A few years ago, my wife, Marian, and I were invited by Noémi and Michael Neidorff, members of Traditional Congregation, to attend a lecture in New Jersey by Elie Wiesel. The Neidorffs were sponsoring the George Karpati Memorial lecture at Drew University in memory of their father.  Along with their mother, Alicia Karpati, who had written a Sho’ah memoir (it was featured here at the St Louis Jewish Book festival a few years ago), their children and other family members, I was honored to be included.  It turned out that that was the last George Karpati Memorial Lecture that Alicia would attend.  As it was just days before Pesach, Marian declined and I was able to bring my son, Akiva, instead.

We were privileged to enjoy a private period with Elie Wiesel before his lecture.  I also had the opportunity to speak with him for a few minutes.  I introduced myself by saying that I was a musmach of (received Rabbinic ordination from)Rav David Weiss HaLivni, Elie Wiesel’s boyhood friend from Sighet, now Romania.   

Without missing a beat Elie Wiesel said, “So, how is David?”  Internally I felt stunned. All I could think was (a) I would never even think to call him David; and (b) we are not buddies that I would know “how he is doing.”  Indeed, Elie Wiesel would.   (I am reminded by a colleague that when the two were together in New York, they continued to study as a chevruta.)  But it was a testament to his unassuming personality that he could speak as if we were all on par with each other.  (Noémi recently told me that Elie Wiesel knew her mother’s family, the Kornitzers from Hungary, and at the private meeting he shared anecdotes from his visits with her uncle, Bela. A writer of note.)  

The crowded lecture hall, filled with several hundred people, listened to his memorable soft, gentle voice in reverential silence.  I particularly recall two statements that he emphasized during his lecture:  He was most proud, he said, that (a) he never embarrassed a student and that (b) he never taught the same class twice. Of the latter he added, “I am a learner.” He taught in order to learn and learned in order to teach. 

Elie Wiesel is often referred to as a witness – the world’s witness to the Sho’ah.  And in his celebrated works and lectures he certainly was.  But in addition to his genteel and compelling personhood, something which is sadly, increasingly rare in our celebrity culture, he was a true representative of the Jewish people.  

The most common response to the bigotry, hate, discrimination, torture, and murder that people experience personally and collectively is too often loud and violent.  Too often it is a version of “do to others as they have done to you,” or “before they do it to you.”  Too often it is revenge.  

If any people has the “right” to exact revenge, it would be the Jewish people.  The length, breadth, depth, and nature of Jew-hatred is unparalleled.  It still manifests itself today against the Jewish people through Israel, even among otherwise good and intelligent people, even some Jews, who find compassion for anyone and everyone except the Jewish people.  

But this was not the Torah way.  Elie Wiesel represented Torah teaching.  The bitter enslavement of Egypt was not given the voice of revenge, but rather one of compassion and respect for the stranger, “Love the stranger, for you were strangers.”  Without ever minimizing the specific Jew-hatred of the Sho’ah in particular, and throughout history and in contemporary times, Elie Wiesel emphasized human empathy. 

Finally, many may recall that he, even in the presence of the President of the United States, criticized the leader of the free world for accepting an invitation to visit Bitburg, a Nazi cemetery.  I learned some years ago, that it is not possible that President Ronald Reagan did not know in advance what Elie Wiesel would say.  To his credit, Reagan allowed himself to be chastised by Elie Wiesel.  (The thinking is that the visit was scheduled by members of his staff and President Reagan concluded that rescinding his acceptance would have been worse than going through with the acceptance.)  But he allowed Elie Wiesel his rebuke.  And yet, that rebuke was simple and principled, but without any harshness:  “Mr. President, your place is not with them.” 

Baruch Dayan ha-emet.  (Praised is God, the true Judge.)  Zecher tzadik li-v’rachah.  May the memory of this righteous person be a blessing.  Blessed is the people who produces such a saintly man, who, despite the personal and national tragedy of the Sho’ah, taught us to be holier.  Blessed may we be to rise above, be holier, and build a holier world.

Rabbi Seth Gordon serves Traditional Congregation.