Word has
come that Nelson Mandela has died today, aged 95. He had been in frail
condition for some time—not only was he in his nineties, but he’d suffered
respiratory problems that dated back to his nearly three decades in prison for
his anti-apartheid work.
What was neither old nor frail were his strength of character, his
absolute integrity and his quiet dignity. You’d think a man as vilified and
abused for most of his life by the white power structure would have a
legitimate case for invoking the wrath of God when he and the ANC took office. But
his presidency of South Africa was marked by his focus on national
reconciliation.
It has never ceased to astonish me whenever I’m reminded of his
gentle strength and genuine forbearance. Ninety-five years old, marked by a
third of his life in prison, and he had the physical and moral uprightness of
someone with the hand of God at his back.
South Africa is not without its problems. But I wonder where it
would be today were it not for this amazing man who cast light wherever he
found darkness?
There is a Yiddish term that is entirely appropriate to apply to
Mandela: he was a mensch.
We don’t have many of them in our human history. He added grace to
our lives.
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