The story of Wladyslaw Szpilman, a survivor of the Warsaw Ghetto, continues to teach us that a single human decision can change someone's destiny and that values education is as urgent today as any other subject.
There are books that are read and forgotten, and there are books that remain forever in memory. One of those books that I cannot forget is The Pianist, by Wladyslaw Szpilman, an account based on his own life and all that he suffered during World War II. When I visited Warsaw, I was struck by the sight of walls still pockmarked by bullet impacts, as if the city refused to stop telling us what happened.
The Pianist transports us to Warsaw occupied by the Nazi army, a city devastated by bombs, where the protagonist tries to survive with barely any family, sick, and with the constant fear of being discovered. While searching for food in an abandoned house, he was found by Wilm Hosenfeld, a German officer who asked him what he did for a living.
"I am a pianist," Szpilman replied.
There was a piano in that room. The officer asked him to play something. His hands trembled, he was weak and tired, but when his fingers brushed the keys, he performed a Chopin composition on an out-of-tune piano. For a few minutes, the war stopped. There was no longer a pursued man and an officer: there were two human beings sharing the beauty of a melody.
Hosenfeld decided not to arrest him. He brought him food and clothes, and Szpilman was able to survive. The book shows that, amidst the horror, there was also room for solidarity, compassion, and the possibility of building bridges between people whom History had placed on opposite sides.
A reading for the classroom
It is a work that all adolescents should know. Not to scare them with the horrors of the past, but to teach them the value of peace and to help them understand that no one should be rejected because of their origin, culture, or beliefs. Wars, Szpilman reminds us, begin the moment we stop seeing others as people.
That, for me, is the book's greatest ethical message: a single act of kindness can change someone's destiny. The officer could have obeyed the cruelty of war, but he chose to listen to his conscience. And that conscience, cultivated somewhere and at some point in his life, saved a man and, with him, a part of the world's music.
That is why I think that, in addition to teaching mathematics, language, and other subjects, we have the obligation to teach our children to put themselves in the place of the vulnerable. It is not enough to transmit knowledge: we must form human beings who think for themselves, who know how to look at others, and who do not confuse obedience with virtue.
The Music That Doesn't Go Out
Szpilman survived, returned to Polish Radio, and played the piano again. His body had suffered hunger and loneliness, but his love for music kept him alive. This work reminds me that buildings can be destroyed and instruments silenced for a time, but no one can completely extinguish a person's hope.
We can transmit that lesson to children and thus educate adults capable of feeling that, even in darkness, there is always a light to find and share. When the world loses its humanity, a single person who heeds their conscience can change the ending of many stories.
Reading The Pianist is not just peeking into a tragedy: it is learning that ethics are played out in small gestures and in moments when no one forces us to be good.
Add La Voz de Lanzarote as a preferred Google source.
Stay informed with the latest current news.