Human Resilience

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.