In addition, Elie explores the brutality of the Nazis’ oppression. He blames their inhuman
treatment of the Jews and he no doubt despises their ignorance to their suffering. This is a
monologue of Elie’s thoughts right after the liberation of Buchenwald, so he is only 17 years old.
Therefore, I portrayed him as a child who is still lost and confused, but has no doubt witnessed
more horrors than any grown man has ever endured.
Elie is emotionally scarred by the events; he is ashamed for abandoning his father and he
regrets losing his faith in God. Although born as an Orthodox Jew, Elie was young enough to
have a complete reversal of faith. The Nazis claimed that the purging of the Jews and other
undesirables to the Third Reich was the will of God. I, therefore, attempted to reiterate this point
in Elie’s monologue in which he addresses such claims. He wants to know why any divine being
would allow such atrocities to take place.
Elie’s reflection in the mirror offers him one of two things: a shell for his former self, in
which he has changed but only in a way in which he cannot deal with it, or a completely resolved
person, who has found a sense of purpose and newfound moral in his life.
It isn’t supposed to be like this. It isn’t supposed to end this way. As I looked in that
deathly cracked mirror, I only saw a shell of my former self. What happened? Who am I from
here? A living corpse, with no remorse or guilt for what I’ve lost? What have I lost? I lost my
faith, I lost my trust in humanity, and worse of all, I lost my family. My father… what happened
to him again? Oh yes, he fell to illness, to dysentery, just like the rest of them. And worse of all,
he fell to them – them, those people that have caused us this suffering. Why did he have to be so
weak? Why couldn’t he be stronger? Why did he make me so angry, so burdened, so resentful to
his presence? He’s gone, and I didn’t care. I didn’t feel remorse; what did I feel? I felt freedom,
even though the bottom of my heart told me I must show him some remains of my love and
dedication. I couldn’t…I couldn’t.
I feel sinful and ashamed to have felt that way. Thinking back, I am disgusted. I am
disgusted at my failure to stand up for my father, when he was beaten by that bastard. I stood
there, watching; I couldn’t do anything even though my conscience told me to. Looking around
at those boys – no, they are now men – that have abandoned their fathers…I feel ashamed to
have been among their ranks. That young boy over there, I remember in the train…his father,
dead, by his hands all for a piece of bread. Bread? Again, it was them – them, who have caused
us to turn against each other, their inhumanity, their ignorance to our plight, and their shameful,
sinful presence claiming to work for Him. Is this how it is? Is this how it’s going to end?
Rabbi Eliahou…I’m sorry for what your son has done, and I am sorry for not obligating
to my prayer. I prayed to not leave my father’s side. Although I hadn’t physically, I did
spiritually. Father…it was my fault you were gone. It was my fault for not supporting you well
enough and for not providing the proper love and support for you. What was worse was the fact
that I had abandoned God. I couldn’t hold onto Him in my heart. How could I when they desired
for our deaths, saying that it is their own right to live, because they are not Jews, not like us?
My heart stings with loss and from the pits of my stomach I feel something begging to
break out. Is that the growing emptiness that is trying to devour my soul? Are you calling to my
heart, asking for entrance to tell me it will be alright? I’ve lost my God, but I have not lost my
faith, because from here on, my compromise to my failed efforts is to do what is right.
Looking back into that mirror, I see my reflection once more. But now, I am not that
person. I am not a corpse, because from the depths of that mirror, a new man arises from the
ashes of those that have suffered and died. This is how it is supposed to end.
