As a Jew, I have known about the Holocaust my entire life from Hebrew school, from books, from my parents, but I was too young to understand it. To understand how much religion really means.
To understand how much life really means.
In so many ways, Elie’s memoir brought the Holocaust to life, made it real, and not just a terrifying nightmare. Now I truly know what so many Jews in Europe went through during WWII. Now I truly understand how lucky Elie and my grandparents were to have survived.
I keep thinking about how Guido gave his life for his son in a beautiful life, how courageous he truly was, and if I was in his shoes, would I do the same? He is one of the many who kept a hold on to faith in the Holocaust, but faith in what exactly? Faith in his son? Faith in a better life?
So many times in his memoir, Elie mentioned “Night”: the “kingdom of the night” or “an endless night.” The entire book was about him surviving the Holocaust, losing his faith, and in the end, finally emerging alive and grateful from the “Kingdom of Night,” a world without G-d. Wiesel’s words really made me think about what my mother and grandparents went through, especially my grandparents, who believed in nothing more than themselves and their families.
Who believed in nothing more than hard work and perseverance.
Is that the type of faith that could get somebody through the Holocaust?
They believed in themselves. They had faith in themselves.
They didn’t believe in G-d, but they still had faith.
Thinking about this brings me back to a phrase from Night.
“I pray to the G-d within me for the strength to ask the real questions.”
Maybe the idea of g-d is nothing more than faith.
Faith in something.
No matter what it is.
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