爱的渴求
1942年那个阴暗的冬天，天气很冷，非常的冷。但是与纳粹集中营中的每一天相比，这并没有什么不同。小男孩赫尔曼穿着单薄的破旧衣服，颤抖着站在那里。他一直怀疑这是不是一个噩梦，此刻他本应该和朋友们一起玩耍；应该去上学；应该期盼着将来的长大和结婚，有一个属于他自己的家庭。但是这些都是那些活着的人的梦，赫尔曼不再是他们其中的一个。相反，他快要死了，自从赫尔曼同千万个犹太人一起，从家中被带到这，一天又一天、一个小时又一个小时，他都是在挣扎着活下去。明天他还能活着吗？今晚他会不会被送进毒气室？赫尔曼沿着带刺的铁丝网来来回回地走，尽力使瘦弱的躯体暖和起来。他很饿，饿的很久了，这种饥饿的感觉甚至比他能记得的时间都要长。赫尔曼总是饿，可吃的食物看起来就像是个梦。每一天他都同样的失望，过去的幸福看起来都只是一个梦，他越来越绝望。突然，赫尔曼注意到一个小女孩正从铁丝网的另一边走过来。她停下来用悲哀的眼神看着赫尔曼，她的眼神似乎在告诉赫尔曼，她能够理解他的苦难，虽然她也不能彻底了解为什么赫尔曼会被关在集中营里。赫尔曼想转过脸去，被一个陌生人这么看着，让赫尔曼充满了奇特的羞耻感，但是他不能流泪。
她把手伸入口袋中，拿出了一个红苹果，一个漂亮的、发着光泽的红苹果。哦，自赫尔曼上次见过苹果，那已经是很久以前的事情了。她谨慎的四处看了看，然后才带着一个胜利的微笑，很快的将苹果扔过了铁丝网。赫尔曼跑过去拾起苹果，用他颤抖的、冻僵了的手指抓住了它。在赫尔曼死亡的世界里，这个苹果是生命的一种表式，它是爱。赫尔曼再向女孩看去，她已经消失在远处了。
第二天，赫尔曼控制不住他自己——他在同一个时间挨近了铁丝网的同一地段。他真的疯狂的希望着她会再来吗？当然，在那里，赫尔曼要抓住任何一个微小的希望。她给了赫尔曼希望，赫尔曼一定要牢牢的抓住它。
再一次，她来了，再一次，她带给赫尔曼一个苹果，同样甜美的笑着，她把苹果扔过了铁丝网。
这一次赫尔曼抓住了苹果，并且拿着苹果给她看。她的眼睛闪闪发光，也许她是在可怜赫尔曼吧？但是赫尔曼不关心这个。赫尔曼只是很幸福能凝视着她。有生以来的第一次，赫尔曼感到他的心被某种情感打动了。
以后的七个月，他们都会这样相会。有时他们会说几句话，有时，只是一个苹果。但是她，这个来自天堂的天使，带给赫尔曼的不仅仅是苹果，她带给赫尔曼的还有灵魂。有时，赫尔曼认为他同样也会带给她灵魂。一天，赫尔曼听到了一条可怕的消息：他们将会被船运到另一个集中营。这意味着一切都结束了，这条消息干脆地结束了赫尔曼和他的朋友的一切。第二天当赫尔曼向她致意时，他的心碎了，他几乎不能说出那句必需得说的话：“明天不要给我带苹果了，”赫尔曼告诉她：“我将会被带到另一个集中营，我们将永远不会再见面了。”在赫尔曼情绪失控前他飞快地转过身，跑离了铁丝网。他不敢回头看，如果他回过头，他知道她一定会站在那里看着他，眼泪打湿了他的面颊。几个月过去了，噩梦还在继续。但是记忆中的女孩支撑赫尔曼经受住了恐怖、痛苦、绝望的考验。在赫尔曼的脑海中，赫尔曼一遍遍的看到她的脸，她友好的眼睛，赫尔曼听得到她温和的话语，赫尔曼品味得到那些美味的苹果。
在一天，就那样，噩梦结束了。战争结束了，他们一直活着的人自由了。赫尔曼失去了他所珍爱的一切，包括他的家庭。但是赫尔曼一直记得这个女孩，赫尔曼心中的这个记忆给了赫尔曼意志活下去，赫尔曼搬到了美国，开始了新的生活。很多年过去了， 1957年，赫尔曼住在纽约，一个朋友说服赫尔曼与他的一个女性朋友盲目的约会。很不情愿地，赫尔曼同意了。但是她很好，这个女人名叫罗玛，像赫尔曼一样，她也是一个移民。所以至少他们有共同之处。
“在战争的时候你在哪里？”罗玛轻轻的问赫尔曼，用移民那种微妙的方式，问别人关于那段岁月的问题。
“我在德军的集中营。”赫尔曼回答道。
罗玛的眼睛迷离了，好似赫尔曼的话让她回忆起一些既痛苦然而又甜蜜的事情。
“是什么事？”赫尔曼问道。
“我只是想起了我过去的一些事情，赫尔曼。”罗玛突然用非常温柔的声音解释道：“你看，当我还是一个小女孩时，我住在一个集中营的附近。那个集中营里关着一个男孩，很长时间，我常常每天都去看他。我记得我常常给他带苹果。我将苹果扔过铁丝网时，他是那样的快乐。
罗玛沉重的叹息了一声，继续说道：“很难描述我们彼此之间的感觉——毕竟，那时我们都很小，而且在可能时，我们只是说了几句话——但是我要告诉你，这里有爱，我假定他同许多人一样被杀害了。但是我不能忍受这么想，所以我尽力记住他的样子，同我们那几个月在一起时的一样。”
赫尔曼的心脏砰砰的跳着，他想它几乎要爆炸了，赫尔曼直视着罗玛问道：“并且那个男孩一天对你说，‘明天不要再给我带苹果，我将要被送到别的集中营’？”
