Elie Wiesel Read Online Free PDF Page A

living. His grandfather said, “Rabbi Sender will help you.” Rabbi Sender did not make fun of the boy: “We should never mock someone who is in fear, especially a child. Here is what I suggest: Saturday night you and I will go together to listen to the Tempter. Would you like that?” Elhanan accepted. At midnight the rabbi and the little boy drew near the well. Rabbi Sender recited a brief prayer and said, “Tempter, if you go on frightening Elhanan, you will never free yourself from the punishment I have in store for you.” A moment later, Elhanan heard whimpering rise from the depths of the well. “If you so wish,” the rabbi said to Elhanan, “we have the power to chain him up for centuries to come. Do you want me to do that?” Elhanan had never felt so important. “I’d like to ask my grandfather’s advice,” he answered. And his grandfather counseled clemency. Elhanan adored him. Between the old man and the little boy there was a touching and comforting bond that no one could break. When Grandfather came to the house, theywere inseparable. They slept in the same bed and talked on and off for hours.
    One Rosh Hashanah night, his grandfather taught Elhanan a solemn and deeply moving song. Elhanan loved his voice: it summoned up secret universes. A holy flame flickered about his person: joy, warmth, light pervaded the whole house. In the early hours of the morning, his grandfather died, still singing. But for Elhanan his song was stronger than death. He was convinced that his grandfather would never stop singing.
    “I loved my father,” said Elhanan to Malkiel. “I admired him and I would have given my life for him. But I yearned to be like my mother because she was like my grandfather. My mother is present to me as you are present to me. If she could see me as I see you, if my grandfather could hear me as I hear you, everything would be so different.… Yes, Malkiel, so different.”
    Elhanan was speaking to his son, but he was alone. Or rather he felt at once alone and not alone. The room was lit and not lit. He trembled, seeing himself with his mother again in the snowy village. All these phantoms so near him, all these hysterical demons tangled together like conspirators, filled him with fear. Help me to cast out fear, Mother, and do not leave me. You’re still there, I can feel it, my heart beats louder—why am I afraid? Ah, it’s nothing. I’m just cold.
    And because I’m talking to you, my son, and you are not here.
    Do you hear me?

    As a child Elhanan wondered where spoken words went, and glimmers of light and shared silences. Who gathered up the unheard prayers of the faithful? To whom did a dying man’s regrets belong after his death?
    Elhanan asked himself a good many questions. They bore on the mystery of life and of darkness. Why live, if it was only to cease to live? Why build, if it was only to wake up among the ruins? His father tried to explain to him that certain things remained inexplicable. His teachers took great pains to make him understand that sometimes it was better not to try to understand.
    How sweet life was in those days! Stable, regular, incorporated into God’s memory, it allowed the poor to go on their way singing, the prisoners to sleep, and the children to venture without fear on uncharted paths.
    The Jews led a Jewish life, the Christians a Christian life, and the others—the emancipated—displayed equal scorn for both.
    Naturally, an occasional crisis aroused distrust and rancor between the communities. When that happened Elhanan and all the Jewish children stayed home and worked alone or with their parents until calm was restored.
    A memory: the fascists had seized power in Bucharest. Gangs of the anti-Semitic Iron Guard were planning a raid on synagogues and Jewish homes. Neutral, the police kept their distance. Protective measures were necessary, but which ones? A meeting was held in the house of Malkiel, father of Elhanan. All the elders were there. Solemn,