[Congressional Record Volume 149, Number 87 (Friday, June 13, 2003)]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Page E1236]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]
WATCHMAN, WHAT OF NIGHT?
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HON. TOM LANTOS
of california
in the house of representatives
Thursday, June 12, 2003
Mr. LANTOS. Mr. Speaker, last month leaders and citizens from
throughout America gathered in the Capitol Rotunda to commemorate the
Days of Remembrance. The ceremony had many powerful moments, but none
more moving than the remarks of my good friend Dr. Elie Wiesel, the
Founding Chair of the United States Holocaust Memorial Council and one
of the world's foremost champions for human rights and civil liberties.
A native of Romania, Elie Wiesel was fifteen when he and his family
were deported to Auschwitz. His mother and younger sister perished, but
he survived with the conviction that the international community must
never forget the lessons of the Holocaust. During the past fifty years,
as both an author and a teacher, Dr. Wiesel has devoted his life to
this end.
However, to classify Elie Wiesel's legacy as one of remembrance takes
into account only a small portion of his impact on society. He has
spoken out not only against anti-Jewish atrocities, but also on behalf
of victims from every corner of the globe, from Argentina's
Desaparecidos to refugees of Cambodia's Khmer Rouge regime. When Dr.
Wiesel was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1986, his speech clearly
elucidated the link between the Holocaust and all other human rights
abuses:
Human suffering anywhere concerns men and women everywhere.
. . . As long as one dissident is in prison, our freedom will
not be true. As long as one child is hungry, our life will be
filled with anguish and shame. What all these victims need
above all is to know that they are not alone; that we are not
forgetting them, that when their voices are stifled we shall
lend them ours, that while their freedom depends on ours, the
quality of our freedom depends on theirs.
Mr. Speaker, on April 30 we were once again privileged to learn from
this extraordinary man. Dr. Wiesel used his remarks to remind us that
horrific memories of the Holocaust do not constitute a social end in
and of themselves; rather, they must be used to ameliorate suffering in
today's world and in that of tomorrow. ``If we want to remember,'' he
said, ``if we want you to remember all those emaciated faces, all those
burning eyes, all those muted prayers, it is not only for our sake but
also for your children's and theirs. . . . Is memory the only answer to
the tragedy itself? But whatever the answer, memory is its most
indispensable element.''
Mr. Speaker, I am honored to enter the full text of Elie Wiesel's
remarks into the Congressional Record.
Days of Remembrance Remarks
elie wiesel, founding chair united states holocaust memorial council,
april 30, 2003--the capitol rotunda
From Isaiah, chapter 21: Shomer, ma milail? Watchman, what
of the night? This ancient call of the prophet of
chastisement and consolation reverberates in our memory today
as we remember the men and women, young and old, rich and
poor, learned and ignorant, secular and pious, dreamers of
sacred blessings and seekers of hidden redemption, who were
sentenced to suffer unparalleled agony and solitude in
ghettos and death-camps not for what they have done or
possessed or believed in but for what they were, sons and
daughters of a people whose memory of persecution was the
oldest in recorded history.
All the rivers run to the sea, days come and go,
generations vanish, others are born, remembrance ceremonies
follow one another--and hatred is still alive, and some of
us, the remnant of the remnant, wonder with the poet Paul
Celan: who will bear witness for the witness, who will
remember what some of us tried to relate about a time of fear
and darkness when so many, too many victims felt abandoned,
forgotten, unworthy of compassion and solidarity? Who will
answer questions whose answers the dead took with them? Who
will feel qualified enough and strong enough, faithful enough
to confront their fiery legacy?
What was and remains clear to some of us, here and
elsewhere, is the knowledge that if we forget them, we too
shall be forgotten.
But is remembrance enough? What does one do with the memory
of agony and suffering? Memory has its own language, its own
texture, its own secret melody, its own archeology and its
own limitations: it too can be wounded, stolen and shamed;
but it is up to us to rescue it and save it from becoming
cheap, banal, and sterile.
Like suffering, like love, memory does not confer special
privileges. It all depends on what one does with what we
receive, for what purpose, in the name of what ideal. If we
invoke our right, our obligation to remember a frightened
child who, in a ghetto, was assassinated before the eyes of
his mother, an old teacher beaten to death in the presence of
his disciples, a nocturnal procession walking towards open
pits already filled with corpses, a beautiful woman driven
insane with grief before being knifed by the killer--if we
want to remember, if we want you to remember all those
emaciated faces, all those burning eyes, all those muted
prayers, it is not only for our sake but also for your
children's and theirs.
If it weren't for their memory, much of what has been
undertaken and even accomplished would be without relevance--
and worse: without meaning.
To remember means to lend an ethical dimension to all
endeavors and aspirations. When you, my good friend Secretary
Powell, search deep into your heart, you find that most of
your diplomatic initiatives and military responses have been
rooted in your faith in the mysterious power of History of
which memory is made. Isn't that principle the one that keeps
on governing all our lives? Wasn't 1938 the main factor in
your recent decision-making regarding Iraq? In those years
there were two great powers in Europe: France and Great
Britain. Had they intervened instead of preaching
appeasement, there would have been no world war, no
Auschwitz.
Watchman, what of the night?
Is memory the only answer to the Tragedy itself? But
whatever the answer, memory is its most indispensable
element.
An ancient Talmudic legend tells us that when the soul
leaves the body to return to heaven, it cries out in great
pain; and the outcry is so powerful that it reverberates
throughout creation. What about the outcry of six million
souls?
Well, among the victims who were killed there was a 12-
year-old girl, Yunite Vishniatzky, from a small village named
Byten near Slutsk. This is her last letter, dated July 31,
1942: . . . ``Dear Father, I say good-bye to you before dying
. . . We want very much to live . . . But they won't let us--
that's how it goes . . . I am so afraid of dying: small
children are thrown into the grave alive . . . I say good-bye
to you forever . . . And give you a big kiss . . . Your
Yunite . . .''
Watchman, what of the night? Watchman, what of the night?
And the watchman says: the morning comes, and also the night
. . .
So--we remember all the children whose lives bothered the
enemy so much he felt the irresistible urge to wipe them out.
We remember Yunite Vishniatzky . . .
When her soul left her frail body, was her cry heard by
anyone, anywhere?
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