Elie Wiesel: A Retrospective, Week #6
Elie Wiesel’s A Beggar in Jerusalem, originally published in 1968 as Le Mendiant de Jérusalem, explores the experiences of David, a Holocaust survivor, who visits Jerusalem after the Six-Day War.
In A Beggar in Jerusalem, Wiesel weaves together a complicated understanding between the past and present as well as the spiritual and physical. He reveals these themes through individuals on the fringe of society: beggars and madmen. As we have seen through our retrospective of Wiesel’s works, both beggars and madmen appear often throughout his stories: In Dawn a beggar teaches the protagonist something that changes his perspective for life; in The Gates of the Forest, he calls madmen “messengers.” Additionally, although we did not share passages from the particular section, Wiesel’s memoir, And the Sea is Never Full, includes a chapter on “Of Madmen and Visionaries.”
Why do you think Wiesel sees the opportunity for special insights and understanding of the world from beggars and madmen?
Passage #1:
The other postwar period, the one in Europe, was different. Survivors we were, but we were allowed no victory. Fear followed us everywhere, fear preceded us. Fear of speaking up, fear of keeping quiet. Fear of opening our eyes, fear of shutting them. Fear of loving and being rejected or loved for the wrong reasons, or for no reason at all. Marked, possessed, we were neither fully alive nor fully dead. People didn’t know how to handle us. We rejected charity. Pity filled us with disgust. We were beggars, unwanted everywhere, condemned to exile and reminding strangers everywhere what they had done to us and to themselves. No wonder then that in that time they came to reproach us for their own troubled consciences. (29)
Passage #2:
Somewhere in the world, Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlav used to say, there is a certain city which encompasses all other cities in the world. And in that city there is a street which contains all other streets in the city. And on that street stands a house which dominates all other houses on the street. And that house has a room which comprises all other rooms in the house. And in that room there lives a man in whom all other men recognize themselves. And that man is laughing. That’s all he ever does, ever did. (40)
Passage #3:
We who had taught the world the art and necessity of survival were to be betrayed by that world once more. And this time I for one would not submit to the event as spectator or witness.
[Lieutenant Colonel] Gad knew me too well not to read my thoughts. “Two days ago,” he said, “a young volunteer from overseas arrived at my camp. He was what you would call a nice Jewish boy. Clever, sincere, and burning with love for his people. I asked him a simple question: what had moved him to leave the safety of his home and come here. He answered with baffling frankness: ‘The wish to die with you.’ He was expecting congratulations, and received insults instead. I was beside myself with rage. I literally chased him out of the office: ‘It is extremely kind of you to wish to participate in our death, except that our national funeral―if I may say so―will not take place. Not now, not ever.’ Do you hear me? Don’t turn away!” (75)
Passage #4:
The rabbi nodded with understanding and turned to me. Stroking his graying beard, he questioned me about my studies, wanting to know where I was in the Talmud and how I felt about Rashi and other commentaries. He radiated such kindness that despite my timidity I was able to answer without getting confused, without stammering. But I was incapable of answering his last question: “Your mother wants you to grow up to be a good Jew. Tell me, what is a good Jew?”
“I don’t know, Rebbe.”
“Do you think I do?”
“Yes, Rebbe. I am sure you do.”
“Well let’s put it this way: a good Jew is someone who, thinking of himself, says: I don’t know.”
I waited for some further explanation, but he must have thought he had said enough. (81)
Passage #5:
“I” had remained over there, in the kingdom of the night, a prisoner of the dead. The living person I was, the one who I thought myself to be, had been living a lie; I was nothing more than an echo of voices long since extinguished, nothing more than a shadow stumbling against other shadows whom I was cheating and betraying day after day, as I forged ahead. I thought I was living my own life, I was only inventing it. I thought I had escaped the ghosts, I was only extending their power. And now it was too late to retrace my steps. (159-160)
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