There are times when words fail us. In the face of describing an occurrence of great magnitude, words such as “extermination,” “crematorium,” and “genocide” become insipid and lifeless. Had we personally experienced this tragedy, then we might have had the hope of understanding. Yet, as we are blessed with a relatively comfortable existence, we have the choice of contending with empty words, not to weep for the dead, but to try, for the sake of humanity, to learn from the absolute failure of human beings to be humane.
Night by Elie Wiesel relates a remarkable autobiographical memoir of his transfer from the ghetto to the Auschwitz concentration camp, where the fires of the crematorium consume all his dreams and desire to live. That first night at Auschwitz, he is torn not only from his mother and sisters, but also from his former convictions of what humanity is capable of. Having seen live babies being thrown into the fire, Wiesel dazedly wonders, “Was I still alive? Was I awake? How was it possible that men, women, and children were being burned and that the world kept silent?” Unable to reconcile the silence of the universe with what he observes in the concentration camp, Wiesel loses all faith in God.
In the abyss of a concentration camp, it was courageous to retain one’s faith and take care of a friend or family member. In short, it was courageous to be human. Wiesel makes no secret of the fact that he was no hero. He may have stayed with his father, but he candidly admits that there were times when he begrudged his father a portion of bread or water. A blockälteste reminds Wiesel one day, “In this place, there is no such thing as father, brother, friend. Each of us lives and dies alone.”
Death was surely the master of the camp, and inhumanity, the only law. That Wiesel chose to testify for future generations is incredible, for he had to face madness once again to derive the truth from his recollections. A strong thread of despair and agony weaves itself through the book, and there are some readers who will find the work depressing and even discouraging. But, we must keep in mind that Wiesel by no account wished for his readers to be saddened. He wanted others to glean some wisdom from his slim, seemingly insignificant novel and use it so that a similar tragedy will not happen again.
Perhaps, we should take a moment, one tiny moment from our busy and selfish lives to commemorate the Holocaust Remembrance Day (Yom Hashoah) which is due to take place on April 19 this year. Then, the ghosts of those who perished will have some cause to keep faith in fickle and forgetful humanity.