Happy Sunday, everyone.
I’m currently undergoing a painful process of packing up a library of books. I found another one today that I hadn’t touched in years. It was written by Elie Wiesel, a survivor of Auschwitz. Wiesel lost all of his family and friends to the Holocaust. In his book Night (2006), he describes the moment when a Nazi guard killed his father right before his eyes…..
***********
I remember that night, the most horrendous of my life:
“Eliezer, my son, come here…I want to tell you something…Only to you….Come, don’t leave me alone…Eliezer…” I heard his voice, grasped the meaning of his words and the tragic dimension of the moment, yet I did not move.
It had been his last wish to have me next to him in his agony, at the moment when his soul was tearing itself from his lacerated body---yet I did not let him have his wish.
I was afraid.
Afraid of the blows. That was why I remained deaf to his cries. Instead of sacrificing my miserable life and rushing to his side, taking his hand, reassuring him, showing him that he was not abandoned, that I was near him, that I felt his sorrow, instead of all that, I remained flat on my back, asking God to make my father stop calling my name, to make his stop crying. So afraid was I to incur the wrath of the SS.
In fact, my father was no longer conscious. Yet his plaintive, harrowing voice went on piercing the silence and calling me, nobody but me.
“Well?” The SS had flown into a rage and was striking my father on the head: “Be quiet, old man! Be quiet!” My father no longer felt the club’s blows; I did. And yet I did not react. I let the SS beat my father, I left him alone in the clutches of death. Worse: I was angry with him for having been noisy, for having cried, for provoking the wrath of the SS.
“Eliezer! Eliezer! Come, don’t leave me alone….” His voice had reached me from so far away, but from so close. But I had not moved.
I shall never forgive myself. Nor shall I ever forgive the world for having pushed me against the wall, for having turned me into a stranger, for having awakened in me the basest, most primitive instincts. His last word had been my name. A summons. And I had not responded.
*************
At least six million Jews throughout Europe were systematically killed during WWII. That does not include the physically and mentally disabled, the homosexuals, people from other religions or faiths, people of color, or anyone who dared to oppose the Nazi regime. Let there be no misunderstanding here: the entire world knew this was happening.
Today, many people on this earth are dying under the same reality that Wiesel did almost 100 years ago. Today, it is easier than ever to turn our backs on it.
Right now, I ask you to recognize the freedom in the next breath that you take. And the freedom of knowing that you will get to take more breaths after that one. Then, for just one moment, let this remembrance of the humanity in all of us – of the divinity in all of us -- fill your soul. It’s the least that we can do.
S.
I’m currently undergoing a painful process of packing up a library of books. I found another one today that I hadn’t touched in years. It was written by Elie Wiesel, a survivor of Auschwitz. Wiesel lost all of his family and friends to the Holocaust. In his book Night (2006), he describes the moment when a Nazi guard killed his father right before his eyes…..
***********
I remember that night, the most horrendous of my life:
“Eliezer, my son, come here…I want to tell you something…Only to you….Come, don’t leave me alone…Eliezer…” I heard his voice, grasped the meaning of his words and the tragic dimension of the moment, yet I did not move.
It had been his last wish to have me next to him in his agony, at the moment when his soul was tearing itself from his lacerated body---yet I did not let him have his wish.
I was afraid.
Afraid of the blows. That was why I remained deaf to his cries. Instead of sacrificing my miserable life and rushing to his side, taking his hand, reassuring him, showing him that he was not abandoned, that I was near him, that I felt his sorrow, instead of all that, I remained flat on my back, asking God to make my father stop calling my name, to make his stop crying. So afraid was I to incur the wrath of the SS.
In fact, my father was no longer conscious. Yet his plaintive, harrowing voice went on piercing the silence and calling me, nobody but me.
“Well?” The SS had flown into a rage and was striking my father on the head: “Be quiet, old man! Be quiet!” My father no longer felt the club’s blows; I did. And yet I did not react. I let the SS beat my father, I left him alone in the clutches of death. Worse: I was angry with him for having been noisy, for having cried, for provoking the wrath of the SS.
“Eliezer! Eliezer! Come, don’t leave me alone….” His voice had reached me from so far away, but from so close. But I had not moved.
I shall never forgive myself. Nor shall I ever forgive the world for having pushed me against the wall, for having turned me into a stranger, for having awakened in me the basest, most primitive instincts. His last word had been my name. A summons. And I had not responded.
*************
At least six million Jews throughout Europe were systematically killed during WWII. That does not include the physically and mentally disabled, the homosexuals, people from other religions or faiths, people of color, or anyone who dared to oppose the Nazi regime. Let there be no misunderstanding here: the entire world knew this was happening.
Today, many people on this earth are dying under the same reality that Wiesel did almost 100 years ago. Today, it is easier than ever to turn our backs on it.
Right now, I ask you to recognize the freedom in the next breath that you take. And the freedom of knowing that you will get to take more breaths after that one. Then, for just one moment, let this remembrance of the humanity in all of us – of the divinity in all of us -- fill your soul. It’s the least that we can do.
S.