A blog post has been a long time coming! I have closed a major chapter of
my life since my last post, and I am on the brink of opening the next
chapter! (Side note: Just as I was
typing this post, I was contacted by the Peace Corps with details for my departure. I am in Berlin, Germany, right now, but
I was able to place a call and book my travel exactly one month from
today. It looks like “real life”
will be starting soon, and I am so excited to begin!)
The period of time surrounding my graduation from college
was filled with a flood of emotions, packed in between final exams, saying
goodbyes, and moving back in with mom and dad. Now, I am a few weeks and a few worlds away from college,
and it feels strangely wonderful to officially be an alumnus. I have been traveling with my family
through Germany, Austria, Hungary, and the Czech Republic for almost two weeks
now. I have seen some of the most
incredible sights in Europe and heard beautiful classical music over the past
two weeks. But I have also have
run into a few things headfirst that I’ve been thinking about…
I have taught music lessons for many years now. A few weeks before the end of my last
term in college, I was teaching piano lessons to the children of a small family
whom I have taught for a few years now.
Teaching presents moments of joy and unique challenges alike for
me. I teach four children in this
family; the youngest just turned 5 years old and the oldest recently turned
12. The children are
second-generation Ukranian-Americans, and, like any American kids, are
constantly shuttled between travel soccer, hockey, and lacrosse practices and
games, dance and gymnastics lessons, and Ukranian language school. I teach them in their home, in a
beautiful, sun-filled room that frames a wonderful grand piano. One day during our lessons, a tall boy
kept poking his head in and out.
After one of the kids finished, I was playing the piano myself when he entered,
speaking rapidly in a language I didn’t understand. Ukranian? I
smiled, confused, and he just gave me a universal symbol – the thumbs up. He talked a bit more, and I understood
that his name was Dima. He wears
an eye patch on his right eye, and dresses like any other teenager. While I was introducing myself, the
youngest child walked in, and we began her lesson. Dima gave a wave and slipped out of the room. I told the child, Mia, that her cousin
stopped in. She squinted and said,
“He’s not my cousin.” But she
couldn’t quite explain who he was.
We ended lessons for the week, and the boy remained a mystery.
The next week, I was in a meeting a few hours before I was
supposed to head to their home to teach.
I received a text message from the childrens’ mother stating that Dima
wanted to have a piano lesson that day.
She mentioned that he had never played music before, but seemed to pick
up quite a bit of “Fur Elise” while playing on a mobile app earlier that
week. I didn’t have anything to
lose, so I agreed to teach him. I
stopped by my house to pick up some sheet music, in case we got past do, re,
and mi that day. An hour later, I
was completely flabbergasted. When
I arrived at their home, Dima was all smiles and already waiting at the piano. I didn’t understand a word he was
saying, and he had no idea what I was saying. So I tried something crazy – I used the universal language
of music. I played the opening of
Fur Elise. Then I slowed it down,
and played it line by line for him.
About forty minutes later, Dima could play the entire right-hand
melody! Brimming from ear to ear,
he ran to retrieve members of the family, and played for them to much
applause. Music is a beautiful
language, and we were able to make music without having a word of spoken
language in common.
I learned later just how little Dima and I had in common. He was 17 years old, and yes, he had
come from Ukraine. But no, he was
not on vacation, and no, he was not a family member. He was a college student in Kiev, and was engaged in the
peaceful protests in the city center when snipers opened fire on the demonstration. Dima was shot through the eye with two
bullets that lodged in his mouth.
His family in Ukraine could not afford music lessons for the
boy, and much less so medical treatment for him. So how did Dima end up playing piano with me? The concerted effort of the Ukranian
Embassy, an NGO, and good samaritans along the way helped Dima get to the
United States to get specialized ophthalmic treatment. Since Dima is a minor, his brother, a
law student who was also involved in the peaceful protest, accompanied
him. My students’ father is the
Director of the Kresge Eye Institute in Detroit, as was able to find surgeons
to help Dima pro bono – without salary.
Dima won’t regain sight in his eye, but reconstruction of his eye and
orbit will help him to live a normal life. My students’ family decided to open their home to the boys
during the months when he would receive medical care, and this is how I ended
up playing Beethoven’s most famous melody with Dima.
The next week, Dima was already playing when I arrived at
their home. I wish I had half of
the musical talent that this boy did!
That day, I taught him the accompanying left hand, note-by-note. Just when I thought he was exhausted,
he said he was ready for more in our language of awkward smiles and hand
signals. Ten or fifteen minutes
later, he was playing with both hands and an expressive style that even
Beethoven would have approved of.
I couldn’t wait for our next lesson – I had so much new music I wanted
to try! But Dima had other
plans. He arrived at the piano
with a leather notebook, and communicated to me that he needed me to write down
all the notes. I let out a huge
sigh, but he insisted. I taught
him every note on the keyboard (and, I guess, a different alphabet, too. “F” is a difficult one for him!). Then, he wanted me to write down all
the notes in Fur Elise. No, he
motioned, the sheet music I brought was not enough. And his hopeful smile compelled me to agree. By our fourth lesson, Dima had
memorized every note on the keyboard (“F” was still a tough one) and recited it
to me. He could play beautifully,
but wanted to say something to me.
He excused himself and came back with a small tablet, loaded with Google
Translate. He spoke into it, and
Google translated his sentences into a garbled English that only made me
giggle. Well, I guess we learned
that music was a better language, anyway!
Dima thanked me profusely after each lesson, usually coming back to the
piano a few more times to say thank you again. His happiness is contagious. I wonder if he knows that I look forward to our lessons
every week.
