Like so many today, I live under increasing financial strains. I am forced to do less with less, and work under the ever increasing burden of a shrinking budget. I can wallow in my own misery, or I can remember Rose.

When I taught Anne Frank as part of the 8th grade English curriculum, I would invite Holocaust survivor Rose DeLima to speak to my classes. We kept in touch until her passing. Every blessed conversation gave me renewed strength and inspiration.

In the midst of World War II, as young Jewish newly-weds, Rose and her husband Sol were arrested, taken to Auschwitz and soon separated. Rose was sent to a women’s camp in a French town called Lieham and was forced to carry huge rocks to the top of a steep hill.

When she carried those heavy rocks, Rose never looked up. She never looked to the top of the mountain. Instead, she looked down at her feet and whispered “step, step, step,” knowing each movement of each foot meant life. She literally lived one step at a time, but her greatest lesson is in what she didn’t do.

On the morning of May 5th, 1945 the Concentration Camp filled with an unusual quiet and the Nazis seemed on edge. Soon, Russian tanks rolled into the camp and the woman rushed to greet the liberating soldiers. By that time, Rose at 5’3”, weighed less than 90 pounds.

One of the Russian soldiers captured a fleeing Nazi guard, pointed a gun to his head and made him kneel. The Russian soldier said to the women, “You may do whatever you want to this man. Beat him. Gouge his eyes out. Tear his flesh. Make him pay for all the suffering and humiliation he has done to you!”

“This was the proudest day of my life,” Rose would say. “Not one of us touched that Nazi. Instead, each of us in turn, sung our national anthem, turned our backs, and walked away. They treated us worse than animals and we walked away with our integrity intact.”

Desperate to be reunited with her husband, she persevered on her quest home with a grueling walk from France to Holland. A journey she made with the help of countless kind strangers. Through a friend, she heard Sol was alive and with her in-laws. Soon, she stood across the street of his parent’s home.

“I remember so clearly seeing Sol’s face in the upstairs window. I jumped off the curb and nearly got hit by a bus! Can you imagine?” She chuckled. “I ran to the front door and my father-in-law, always a gentleman, asked ‘can I take your things?’”.

She smiles. “I said pointing to myself, ‘Well, this is it’. Then I looked up and saw Sol running down the stairs to me. I knew I had everything in the world.”

She and Sol reunited on June 30th, 1945. After living in Holland for several years, they immigrated to America. Together they raised two children and are now surrounded by the love of many grandchildren. I will never forget her words, her lessons, her strength–and neither will the hundreds of students who heard her speak.

I still close my eyes and see Rose sharing her experiences. I see her on the snow-covered mountain side– thin, in rags and whispering, “Step, Step, Step.” I can hear her singing with pride, her tears streaming, as she walks away from those who did her evil.

I feel the embrace of two people who have only each other, and in that embrace, everything they could possibly need. From her strength, I will find my own.

Passing Rose in a grocery store, one might notice the faded number tattoo under the delicate wrinkles on her arm and give her a sympathetic smile. And one might sense the strength that radiates from the rare breed of humans who embody integrity, who persevere, and who inspire others to do the same.

Who am I without my things? I strive everyday to be like Rose.