“哎呀，是的，”罗玛回答，她的声音颤抖了。
“但是，赫尔曼，你到底是怎么知道这句话的？”
赫尔曼抓住她的手说道：“因为我就是那个男孩，罗玛。”
很长一段时间，只有沉默。他们不能从对方身上移开自己的视线，虽然时光飞逝，他们依然能彼此读出对方眼睛中的灵魂，他们曾深爱的亲爱的朋友，他们从来没有停止爱过的人，他们从来没有停止思念的人。
最后，赫尔曼说道：“看，罗玛，我曾经和你分开过，但我不想再与你分开了。现在，我自由了，我希望和你永远在一起。亲爱的，你愿意嫁给我吗？”
赫尔曼看到她眼中的亮光，就像赫尔曼过去看到的一样：“是的，我会嫁给你。”然后他们互相拥抱着，这是他们渴望多年的拥抱，因为铁丝网的阻隔，不能进行的拥抱。现在，没有什么能再次阻挡他们了。自赫尔曼再次找到罗玛，差不多四十年过去了，命运第一次在战争期间把他们带到一起，给了赫尔曼一个希望的允诺，现在命运履行这个允诺，让他们重逢。
1996年的情人节，赫尔曼带罗玛到了欧普拉•温弗丽国家电视台，向罗玛表达赫尔曼对她的敬意，赫尔曼想当着百万人的面告诉罗玛他心中每一天的感觉：“亲爱的，在集中营你给饥饿的我吃苹果，现在我依然饥饿，某种意义上说我永远得不到足够的它：我只渴望得到你的爱。”
Hungry for Your Love
by Herman and Roma Rosenblat
As told to Barbara DeAngelis, Ph.D.
It is cold, so bitter cold, on this dark, winter day in 1942. But it is no different
from any other day in this Nazi concentration camp. I stand shivering in my thin
rags, still in disbelief that this nightmare is happening. I am just a young boy. I
should be playing with friends; I should be going to school; I should be looking
forward to a future, to growing up and marrying, and having a family of my own.
But those dreams are for the living, and I am no longer one of them. Instead, I
am almost dead, surviving from day to day, from hour to hour, ever since I was
taken from my home and brought here with tens of thousands other Jews. Will I
still be alive tomorrow? Will I be taken to the gas chamber tonight?
Back and forth I walk next to the barbed wire fence, trying to keep my emaciated
body warm. I am hungry, but I have been hungry for longer than I want to
remember. I am always hungry. Edible food seems like a dream. Each day as
more of us disappear, the happy past seems like a mere dream, and I sink
deeper and deeper into despair. Suddenly, I notice a young girl walking past on
the other side of the barbed wire. She stops and looks at me with sad eyes, eyes
that seem to say that she understands, that she, too, cannot fathom why I am
here. I want to look away, oddly ashamed for this stranger to see me like this,
but I cannot tear my eyes from hers.
