazing women.

My mother is one, my grandmother was one, my aunt Doreen is one...and that's just my family. I don't even know where to start when I get to the amazing women who are my friends.

Today, I met an amazing woman. And when I say amazing, I mean that after I spoke to her, I was so amazed that I wasn't sure what to think, much less what to say. I was stunned and speechless and emotionally wrung out.

In a good way, I was overwhelmed.

This woman's name is Gizella. She was about seventy five, maybe younger, maybe older, I'm not sure. She was about four feet tall and had that same sort of kindly grandmother face, except she was more petite in every sense than any grandmother I've ever met before. Her eyes alone were amazing; they were huge, expressive, cheerful-- and they were this remarkably clear, bright aquamarine color with dark blue-green circles rimming her irises. I've never seen such beautiful eyes before.

Gizella was born in Poland. She was a member of the Polish underground until it was discovered that she was a Jew who had somehow escaped the Lodz ghetto, and then she was sent to the Majdanek death camp. Her family, her parents and her brother, died at Belzec, the death camp of which there are only two known survivors. Before she joined the Polish underground she saw Nazis shoot an entire community and dump them into crude ditches while she was hiding in the bushes. She slaved and scraped by at Majdanek, passing herself off as healthy by pinching her cheeks and biting her lips to give herself some color, until she was made to dig her own grave, but before she was shot the Allies appeared to save the day, all too late to save the rest of her family.

She did not speak about what had happened to her until 1970 -- almost thirty years after she had experienced it -- when she was living in Raleigh with her husband and two small children, and now, she says that she cannot stop talking about it, hoping that we all "understand what a precious thing you have in the democracy of this great nation...that you understand that this country is not perfect, but it is beautiful, and we must hold on to the freedom that makes it so special."

She told us her story today -- us being about 40 History and English teachers from around the area -- over the course of about three hours, which didn't seem long enough to sum up such a remarkable life. She had a remarkable (and sometimes wicked) sense of humor, and a sense of joy about the world and about her life that I absolutely could not believe.

I suppose I expect everyone who survived something as horrible as the Holocaust to be shells. I expect something that horrible to completely gut somebody, to eviscerate their souls. I expect to see somebody so full of sorrow for what they've seen that a smile seems difficult and a laugh seems damn near impossible.

Not Gizella.

Gizella was so full of joy and love, it was as if she had to overproduce it to make up for all of the joy and love that was sucked out of her life the instant the Nazis invaded her hometown. She told me today about going back to Poland to visit the Belzec death camp, where her family died, from which she was miraculously spared. The memorial has the names of thousands of those who died there -- including her parents and her brother. She tried to touch all of their names, but because she is so short (she cracked short jokes about herself pretty much all day) she could not reach her father's name. She suddenly felt someone lifting her up to touch her father's name; she reached it, touched it, and turned around to see an American marine standing behind her, smiling. I got teary and she hugged me and took my hands and said in her thick Polish accent, "Don't you cry, now!"

I was at a loss for words.

She lost her mother -- I've been thinking about mothers alot lately, and that made me think of all of my other "amazing women -- " and still, she was the one telling me not to cry. I just kept thinking about how incredible and unbelieveable it was that she still found joy in life, after she had lost what was most precious to her. I was suddenly so grateful for everything, especially for all of my amazing mothers, aunts and sisters.

I wanted to share this, and to offer it up as a thanks to "the Big G" (which is how Gizella refers to God) for this country (despite all it's faults), for my life, for Gizella, and for all of the amazing women I know -- some of the things I love most in this old world. Whether she meant to or not, she reminded me today that I have so very much to be thankful for.

I think now, when I picture God, I might just think of Gizella.