Oskar Schindler Quotes

No olvidamos las penurias de Egipto, no olvidamos a Haman, no olvidamos a Hitler. Así como no olvidamos a los injustos, no olvidamos a los justos. Recordemos pues a Oskar Schindler.

It is not too fantastic to say that he desired them with some of the absolute passion that characterised the exposed and flaming heart of Jesus which hung on Emilie’s wall. Since this narrative has tried to avoid the canonisation of the Herr Direktor, the idea of the sensual Oskar as the desirer of souls has to be proved.

If Frau Rasch, in the last and fullest days of her husband’s power in Brno, had idly—during a party, say; a musical recital at the castle—gazed into the core of the diamond that had come to her from Oskar Schindler, she would have seen reflected there the worst incubus from her own dreams and her Führer’s. An armed Marxist Jew.

To the memory of Oskar Schindler, and to Leopold Pfefferberg who by zeal and persistence caused this book to be written.

Oskar showed that virtue emerged where it would, and the sort of churchy observance bishops called for was not a guarantee of genuine humanity in a person.

We do not forget the sorrows of Egypt, we do not forget Haman, we do not forget Hitler. Thus, among the unjust, we do not forget the just. Remember Oskar Schindler.

In 1996 I began an investigation into the life of John Rabe and eventually unearthed thousands of pages of diaries that he and other Nazis kept during the Rape. These diaries led me to conclude that John Rabe was “the Oskar Schindler of China.

Oskar has made it his business to know the full face of the system, the rabid face behind the veil of bureaucratic decency.

Schindler crossed limits that he didn’t need to cross.” Still, in the end she finds for Schindler: “Amon Goeth and Oskar Schindler, they both had power. One used it to kill, the other to save lives. Their example shows that everyone has a choice.

Oskar knew people would catch that trolley anyhow. Doors closed, no stops, machine guns on walls—it wouldn’t matter. Humans were incurable that way. People would try to get off it, someone’s loyal Polish maid with a parcel of sausage. And people would try to get on, some fast-moving athletic young man like Leopold Pfefferberg with a pocketful of diamonds or Occupation złoty or a message in code for the partisans. People responded to any slim chance, even if it was an outside one, its doors locked shut, moving fast between mute walls.

Much later, in terms uncharacteristic of jovial Herr Schindler, Cracow’s favorite party guest, Zablocie’s big spender, in terms, that is, which showed—behind the playboy facade—an implacable judge, Oskar would lay special weight on this day. “Beyond this day,” he would claim, “no thinking person could fail to see what would happen. I was now resolved to do everything in my power to defeat the system.

Aue sent an office boy with a message to the company’s original accountant, a Polish Jew named Itzhak Stern, who was at home with influenza. Aue was a political appointee with little accounting experience. He wanted Stern to come into the office and resolve the impasse over the bolts of linen. He had just sent the message off to Stern’s house in Podgórze when his secretary came into the office and announced that a Herr Oskar Schindler was waiting outside, claiming to have an appointment. Aue went into the outer room and saw a tall young man, placid as a large dog, tranquilly smoking. The two had met at a party the night before. Oskar had been there with a Sudeten German girl named Ingrid, Treuhänder, or supervisor, of a Jewish hardware company, just as Aue was Treuhänder of Buchheister’s. They were a glamorous couple, Oskar and this Ingrid, frankly in love, stylish, with lots of friends in the Abwehr.

It was, of course, an appropriate offering, and Jereth was insistent. He had the bridgework dragged out by a prisoner who had once had a dental practice in Cracow. Licht melted the gold down and by noon on May 8 was engraving an inscription on the inner circle in Hebrew. It was a Talmudic verse which Stern had quoted to Oskar in the front office of Buchheister’s in October 1939. “He who saves a single life saves the entire world.

The Nazi businessman whose safe he cracked, who had just hired him, was Oskar Schindler.

Eu nu sunt filozof, dar cred că Oskar Schindler reprezintă definiția eroismului. El este dovada că un singur om poate da piept cu raul și poate produce o schimbare. Eu sunt dovada vie a acestui lucru.

His wife, Emilie, still lived, without any financial help from him, in her little house in San Vicente, south of Buenos Aires. She lives there at the time of the writing of this book. As she was in Brinnlitz, she is a figure of quiet dignity. In a documentary made by German television in 1973, she spoke—without any of the abandoned wife’s bitterness or sense of grievance—about Oskar and Brinnlitz, about her own behavior in Brinnlitz. Perceptively, she remarked that Oskar had done nothing astounding before the war and had been unexceptional since. He was fortunate, therefore, that in that short fierce era between 1939 and 1945 he had met people who summoned forth his deeper talents.

Oskar cumplía treinta y siete años, y acababa de abrir una botella de coñac. Sobre su escritorio había un telegrama de una planta de montaje de armamentos situada cerca de Brno. Decía que las granadas antitanques de Oskar estaban tan mal hechas que no soportaban uno solo de los controles de calidad. Estaban mal calibradas, y estallaban durante los ensayos porque no habían sido templadas a la temperatura adecuada. Oskar parecía extasiado con el telegrama. Lo empujó hacia Stern y Pemper para que lo leyeran. Pemper recuerda que dijo una de sus extravagancias: —Es el mejor regalo de cumpleaños que podía haber recibido. Ahora sé que mis productos no pueden matar a ningún pobre infortunado.

