Monument of Mercy

I remember my grandmother as a person of admirable kindness. I, a person who was born 15 years after the Great Patriotic War, find it difficult to imagine how difficult his life was.

She spent the most miserable, first siege winter of 1941 in Leningrad together with her four children - a baby son born in 1941 and three daughters. Ari was at the front, and his son joined the partisans. The baby son survived the incessant bombings and starvation. In the summer of 1942, they were deported from Leningrad to a village in the Penza region. They arrive in this village in a few months. The entire village population was also suffering from hunger ("Everything for the front, everything for victory"). Therefore, they ate whatever they found. An example of this is when they crushed the grain of the spikes they collected from the field under fear, mixed it with nettle and flour, cooked it into stew, and ate it instead of bread.

The turning year of 1943 was behind us. The war was coming to an end. They brought captured German soldiers near the village where my grandmother lived. They were frostbitten, hungry and sick. The locals treated them with indifference. And my grandmother, in spite of all the sufferings I have mentioned, begins to take food to the hungry and sick captives. In the village, the women curse him with curses. Each of them had a husband, father, or son at the front. Each of them shed tears at night under the threat of losing their native person. Here, the people who were the cause of all these misfortunes were fed by their neighbors in front of their eyes. How could that be? Despite all these insults and curses, my grandmother would go to the captives with her legs swollen from hunger and share with them what she and her half-starved children had to eat. Once the women couldn't stand it, they surrounded my grandmother and started shouting how dare she take bread to the Germans. Maybe they shot their natives. My grandmother answered: "I don't know where my husband and my son are now, and I don't know what happened to them. Maybe one of them is in captivity like these unfortunates. I give bread to the prisoners and I pray to God that if one of them is sick and hungry in captivity like these, then a German woman who is a mother like me will be found and will take care of my husband and child, feed them, and not let them die. I only have this hope I live. No matter how much you shout at me, I will bring bread to these unfortunates."

Many years have passed since then. My grandmother also passed away a long time ago. But, ever since I heard this story that happened with the captives, one thought has been bothering me. Many monuments dedicated to the war have been erected in our country, in Europe, and in the whole world. But I have not seen a monument dedicated to mercy. However, without compassion, it is impossible to live not only in times of war, but even in times of peace. By the way, such a monument still exists. Do you know where? in Turkey. I have read about this:

During the First World War, the Australian-New Zealand corps, which supported the British, made continuous attacks on their positions to throw the Turks into the Dardanelles. The shooting and hand-to-hand bayonet battles were non-stop. The Turks were defending themselves by gathering their last forces. Both sides suffered heavy casualties in the fierce fighting. After the ineffective attack, there was calm. Both sides were preparing for battle again. A wounded Australian soldier was lying on the battlefield. He was screaming and crying in pain. But since it was impossible to get close to him under enemy fire, none of his comrades could come to his aid. Thus, the soldier was doomed to die gradually. Unexpectedly, the firing from the Turkish army stopped. A Turkish soldier with a white flag came out of the trench. He calmly approached the wounded man, picked him up, carried him in his arms to the enemy trench and returned to his own trench. Then the battle continued.

In 1997, the Turkish state erected a monument to this mercy and heroism of the Turkish soldier who carried the wounded enemy from the battlefield in his arms. I think my grandmother was not the only one with her kindness. There were many such incidents. Our nation is a compassionate nation that does not like cruelty!

Moreover... It is possible to be enmity to infinity, to pour out one's anger on the enemy, to be proud of victories, not to forgive anyone or anything. But no war can end without compassionate people. Mercy cannot be forgotten. Let's raise a monument of Mercy in our country. At least one monument for all of us!