What if two people from two different stories wrote to each other? ...
Dear Mr. Frank,
You do not know me, I am sure. My name is Max Vandenburg. I am Jewish, like you. Like your daughter. I wish I could say I knew her-but I didn’t. All I can say is that I wish you to feel my deepest sorrow for you. It is all I have to give-I hope it is enough.
Anne holds a very large part of me. She was a word-worker. Those are always the most respectable people. Had she wanted to, if she had gotten the chance, she would have built an entire nation on words. Had she received the opportunity, she would have been someone amazing. She would wield words and lines more powerfully than theFuhrerhimself.
But what she might have been is nothing compared to what she was. She was a fighter-she believed in spirit and soul. She never lost hope, even when faced with the death rooms. Though I was not there, I didn’t need to be. I know how she was in the face of death. And I am sure, though I never met her, she gained her spirit from you.
I hope you know that a girl like that doesn’t spring ready from her mother’s womb. A girl like that is raised from a good father and mother. A hope-filled father and mother.
You gave her the spirit and soul that people have looked up to. She was an earth-shaker. She showed wisdom that shook all of our safe, solid worlds. She helped us learn, and we never do that unless someone comes along to shake us off of our safe ground.
Anne will not be forgotten. And nor will you. Nothing will lessen the pain you feel-I know that. But let me say that no matter what happens, you will have the strength and spirit to help heal yourself. The scar will never fade. But if you raised Anne and Margot to be such wonderful girls, I know that you will be able to live through. You will not break. I know this, in my heart. I hope you know it in yours.
I have only met one other person of yours’ and Anne’s spirit. She is the one I love most now. I should like you to meet her.
I give you my sorrow, and my hope. I await you with a promise in my heart.
[The Book Theif to The Diary of Anne Frank]