When I was in Germnay, I met a man who had lived through a Nazi concentration camp. A few of you have probably heard me talk about him. His name was Herbert Dahlhaus. He was a German, but he fell in love with a Jewish girl. He tried to hide her, but was eventually discovered. She was taken away, never to be seen again. He was put into a camp, where he suffered things I think it would be impossible for all but a very few in the world to comprehend. He said that there were times when he prayed that the allied bombers, flying overhead, would send a bomb into the hole he was kept in, because it would be easier to die than to go on.
Of course, Herbert Dahlhaus survived. When I met him, he let me promptly into his apartment and offered me the best he could in hospitality.
Why?
Because I am an American, and because it was Americans who liberated him from that camp all those years ago.
As Herbert told it, he considered the soldiers coming in as angels sent from God, and looked on them as his benefactors, as his saviors. They fed him, clothed him, and nursed him back to health.
And, when I met him, forty three years later, he still remembered their courage, and their kindness.
So, what's the point of all of this? Why am I wasting your time with this?
Herbert Dahlhaus could tell you why: the good things in life are borne on the blood, sweat, tears, and service of those who are willing to give more than just the norm. You can be as cynical or as self-serving as you want, but, in the end, you can only be that because someone else wasn't, and they chose to do something that would benefit you, while quite possibly costing them dearly.
Currently, I live every day surrounded by men and women who wear a small red, white, and blue flag on their right shoulder. Some of them want to be where they are. Some do not. Whatever the case, their presence deters the kind of evils that my friend Herbert Dahlhaus had to suffer.
In other parts of the world, similar men and women are even more actively campaigning to destroy such evil.
They don't necessarily want to be there. But many realize that they need to be there.
When the Persians invaded Greece, a small contingent of Spartan soldiers stood their ground to hold off an entire invading army at the pass of Thermopolyae. The Persian commander sent word to the Spartans that he would fill the sky with so many arrows it would block out the sun. The Spartan's reply was quite simple:
"Then we'll fight in the shade."
They did what they needed to do, and even in defeat gained Greece enough time to muster a final victory against the Persians at Marathon. The grand achievements of Greece's golden age, the plays, the architecture, the laws, the philosophy - things we still appreciate, and concepts by which still define our existence - all are
a direct result of that victory.
But none of the Spartans at Thermopolyae lived to enjoy it..
When I see the men and women with the little flag on their shoulder, I can't help but think of those Spartans, or the outnumbered men at Concord and Lexington, or the 101st airborne at Bastogne. And when I think of them, I realize that the phrase: "greater love hath no man than this, that he lays down his life for his friends" has a far greater depth and breadth of meaning than, perhaps, we give it due. Because every freedom enjoyed by any human being on the globe was purchased at the price of another's sacrifice.
Herbert Dahlhaus recognized that sacrifice, and expressed gratitude for it for the remainder of his life. In his eyes, there was no human quite as good as an American soldier.
And, while some, sadly, have sullied that reputation, and dishonored the uniform they wear, I believe that Herbert was right.
Again, the cynics will scoff at such sentiment. That disturbs me not at all. For myself, I am glad to stand with those who have given the cynics the freedom to be cynical.
Because, in the end, we must give credit where credit is due. We must recognize the simple fact that force must, in the end, be met with force, and that peace is achieved not through dreaming, but through action.
If you want to thank someone for the life you lead or the life you might someday have, or simply for the life that has not been taken, do what Herbert Dahlhaus did. He wasn't opening the door for me. He was opening the door for those young men who rescued him all those years ago. He was thanking them, through his hospitality to me.
Express your gratitude at the gound level of it all:
