A lady my family had dinner with the other day told us a story.

She said that when she was a young girl, maybe seven or eight years old, during the Holocaust, her entire family was taken Auschwitz. Randomly, the guards would line everybody up and select whomever they felt like to take to the gas chambers. Once you were picked, you were supposed to step forward so they could identify you, since they didn’t bother to write down any names, it was all so random.

One day, she was picked.

She stepped forward, her mother and sister crying behind her, into the line of everyone else chosen. She was the only child in the line.

Then a hand reached out to grab her. The man who had been standing next to her, whom she had never talked to before, pulled her back toward her family when the guards weren’t looking and took her place in the line.

The guards took everyone away seconds later.

She never even knew his name, but he sacrificed himself to save her.