I haven’t seen him in over two weeks now, and I know his
surgeries are supposed to be complete sometime soon. I’m not even sure if I’ll see him again. He taught me a few lessons that I think
I needed to learn before I serve a culture far removed from mine.
Firstly, universal languages are the most useful to
know. Music is one of them. Human emotions – smiles, laughter,
tears – are another. With Dima, my
words always failed to get my point across, but these universal language helped
us to communicate with harmony.
Secondly, I need to be truly thankful for the rights I hold
as an American. It’s hard to understand the privileges that we experience as
citizens of the United States from a textbook. But from Dima’s story, even the youngest child can
understand it. My youngest
student, Mia, is 5 years old. One
day, she stopped in the middle of playing a piece and said to me, “Someone hurt
Dima when he was just outside. Not
everyone can just go outside like me and be safe.”
Finally, the resilience of the human spirit is amazing. Dima was 17 years old, and had a story
far removed my reality. I thought
more about the resilience of the human spirit through one of our world’s
darkest times during my travels…
In Prague, the capital of the Czech Republic, my family and
I visited Josefov, the former Jewish quarter. Anti-Semitism reached a terrible peak during the Second
World War, but Jews had been sent to ghettos like Josefov long before the seeds
of war were strewn. To me, the
most powerful exhibit in the quarter was one of the drawings of children from
the Terezin Concentration Camp.
Terezin was a Nazi concentration camp on the outskirts of Prague, where
150,000 Jews were interned. The
vast majority perished in the camp.
Yet, these drawings are rare proof that somewhat normal life existed in
the camp. One woman, Friedl
Dicker-Brandeis, devoted her time to the children in the camp. She trained them to release their feelings
in drawings and poems. The results
are raw and powerful. Some
children drew photos of forced labor and gas masks – stories we know well. Yet, others depicted everyday life –
family meals in the camp, spending time with siblings, even butterflies. Many depict “transport” – the
deportation to death camps. One
statistic that I learned that day echoed in my head. Out of 8,000 children who lived in the Terezin ghetto, 6,500
were sent to death camps. Less
than 100 of these children survived, not a single one under the age of 14. Yet, these children drew pictures and
composed poems. They played games
and were picky eaters, and made the best of an unimaginable situation. Friedl Dicker-Brandeis was murdered in
Aushwitz, but her suitcase was later found with over 4,500 childrens’ drawings
that are preserved to this day.
They are a testament to the resilience of her spirit, and the spirit of
thousands of children in the face of terror and some of the cruelest acts our
world has ever seen.
Today is June 6, 2014 - four days after my visit to Prague,
four weeks after my lessons with Dima.
And, it is the 70th anniversary of D-Day, the fateful day that the
Allied Troops invaded the beach at Normandy, and changed the course of the
Second World War. Today, I visited
the Germany History Museum in Berlin, Germany, where wounds from the war are
not completely healed. Embedded in
a city center with magnificent fountains and ornate domes are exhibits that
objectively display some of Germany’s biggest wounds. Throughout the exhibit on World War II, I picked up on more
evidence of the resilient human spirit.
The weak were singled out and murdered by one of the most evil regimes
ever known to man. But the strong
stood fast to their principles, and their stories from the war are not often
told. Gerda Langosch was 22 – my
age – when the war ended. She published
a diary immediately after the war ended, and it is a story of resilience. In war, there are no winners – only
losers. World War II was a war
that the whole world lost. The
people of Germany were hungry, poor, and tired of turmoil after the war, but
they began their lives anew. After
the war, people turned old gas masks into petroleum lamps, and turned tin cans
into shovels that were used to clear the ruins of their cities. Millions of Germans, Soviets, Poles,
and citizens from all over the world were lost due to the war, but life began
anew for the survivors.
Today, after a day seeing the sights and sounds of Berlin, I
flipped on the television in our apartment to a BBC broadcast. With thoughts of the day still stewing
in my head, I listened to world leaders reflect on the 70th anniversary of
D-Day. Our darling Queen Elizabeth
of Britain addressed crowds in Paris to honor the French people. She made a few good points that rang
true to me – that all of our actions are measured on how long the good in them
lasts. And, she echoed the same
lesson that Mia and I learned from Dima, asserting, “Our peace and prosperity
must never be taken for granted.”
Barack Obama commemorated the soldiers who sacrificed
everything they had on D-Day, saying, “Whenever the world makes you cynical [.
. .] stop and think of these men.”
President Obama gave us yet another example of the most resilient human
spirits, who fought for our principles with the ultimate sacrifice.
President Obama, then, had his first face-to-face exchange
with Vladimir Putin, the president of Russia, since Russia annexed the Crimea
region of Ukraine. President Putin
also had his first meeting with Petro Poroshenko, the newly minted
President-elect Ukraine. According
to BBC news, both called for a quick end to the bloodshed. In order to make diplomatic agreements,
Putin called for an immediate cease-fire before “talks” could begin.
So, it seems that Dima may go home to a country less riddled
with violence. I hope I can see
him again before he does.
Regardless, he has taught a sheltered girl from the suburbs of Detroit
an invaluable lesson about the resilience of the human spirit that I have explored in contexts far away from home. In a world where evil can permeate our most intimate moments,
we are sometimes shocked by the goodness of some human hearts. In soldiers who fight fearlessly for
ideals, and in college students who express their dissent across the world. In a world where evil happens every
day, we must remember that humans are mostly good, and more durable than any
steel. Human will is
stronger than any man-made weapon, and an army of resilience can stand up to
any curtain of iron.
