The Keeper of Hidden Books

by Madeline Martin

“Gott Mit Uns.” God with us. She might have snorted at the absurdity of such words were her life not precariously teetering toward a violent end.

By the end of the first chapter, she’d already figured out who had taken the key and was now simply reading to confirm her assumption.

Good books were like amazing sunsets or awe-inspiring landscapes, better enjoyed with someone else. There was no greater experience in the world than sharing the love of a book, discussing its finer points, and reliving the story all over again.

it was also exhilarating to know they were doing something to help others, to offer a modicum of right in a world that felt so hopelessly wrong.

It whispered to her in the silence, a promise only a book can make to a reader, to offer a journey unique to them, tailored to the path that life had led them.

There was power in literature. Brilliant and undeniable. Books inspired free thought and empathy, an overall understanding and acceptance of everyone. In the pages of books that were burned and banned and ripped apart for pulping, Zofia had found herself. These were the parts of her that were human and strong and loving, parts that understood lives she had never led.

We cannot let the atrocities and persecution of the Jews slip between the cracks of history. We cannot allow education to be stifled or cultures to be erased or books to be banned. Nor can we let the memory of those brave men and women who fought for freedom and what is right disappear in the turning pages of time. The world also needs to remember to never take for granted what has been gifted to us through the sacrifice of others: the right to an education and learning, the power and luxury of freedom, and the beauty to appreciate the routine of simple, everyday life.

I have died a thousand deaths, but that did not define me. Instead, I lived a thousand lives and it is for that reason that I now can write our story for future generations to always remember.