Jesus and the Holocaust: A Case study
Please read the following:
When I came back from the bread distribution, I found my father weeping like a child:
“Son, they keep hitting me!”
I thought he was delirious.
“Him, the Frenchman. . . and the Pole. . . they were hitting me.”
Another wound to the heart, another hate, another reason for living lost.
“Ebezer . . . Eliezer . . . tell them not to hit me. . . . I haven’t done anything. . . . Why do they keep hitting me?”
I began to abuse his neighbors. They laughed at me. I promised them bread, soup. They laughed. Then they got angry; they could not stand my father any longer, they said, because he was now unable to drag himself outside to relieve himself.
The following day he complained that they had taken his ration of bread.
‘While you were asleep?”
“No. I wasn’t asleep. They jumped on top of me. They snatched my bread… and they hit me… again… I can’t stand any more, son… a drop of water.
I knew that he must not drink. But he pleaded with me for so long that I gave in. Water was the worst poison he could have, but what else could I do for him? With water, without water, it would all be over soon anyway.
“You, at least, have some mercy on me. . .”
“Have mercy on him! I, his only son!”
Night, p. 104
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