Then she reaches into her pocket, and pulls out a red apple. A beautiful, shiny red
apple. Oh, how long has it been since I have seen one! She looks cautiously to
the left and to the right, and then with a smile of triumph, quickly throws the
apple over the fence. I run to pick it up, holding it in my trembling, frozen fingers.
In my world of death, this apple is an _expression of life, of love. I glance up in
time to see the girl disappearing into the distance.
The next day, I cannot help myself-I am drawn at the same time to that spot
near the fence. Am I crazy for hoping she will come again? Of course. But in here,
I cling to any tiny scrap of hope. She has given me hope and I must hold tightly
to it.
And again, she comes. And again, she brings me an apple, flinging it over the
fence with that same sweet smile.
This time I catch it, and hold it up for her to see. Her eyes twinkle. Does she pity
me? Perhaps. I do not care, though. I am just so happy to gaze at her. And for
the first time in so long, I feel my heart move with emotion.
For seven months, we meet like this. Sometimes we exchange a few words.
Sometimes, just an apple. But she is feeding more than my belly, this angel from
heaven. She is feeding my soul. And somehow, I know I am feeding hers as well.
One day, I hear frightening news: we are being shipped to another camp. This
could mean the end for me. And it definitely means the end for me and my friend.
The next day when I greet her, my heart is breaking, and I can barely speak as I
say what must be said: "Do not bring me an apple tomorrow," I tell her. "I am
being sent to another camp. We will never see each other again." Turning before
I lose all control, I run away from the fence. I cannot bear to look back. If I did, I
know she would see me standing there, with tears streaming down my face.
Months pass and the nightmare continues. But the memory of this girl sustains
me through the terror, the pain, the hopelessness. Over and over in my mind, I
see her face, her kind eyes, I hear her gentle words, I taste those apples.
And then one day, just like that, the nightmare is over. The war has ended. Those
of us who are still alive are freed. I have lost everything that was precious to me,
including my family. But I still have the memory of this girl, a memory I carry in
my heart and gives me the will to go on as I move to America to start a new life.
Years pass. It is 1957. I am living in New York City. A friend convinces me to go
on a blind date with a lady friend of his. Reluctantly, I agree. But she is nice, this
woman named Roma. And like me, she is an immigrant, so we have at least that
in common.
"Where were you during the war?" Roma asks me gently, in that delicate way
immigrants ask one another questions about those years.
"I was in a concentration camp in Germany," I reply.
Roma gets a far away look in her eyes, as if she is remembering something
painful yet sweet.
"What is it?" I ask.
"I am just thinking about something from my past, Herman," Roma explains in a
voice suddenly very soft. "You see, when I was a young girl, I lived near a
concentration camp. There was a boy there, a prisoner, and for a long while, I
used to visit him every day. I remember I used to bring him apples. I would
throw the apple over the fence, and he would be so happy."
Roma sighs heavily and continues. "It is hard to describe how we felt about each
other-after all, we were young, and we only exchanged a few words when we
could-but I can tell you, there was much love there. I assume he was killed like
so many others. But I cannot bear to think that, and so I try to remember him as
he was for those months we were given together."
With my heart pounding so loudly I think it wil1 explode, I look directly at Roma
and ask, "And did that boy say to you one day, ’Do not bring me an apple
tomorrow. I am being sent to another camp’?"
"Why, yes," Roma responds, her voice trembling.
"But, Herman, how on earth could you possibly know that?"
I take her hands in mine and answer, "Because I was that young boy, Roma."
For many moments, there is only silence. We cannot take our eyes from each
other, and as the veils of time lift, we recognize the soul behind the eyes, the
dear friend we once loved so much, whom we have never stopped loving, whom
we have never stopped remembering.
Finally, I speak: "Look, Roma, I was separated from you once, and I don’t ever
want to be separated from you again. Now, I am free, and I want to be together
with you forever. Dear, will you marry me?"
I see that same twinkle in her eye that I used to see as Roma says, "Yes, I will
marry you," and we embrace, the embrace we longed to share for so many
months, but barbed wire came between us. Now, nothing ever will again.
Almost forty years have passed since that day when I found my Roma again.
Destiny brought us together the first time during the war to show me a promise
of hope and now it had reunited us to fulfill that promise.
Valentine’s Day, 1996. I bring Roma to the Oprah Winfrey Show to honor her on
national television. I want to tell her in front of millions of people what I feel in
my heart every day:
"Darling, you fed me in the concentration camp when I was hungry. And I am still
hungry, for something I will never get enough of: I am only hungry for your love."