A favorite human pastime is imagining oneself being steady
in the middle of a crisis. What do I mean by ‘steady’: repelling the pain of
starvation, hard labor, and torture. ‘Yeah, I could take it,’ we like to think
to ourselves. People assume that, if ever they were to encounter a measure of
pain that could either kill them, or kill something inside of them, they would
be able to draw up the will to live from some hidden depth of strength and
courage, and then patiently wait for the horrors to cease.
Usually these assumptions are made by those who have been
untried
.
The other assumption humans like to make: ‘no matter what
happens to me; no matter what I’m threatened with, I’ll stand by my principles
and my family. Survival will never be as important to me as them.’
By the end of Elie Wiesel’s Night, the young author is enslaved to survival. The strain of his
suffering destroys him physically, thus destroying him mentally, emotionally,
and spiritually. I was particularly horrified by his thought on the death of
his father after he wasted away in that death camp: “Free at last!” It wasn’t
the thought itself that horrified me: it was the fact that I could understand
it in some feeble, instinctual way.
The human brain and body are hardwired to survive, hardwired
to endure up to a certain point. What happens when the brain and body are
brought to and beyond that point? Your body will undoubtedly betray you in a
way- it will seek out the surest path to live, and if that means being glad to
be alone, glad that a beloved family member is dead and no longer needs the
resources to be cared for, than you will be glad. My question to myself is: if
even half of what ripped Wiesel apart happened to me, would I still be me?
Would I do anything to protect my family, my beliefs? In the insanity caused by
sickness and hunger and intense, relentless fear, would I long for the death of
a loved one, if only to save me one more hurt?
I don’t know. I don’t know.
I don’t want to know.
- Angela H.
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