Lunch with Elie

This afternoon, I thanked G-d.

You see, life can be stressful. But until we relax, find an inner modicum of freedom from that stress, take measure in our lives, our selves, and our beings, we can’t think straight. This afternoon, Elie Wiesel helped me think straight.

It started with an e-mail from Kathleen Hughes last week. “Send me a reply within 30 minutes and you can sit with Mr. Wiesel during lunch,” she wrote. After picking myself up off the floor and wiping tears from my eyes, I replied with the only way a Hilary Duff fan can.

“OMG!!! Thank you!! Yes!!,” was my reply (although I’m not sure about the amount of !’s I put in then).

This morning, I was brewing with anticipation as the brewed coffee was poured in my cup. Even listening to a phenomenal presentation on literacy and community building, I couldn’t keep my mind off what would be happening next. I would be seated next to one of my heroes from grade and Hebrew school. The man who wrote Night. The human being who has fought intolerance and struggled to tell his story. A story that, he said later on, “nobody can fully understand what I really wanted to say, unless you were there.” This was a lunch that I would never forget, and one that would persevere in my heart for a long time.

When 11:45 arrived, I raced to the lunch hall (skipping everyone in line – sorry about that), found Kathleen, who told me where to find Mr. Wiesel. I felt like a rat in a maze, looking anxiously for Elie. I waded my way to the front of the room…

…and there he was. My body immediately reacted. Chills coursed through my heart, my brain, and my hands. I was literally shaking and had to find a seat quickly before I passed out. After settling in across the table from Elie, I took a deep breath, walked around the table, held out my hand, and introduced myself. I’ve never had trouble meeting people, but this time I was scared, petrified, and filled with so much glee that I knew that I had found bit of peace in my stressful life. He shook my hand, welcomed me (shouldn’t I have welcomed him?!) and smiled at me. All I could say was, “Thank you Mr. Wiesel,” and walk back to my seat, humbled.

Before lunch was served, many attendees came to say hello, take a few pictures, and soak in the aura. It was electrifying. I sat between two members of the PLA Board, talked community building with one, and (would you believe) PubSub with another. All the while, my mind and eyes were on Elie. I was ready. Let’s finish desert already so that Elie can get up to the podium. Hurry. After an introduction by Daniel Walters, Elie walked slowly up to the podium and the stage was set. Here he was. My childhood hero. Speaking to my colleagues and me. Go.

He started with the usual shpeal from speakers at library conferences of loving libraries. His was more powerful for no other reason that it came from Elie. “I love the silence of libraries,” he stated. “The library to me is like being in a concert hall…One is alone, but one’s friends are the books.” Minutes later, he said, “I take words seriously, words bring more words.” These were his only thoughts about libraries for the day, and, internally, I thanked him for it.

The rest of his talk centered around writing Night, how he was interviewing a Prime Minister in Israel who told him that he should talk about “it”, after taking a personal vow of silence for 10 years. Not only did he talk about it, but he wrote about it. But nobody wanted to publish it.

When Night was finally published in France, it was slowly read by the world and his story told. He mentioned that 6 million people have read his book and noted the irony as we all did. At that moment, I looked around the room. At least 500 people were in attendance. 250,000 people attend the Indianapolis 500 every year. Imagine 24 Indianapolis 500s. That’s 6 Million. It’s unfathomable.

His remarks then turned to the questions of faith and despair that he has been asked over the years. How can be believe in G-d after what he has been through? How could have G-d let this happen? Was it a miracle that he was saved? Very tough questions to answer and ones that he admitted he didn’t have many answers for. He did say that it wasn’t a miracle that he was saved because if G-d was a miracle worker, G-d would have had the power to save others.

Regarding despair, Elie said, “There is a always a way out of despair” and he “has never lost his faith.” These words rang true to me as I sat there in awe of this man, this being standing right above me, like a figure of heavenly proportions. There are always ways out of despair, and when you find your way out, you’ll wonder why you found yourself in despair to being with. “What do you do with despair,” Elie asked? Faith is part answer. Faith in ones abilities. Faith in ones faith. Faith in life.

He then moved onto hate. “Those who hate, hate everyone,” he mentioned. He was angered by educated people who kill. “A cultured person cannot kill a child. Killers have educational degrees.” He couldn’t seem to get passed this. After telling us that we should always be fighting those who hate or “have the potential to hate”, he said that “all wars are ugly.” I wondered what he would think about the current war in the Middle East. On the one hand, it’s ugly, but aren’t we fighting those who hate? I have no answer as to what Elie would think of that.

He ended with the following words:

“Do not accept hatred. Do not accept evil by giving it a chance to gain power…and hope. Only another human being can destroy the hope in me.”

With those words thrown into the air of the room, he walked slower down the stage than at the pace that he walked up. He seemed shaken by his own words. I couldn’t control myself. I shot up off my seat, shedding tears of sadness and joy, and joined in on the standing ovation that was already in session. He walked amongst the crowd, who seemed in awe of his powerful words. Hugs abounded. Shakes of the hand. Again, I found myself wading in the crowd to meet up once again with Elie.Finally, I got to him. I shook his hand and we embraced. “Thank you Elie,” I whispered in his ear. “It was a pleasure meeting you Steven Cohen,” he replied.

What has been a stressful time for me was, for at least an hour, less so. As I walked out of the room, tears streaming down my eyes, I called my wife, told her I loved her, and made my way to my room to write these words.

Thank you Elie, for helping me think straight, if only for an hour…