The boy had thought it a great accomplishment to meet death so well. Now—he wrote—fate was offering him a similar chance.
Those of us who saw the film called Resurrection—taken from a book by Tolstoy—years ago, may have had similar thoughts.
Here were great destinies and great men. For us, at that time, there was no great fate; there was no chance to achieve such greatness.
After the picture we went to the nearest café, and over a cup of coffee and a sandwich
we forgot the strange metaphysical thoughts which for one moment had crossed our minds.
But when we ourselves were confronted with a great destiny and faced with the decision of meeting it with equal spiritual greatness,
by then we had forgotten our youthful resolutions of long ago, and we failed.
Perhaps there came a day for some of us when we saw the same film again, or a similar one.
But by then other pictures may have simultaneously unrolled before one’s inner eye;
pictures of people who attained much more in their lives than a sentimental film could show.
Some details of a particular man’s inner greatness may have come to one’s mind,
like the story of the young woman whose death I witnessed in a concentration camp.
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