Our book club is reading "Night" by Elie Wiesel, and I've been putting it off. I read it when it was first translated from the French, and remembered being awed and shocked, and dragging myself around in blackness until long after I'd finished it.It wasn't that I didn't know the circumstances. I actually lived for a while in a small village in Germany that had been a training centre for the Gestapo during the war, which prompted me to read everything I could about the Holocaust. I couldn't make myself accept that my neighbours, who loved my children and bought me beer at the gasthaus and taught me about washing my windows every Wednesday, could have been part of what I knew to be true.
I think I took a deep breath and did the ostrich thing. Or fantasized about alternate worlds.
Book Club is Thursday and I just finished the re-read last night. I see it slightly differently than I did when I was in my late teens and it is even more distressing as I realize that although I was affected, I did nothing other than to choose one of the Jewish boys I knew as a boyfriend. That's a perspective I'm not proud of for so many reasons.
I'll be dragging my feet to the meeting even though the host-of-the-month always provides fine canapés and a broad choice of beverages.
When I grow up though, I hope I am an activist.
I remain horrified almost to the point of disbelieving that there are people like the Nazis in this world, always have been, probably always will. Why have I and my loved ones and friends been so fortunate as to live the lives we have, safe and well? It's a mystery, but am I ever grateful. And still horrified at the reality others suffer.
ReplyDeleteI think of you as an activist. You certainly have been for LGBT. (I think we're supposed to add another letter now.) You've done very well IMO.
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