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I recently started reading Night by Elie Wiesel as of 11:30 last night. I read the preface then the foward and I had to stop at that time. The book is so full of emotion and sorrow. It is of magnitude we have never experienced, and should never experience. We can only hope God does not allow something like this to happen ever again. All pain and trivial problems we have went through does not compare to that of the Holocaust. I am posting this solely because people should become aware of what happened and the true evil Nazis posed. This should never be erased from history and for people to deny its existence is to deny their very own. For those people: They can live in their worlds where aliens are gods and created us and where Kennedy was shot from the grassy nole, and Elvis who is alive and well chilling with Tupac, Biggie Smalls, and MalcolmX. To all else, the following clouded my mind with sorrow and empathy bringing tears to my 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 las 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.
...
"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 from having been so noisy, for having cried, for provoking the wrath of the SS.
"Eliezer! Eliezer! Come, don't leave me alone..."
His voice had reached me form so far away, 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.