Elie Wiesel – In Memoriam
September 30, 1928-July 2, 2016
We must always take sides.
Neutrality helps the oppressor,
never the victim.
Silence encourages the
tormentor, never the tormented.
As I
entered the religion department at Trinity College, Hartford, CT, I was curious
about the roots of Christianity and made what would be an important decision:
Jesus was Jewish, I reasoned, so I took Introduction to Judaism taught by
adjunct professor, Rabbi Stanley Kessler. One of the first books we read was Night, by Elie Wiesel. Having grown up
with a father who had done counter intelligence in WWII and spent time in Europe
rounding up Nazi war criminals, the book gave existential reality to the evil
and dangers my father had faced. My life was changed.
I became a
religion and Judaic Studies major. My senior year thesis was on the works of
Elie Wiesel up to 1971. No one on the religion department faculty really knew
who he was, so it was arranged that a graduate student, Bernice Saltzman would
be my advisor which was the beginning of a lifetime friendship. Bernice guided
me and mentored me and arranged for me to see Wiesel speak on several occasions
where in turn I was able to speak with him, and she eventually sent him a copy
of my paper. He sent a kind and encouraging note through Bernice.
In 1980 I
went to seminary in NYC, the Wiesel’s home city. I would travel up to the 92nd
Street Y every year to listen to his lectures on Biblical characters, Talmud and
the Holocaust. At the end of each evening we would talk, and he invited me to
call his secretary and arrange for us to get together. It would be three years
later when we finally got our respective calendars in sync.
It was
between graduation and my ordination. I went to his apartment in NYC. We sat in
his study, side by side. I was, of course, in awe, and was looking at floor to
ceiling bookshelves loaded with books, and stacks of books on the floor in
front of the bookshelves, some two or three rows deep and three or four feet
high! He asked me about my teachers in college and seminary. From time to time
the phone would ring. He would answer and take a message. After about the
fourth call he looked up at me and said, “Now you know the real Elie Wiesel – I
am Marion Wiesel’s social secretary!” After all he had been through in the
camps and afterwards there was still a sparkle in his eye and a sense of humor.
A lesson in there for us all.
I told him
that I had studied with Rabbi Kessler. He knew Stanley. I told him that while
in college I had approached the rabbi to explore conversion to Judaism, which
at the time seemed more direct, less encumbered with doctrine – and maybe I was
just ashamed at being part of a Christian community that largely stood by and
said and did nothing in those years of The Final Solution. I told him that
Rabbi Kessler had encouraged me to embrace my Christian tradition, that it was
a fine and sacred tradition, that we all worshipped the same God, and that the
world did not need another Jew, but rather some Christians who liked and
respected Judaism. Wiesel took a long pause to take that in. He did that from
time to time in our conversation. It was almost as if he were Elijah ascending
in a chariot of fire, or the Silver Surfer cruising the universe for a shred of
meaning in a world that is so often on the brink of madness. “Stanley was
right,” he said after the long silence. “You would not have made a good Jew!”
Whew, I thought, I am still on the right track. Then he said something that still
shakes me to my very core. “You know, Kirk, I could not do what you are doing.
I could never become a rabbi. I don’t believe I could take on the kind of
responsibility for a community of people as you are about to do.”
It now felt
like I was surfing the cosmos. The floor had fallen out from under me. We were
both just suspended in time and space. Elie Wiesel – not a rabbi? And if he
could not do what I am setting out to do what makes me think that I can? My
mind was awash with these and other thoughts. A short time later he ushered me
out the apartment door to the elevator and we said goodbye. Before the elevator
arrived he opened the door one more time and said, “Didn’t you have a coat when
you came.” Sure enough, I the starry eyed student had floated out of the master’s
home without my coat, without my wits, but with a fresh and honest appreciation
for what my ordained life was to be like. That was spring 1983.
The year
that President Ronald Reagan was “tricked” into visiting and honoring the SS
dead in a German cemetery I was home visiting my parents. Wiesel had been to
the White House to receive the Congressional Gold Medal. He took time that
evening to tell the president just how wrong that was. My father respected him
for that and turned to me and said, “Our politicians are just not as
sophisticated as those in Europe. That’s why the Kubiceks left to come here to
get away from all of that!”
We kept in touch throughout the
years. At each parish I served I began a yearly Yom Ha Shoah Service and
invited survivors and liberators to come speak to my congregations. I
participated in Jewish-Christian dialogues in several settings. I never lost my
passion for bridging our two communities, and now the third Abrahamic
tradition, Islam. One thought has sustained me throughout my years in parish
ministry and six years teaching in an international girl’s boarding school: a
telegram he sent me the day I was ordained a priest in December of 1983. It
read, in part, “Dear Kirk Alan Kubicek, May this day mark the beginning of a
mission that will bring many people closer to each other, closer to God and
closer to themselves...” For this and for his witness to Speak Truth to Power
throughout all of his 87 years I give thanks as he enters the realm of becoming
something like one of the Hasidic masters he wrote so much about for me and for
anyone who has taken the time to read even one of his books, attend one of his
lectures, or simply ponder what sort of human integrity it took for a teen-aged
boy from a ghetto in Sighet, Maramures, Romania, to have survived the Holocaust
and become one of its first witnesses and chroniclers. Eliezar Wiesel now
becomes one with the cosmos he has so often traveled searching for answers to
questions that should never have to be asked in the first place. Elie Wiesel
who once said, “God created humans because he loves telling stories and asking
questions.” Shabbat Shalom! And thank you.
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