In Memory of Elie Wiesel

It’s what I like to call Shakespeare Sunday today, where I often share something Shakespearean with my friends. Today I dedicate my blog to Elie Wiesel who has just passed.

As I sat on the beach yesterday, trying to breathe again and find balance in my life among the hectic nonsense of life, especially the life in the virtual spectrum with drama and nonsense and worries about book sales and loyalty and lies and truth and a myriad of other things, I sulked. Was I feeling sorry for myself? Maybe. I don’t know. But there are just days I feel fed up. Tired. Tired of the nonsense. Tired of the competition. Tired of the jealousy. Tired of misunderstandings. Tired of expectation. I had my whole Shakespeare post ready about Expectations for today—you know the quote I’m sure. "Expectation is…"

And then, I see the Globe, my Sunday ritual, a dying ritual I realize, to pick up an old-fashioned newspaper, ink barely dry, staining my fingers in that beautiful hue of grey that is messy and decadent at the same time. I lick to get to the Food section and the Arts and Entertainment section, my greedy little fingers wrapped around both the awkward pages of the dying art and my coffee mug as I curl into what I deem relaxation.

And there it is. Elie Wiesel, one of the greatest writers, thinkers, narrators, and most importantly, historians of our time. And my heart saddens. I mean sick with heavy sadness. I realize that there is about to be no one left who will be a primary source to this horrific tale in history. Amidst the political climate in our country and abroad right now, I feel the lump in my throat as I stifle down the sad truth that I see similarities in scapegoating and fear going on around me in global scales but also in my world, an almost microcosm of the bigger picture. Pointing fingers. Blame. Half-truths.

As a teenager, I was profoundly affected by Wiesel’s narrative, Night, as I’m sure many of you were and are. When running my first 5K, it was his tale that stuck in my mind. Silly, I know. Big deal. 5K. Ha. But for me it was a huge feat. I said in my mind thinking of Wiesel’s story of unbelievable odds—40 miles, no food, freezing weather, barefoot in the snow—surely, I can run a mere 5K. It’s about determination. How bad do I want it? This is fucking nothing!
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I remember the music of the violin the most, that little boy playing his heart out only for Elie to awaken the next morning to death and the crushed violin, destroyed, symbolic. It is still one of the most powerful scenes I ever read that speaks so much without ever speaking it at all but instead, showing it. And yet—this quote—by Wiesel shows us that adversity can be overcome, that you can survive, that you can still go on to find some semblance of happiness, that you can, indeed, live a life that is gratifying. So yes. I realize everything is relative. But damn it. I have it pretty darn good. Life will never be perfect. Elie Wiesel survived the Holocaust. He went on to do great things. I was fortunate enough to visit one of his lectures here in Boston. We all face levels of adversity. And as Shakespeare wrote: Sweet are the uses of adversity/Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,/Wears yet a precious jewel in his head.” If someone like Wiesel can overcome and use his adversity as a “jewel in his head,” I think every single one of us can. We are “mere mortals”—it’s true, but words, Shakespeare’s, Wiesel’s—they are immortal. And because of those words, we will never forget.