Martin Luther approaches a Jewish woman.
He is clothed in a white robe and a green scarf, the same outfit he had on when delivering the Sunday mass. A black cross necklace, hanging from his neck, shines on the clean dress. He tries to find his way through the many devout Germans who are leaving the church.
Carrying a basket, the Jewish woman was passing by the church when the Christian commoners swarmed out. Bad timing. Sixteen-century Christian Europe is already openly intolerant of the Jewish faith. Among a bunch of laypeople who probably have just received a fresh dose of hate speech is the least safe place to be for a Jewish woman.
Holding her basket tight, she walks faster to avoid the crowd. The batch of churchgoers leaving from the church’s side door, however, covers the street before she can leave the area. She turns to go back. Too late already. The rushing Christians are now everywhere. The Jewish woman swallows hard against the lump in her throat. Tucking her basket under her coat, she looks in doorways, in alleys, and at each of the faces around her, keeping watch of her surroundings.
A sturdy peasant prepares to thank Luther for the inspiring sermon. Pushing people aside, Luther makes his way through the crowd. His serious face is free of any emotions. Gulping in fear, the man moves aside to give him the way. Someone is going to get hurt today, the man thinks.
Only if I could survive today, the Jewish woman thinks while warily finds her way out of the crowd. Surrounded by people, her gaze wanders, never quite settling on any face. Suddenly, her eyes fall on Luther, his clerical outfit, and his unyielding look. Her heart sinks into her stomach.
As her gaze is on Luther, someone shoves her to the ground and disappears into the crowd. Her face partly covered in mud, she sits up. Helplessly sitting on the cobblestone street, she stares at her basket’s contents that are spread all over the mud. She doesn’t say a word, but her eyes are screaming ‘why?’.
The indifferent crowd simply walks by. Not expecting much compassion from the followers of Jesus Christ, she does not bother to look up at them.
She is staring at her hands covered in mud when a tall shadow casts over her. She looks up. The angry priest is standing right above her, almost blocking the sun. Having nowhere to escape, she is frozen, staring at Luther. Luther’s black cross necklace hangs in the air when he leans forwards. Frightened by that, she shrinks back on the mud.
“All’s well,” Luther says, his kind voice contradicting his inexpressive face. “All’s well. You’ll be safe.”
She is however suspicious of Luther’s intentions; why would she not? To her surprise, Luther kneels on the muddy ground, now the same height as her. Looking into her eyes, Luther offers a forced smile.
“What the hell do you want from me?” she cries.
Luther lets the smile wear off, breaks the gaze, and takes the basket. He then picks up the muddy fruits one by one. Rubbing them against his garment, he cleans the dirt off and then puts the fruits back into the basket. His clergy robe is getting quite dirty, but Luther does not seem to mind.
Surprised, the Jewish woman tries to memorize the face of the strange priest who is redefining what it means to be a good Christian.
His gaze down, Luther hands over the basket to her. Still filled with doubt, the Jewish woman does not dare to make a move. She looks down when Luther offers a smile.
As her gaze is on the ground, she considers Luther’s last look. The basket is hanging in the air. The image of Luther’s smile begins to seem genuine. Her gaze still down, she gingerly extends her hand to take the basket. Before pulling the basket, she looks up at Luther; it was meant to be a quick glance, but her eyes freeze on his face when she realizes that tears are flowing down it.
“I’m sorry,” Luther says as his head hangs down. He looks up. There is sincerity in his crying eyes. “I swear to my Lord that someday you’ll see nothing from a Christian but Christian love; someday soon, I swear.”
Without saying a word, the woman pulls the basket. She then swiftly gets off the muddy ground to leave, cautiously optimistic.
Luther is still kneeling on the ground when she leaves. As she is getting farther away, she remembers Luther’s face; the bitter smile, the tears, and the eyes. There was something in his sincere eyes that makes us want to believe in a bright future for the Jews in Germany. But we already know the holocaust’s history, don’t we? What happens in between, nevertheless, is quite complicated and a fascinating part of history to learn about.