As a Jewish kid during those times, I fought to live every day. I didn't have a choice. As an influential Nazi, Schindler did have a choice. Countless times he could have abandoned us, taken his fortune, and fled. He could have decided that his life depended on working us to death but he didn't. Instead, he put his own life in danger every time he protected us for no other reason than it was the right thing to do. I am not a philosopher, but I believe that Oskar Schindler defines heroism. He proves that one person can stand up to evil and make a difference. I am living proof of that. I recall a television interview I once saw with scholar and writer Joseph Campbell. I've never forgotten his definition of a hero. Campbell said that a hero is an ordinary human being who does "the best of things in the worst of times". Oskar Schindler personifies that definition.

The startling truth was that they were members of a unique group known as Schindlerjüden, the name given to the hundreds of men, women, and children who were saved from the camps by the Nazi businessman, Oskar Schindler, and since made famous by the Steven Spielberg movie, Schindler’s List.

I went up to his gravestone and repeated what the others had done: I placed a pebble on his tomb and silently said to him: 'Well, Oskar, at last we meet again, but this is not the time for reproaches and complaints. It would not be fair to you or to me. Now you are in another world, in eternity, and I can no longer ask you all those questions to which in life you would have given evasive replies... and death is the best evasion of all. I have received no answer, my dear, I do not know why you abandoned me... But what not even your death or my old age can change is that we are still married, this is how we are before God. I have forgiven you everything, everything...' Murmuring these words, I let them push my wheelchair up the slight incline leading to the gravestone that marks the place where his remains are laid to rest, outside the Jewish cemetery of Jerusalem. I knew that somehow the power of my thoughts had reached him, and felt, after all those years, a strange inner peace filling my spirit.

Yo, un chico judío, tenia que luchar para vivir todos los días en aquellos tiempos. No tenia otra opción. Él, un nazi con mucho poder, sí tenía opciones. Pudo habernos abandonado incontables veces, pudo haber huido llevándose su fortuna. Pudo haber decidido que su vida dependía de hacernos trabajar hasta morir, pero no lo hizo. En cambio, puso su propia vida en peligro cada vez que nos protegía, sin otra razón que porque era lo correcto. No soy un filósofo, pero creo que Oskar Schindler es la definición del heroísmo, Demostró que una persona puede hacer frente al mal y hacer la diferencia.

Must one first enslave oneself in order to be free? Or should one, as Oskar believed, surrender to one's inclinations? And what exactly were my own inclinations? My mind roamed from one question to the next, but the everyday routine was much simpler: work, work, work... No questions, no decisions. Is work the worst, or the best, way to struggle against oblivion? I don't know.

During the trip memories of Oskar again overwhelmed me. Until when, Oskar? Weren't our years together enough? How long does love last? Is passion a place you cannot leave behind until you die?

In the early 1980s, London filmmaker Jon Blair was working on a documentary about Oskar Schindler

On one of these occasions, I accompanied Charlotte to hear him talk and found his hour-long presentation to be both moving and absorbing. When he asked for questions, the first was inevitably about the movie. “How accurate was it?” At this, he smiled, replying that Liam Neeson, the Irish actor who played the title role, was taller and more handsome than the real Oskar Schindler; also that the Russians who appeared at the end hadn’t arrived on horseback, they had come in a truck. Apart from those minor details, he said, the entire portrayal was uncannily close to what had occurred, and he congratulated Mr. Spielberg on having done such a fine job.

A Krakovian Conversion by Stewart Stafford Stone columns on my grave; Gravity no longer tethers me, Procession for a fallen saviour, Our charmed lives split apart. A cuckoo among darkest eagles, Faustian profiteer's bloody deal, Became a phoenix dove in flight, On the road home to my new form. An unbroken cypher laid to rest, A muttered debate behind prayers; Faux Messiah, who saved himself? Ransoms paid by a bankrupt sage? © Stewart Stafford, 2024. All rights reserved.

Not all that long ago, I was in a room with Jewish and Gentile leaders in the larger body of Jesus-followers. The horror of the Holocaust was being discussed, and one of the Gentile pastors looked over at one of my Jewish friends and remarked almost casually, "Next time we'll stand with you." Almost reflexively, as if responding from lifelong pain and betrayal, my Jewish friend blurted out, "I don't believe you!" I think he was shocked at his own words, but added, "That has never been the case in history." I was heavily impacted by the encounter. Somewhere it was stored in the inner recesses of my soul, so that on another occasion, following a showing of films from the Holocaust, I turned to this same Jewish friend and said, under a Holy Spirit anointing and with tears streaming down my cheeks, "I vow to you in the name of Yeshua, that I will stand with you even to death." His response? "I believe you, Don." My prayer for all of us is that we establish such deep friendships across these turbulent ancient "racial" lines, so that even among Jewish people who are not believers in Yeshua, we Gentiles will become the Corrie ten Booms and the Oskar Schindlers of our time.

Honoring figures like Forrest in Memphis while ignoring Wells is like erecting a statue to the Nazi death camp commander Amon Goeth in the Czech Republic town of Svitavy, the birthplace of Oskar Schindler, who rescued 1,200 Jews.

Hans. Emilie said in her memoirs, Where Light and Shadow Meet (1997), that Hans

I could have saved more