Justified Outrage

Sometimes, people wonder why Democrats bother to dissent. What was the point of attacking Alberto Gonzales or Condoleeza Rice if they did not have the votes to achieve their goals?

What is most fascinating about politics is that it's not purely driven by logistics. American politics, at least, is run by the people... people with at least an iota of heart and human empathy.

The following is from a diary at Daily Kos by a man who was truly moved by his grandfather's firsthand experience of "human" cruelty.

Read it. It will inspire you and haunt your memory.

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Last year at my grandfather's funeral, I made a promise to both him and myself that I would fight to the very end to prevent the evil that he had to endure in his life from happening again. Everyday when I look into the blue eyes of my daughter, the same blue eyes my grandfather had, I am reminded of that promise and know that it is not only a promise to him, but to her as well.

In the fall of 1943, after being captured by the Nazis in the Ukraine, my grandfather was sent to Auschwitz. At first, he was just one of many Soviet POWs held at the camp, but it was later discovered that he was Jewish, so he was removed from the Soviet soldiers and placed with the other European Jews. My grandfather never knew why he survived while others parished, but there was never a day that passed after liberation in 1945 that he thanked God for that gift of life.

My grandfather was able to get to England and then on to America to restart his life. He raised 5 children and later cherished his 22 grandchildren. He loved to work in his garden, even on the hottest of days. As a child, I always wondered why he wore long shirts even on those August days when it would easily be 100 degrees (even in the shade). When I was 9, I caught my grandfather shaving in the bathroom and that is when I saw it: His Camp Number - 58877241.

Not knowing any better, I asked him why he got such a "stupid tattoo". He told me that he really didn't want to get it and quickly tried to cover it with a towel. I followed him asking him, "Why don't you get it removed then?" He stop dead in the hallway and without turning around said "So I don't forget." We never discussed it again.

When he died last summer, I told myself that he was finally at peace. As I stood over his coffin with my wife, I reached down and took his arm in mine. I unbuttoned his sleeve and rolled it up. I looked at the number again - 58877241. My wife looked at me and asked "Why are you doing that?" All I could say was "So I don't forget." Right then I made my promise to him - Never again.

Now when I see the hate and bigotry that comes out of those that call them "Christians" or "Moral People", I know that this is how it began seven decades ago in Europe. It was too late, when people finally woke up, millions had been carted away in cattle cars to their deaths.

I don't want to see that here or anywhere else. I do not want there to be cattle cars filled with people that these hate mongers scream out against. I do not want to see gays, liberals, Mexicans, hippies, Hollywood Actors, or anyone else have to be tattooed with a number. No more 58877241s.

This summer, my family and I will be traveling to Auschwitz, so my children understand what there grandfather went through. I want my daughter to know why I see him in her eyes. And then everytime I look in her eyes I will see hope and love and not 58877241.

So to the Phelps and Coulters of the world, you are on notice, we will fight your hate because we will not have this happen again.

[an] email [I received]-

After reading your email, I was moved to tears because it reminded me of my grandfather, Ivan Feduleyev. He was also a soldier in the Red Army, captured in the Ukraine. He was taken to Auschwitz as a POW. At first his unit was held in a special part of the camp, but things changed when the guards heard from one of the officers that there were Jewish soldiers in the unit.

All of the soldiers were beaten for a few days as the guards demanded they identify the Jews. None of them would identify the Jewish troops. Finally, the Captain of the Guard decided that the only way to make them talk was to execute one of the soldiers. They brought the unit into a yard and lined the soldiers up for selection. They choose my grandfather. They hauled him in front
of a firing squad. The Captain of the Guard again demanded that the Jews among them be identified. Then one of the soldiers came forward and identified himself as a Jew. The Captain grabbed him and hauled him away and stopped the execution. The troops never saw the soldier again.

[....]

My grandfather never forgot that soldier's name, he named his first son after him, Roman. The soldier's name was Roman Edemskoi.

[....]

Roman Edemskoi (58877241) was my grandfather.