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Elie and Me is a reimagining and rewriting of the Holocaust memoir Night by Elie Wiesel, told
through the different perspectives of Elie’s loved ones and another Jewish prisoner he encountered
during his journey to the concentration camp. Each section is rewritten by a different student.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Front and Back Cover created by Shriya Bengre, Cindy Chai, and Olivia Otou-Branckaert

Sarah Feig (Elie’s Mother)- a rewriting of Chapter 1 by Jessica Lin ………………………….…3

Shlomo Wiesel (Elie’s Father) – a rewriting of Chapter 2 by Mykel Stevens ………………........7

Mrs. Schächter – a rewriting of Chapter 2 by Ranae Zhen ……………………………………...11

Mrs. Schächter- a rewriting of Chapter 2 by Jonathan Du and David Guan …………………….14

Shlomo Wiesel (Elie’s Father)- a rewriting of Chapter 6 by Fernando Sarmiento- Cala …….…16

Shlomo Wiesel (Elie’s Father)- a rewriting of Chapter 8 by Devon Nguyen ………...…………20

Shlomo Wiesel (Elie’s Father)- a rewriting of Chapter 8 by Joseph Decker ……………………25

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 Sarah Feig (Elie’s Mother)
Chapter 1
Rewritten by Jessica Lin

Schlomo, my husband, is a good man. I’ve never doubted that. The only problem is that I
think he cares more about the other Jews in our town than our family. Everyone always comes to
him for advice. So it’s up to me to keep up with our children. Hilda and Bea, our eldest daughters,
help me out at the shop we own. Elie stays at home to study, as that is what a young man his age
should be doing. Lastly, there is Tzipora, our youngest daughter.
I remember Elie telling his father and I about a man he met. Moishe the Beadle if I
remember correctly. Then Schlomo and Elie got into an argument about that man. I stayed out of
it, but some time later Elie told me that Moishe disappeared. Not that I really noticed, I was busy
with other, more important, matters. Hilda was getting to the age of marriage, and I had to find her
the perfect match.
Obviously, being a Jew in Europe, I paid attention to news about the Nazis, but I wasn’t
worried about them. How would one man go about destroying a whole group of people? I think
Elie might’ve been worried though. He asked Schlomo if we could leave our home and move to
Palestine. Schlomo was against that idea, and honestly, I agreed with him. I didn’t see the point in
moving; we already had a good life here in Sighet. Still, I comforted Elie, and I think I eased his
fears. That is, until the German troops entered the Hungarian territory. All of my neighbors started
worrying around then, but personally, I doubted the Germans would ever reach us.
I was wrong, the Germans came a few days later. When I first heard the word “German”, I
was expecting a bunch of brutes who would kill people just for fun. When they arrived though, I
was pleasantly surprised. The Germans were actually polite, even if they forced the citizens to
lodge them. No soldiers came to our house, but a German officer lodged at one of our neighbor’s
houses.
Mrs. Kahn, the neighbor, said that the officer brought her some chocolate. An enemy
wouldn’t bring their opponent chocolate, so any lingering fears I may have had slowly dissipated.
The spring weather was lovely, and with spring came Passover. Those eight days passed by
in a flash, as I spent most of that time in front of a stove. I made a lot of matzo-ball soup, and
Tzipora especially enjoyed the smoked salmon. The synagogues were closed, so we just went to a
rabbi’s house. But on the seventh day, when we went to the rabbi’s house, he wasn’t there.
Apparently, all the Jewish leaders had been arrested.
For the next three days, we weren’t allowed to leave our homes. Why? I have no idea.
Then the Hungarian police told us we had to give up all of our valuables. Schlomo, being the smart
man he is, buried our savings in the cellar. Hopefully, when this is all through, we can come back

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and get our money again. We also had to wear yellow stars, but that wasn’t too bad. During this
time, I kept on doing what I usually did. I swept the floors and made sure our house looked nice.
I was worried about our children. Tzipora was the one I worried about the most. She was
only seven, so I wasn’t sure if she understood the severity of our situation. I debated whether I
should try to explain it to her, but I decided against it. What she didn’t know couldn’t kill her, and
I didn’t want her to lose any sleep because of this. So I made everything seem like a game. We
were just playing hide-and-seek. The stars we wore were because we were playing dress-up.
We continued to stay in our house even when the ghettos were created. This is because our
house was within the four streets that created the ghetto. While I was relieved we could stay in our
home, I was still a little uneasy. If the police could force us into ghettos like this, what else could
they do? Still, I had to stay optimistic in front of the kids. Besides, nothing terrible has happened
to us yet. Sure we had to live together, as we were confined to one area, but it was like our own
little community. Everyone was going through the same thing.
Life was, for the most part, was normal. Then one night, Schlomo was called to go to a
meeting. I don’t what for, but he seemed very solemn. I couldn’t help but remember what I saw
earlier today. Standing outside the tailor’s store were two Gestapo. At least I think they were
Gestapo. I had never seen German officers in the ghetto before, so that made me a little panicked.
Maybe I’m just being paranoid though.
We must’ve waited until around midnight for Schlomo to come back. Hilda, Bea, and Elie
all refused to go to sleep, but I didn’t try to force them to either. Tzipora could sense everyone’s
tension, but tiredness overwhelmed her and she slept in my lap. I was stroking her hair when the
door slammed open. Startled from the sound, Tzipora awoke, and we both gazed up at Schlomo’s
figure in the doorway. I searched my husband’s face for any sign of hope, any positivity, but I
found nothing. Silence took hold of the room as he caught his breath.
“Transports,” he announced.
As my husband continued to explain what would happen, though mostly it was what he
thought would happen, I began to busy myself with gathering our possessions. I took out our eggs
and boiled all but three of them. I combined the remaining eggs with flour, water, and potatoes,
and began to fry those off. Then I began to cook the meat. We only had a few day’s worth of beef,
but I decided that it was better than nothing. After that was done, I began sewing backpacks to put
all the food in. I grabbed one of my dresses and began to sew the bottom hem closed. Then I
grabbed whatever I could see and stuffed it into the makeshift bag. Two pairs of pants, four shirts
(one of which was probably too small), five eggs, and several cakes wrapped in cloth. My hands
had a mind of their own. By the time I realized what I was doing, six packs sat in front of me, all
of them bulging from their contents.
I don’t know when it happened, but the sun had risen.

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 Seeing as my duties were complete, I started contemplating sleep. I thought better of it
though, and began to double check the house. That’s when the Hungarian police started yelling for
us to come outside.
I quickly shoved a sack into each one of our family member’s hands and stepped outside. I
felt my shoulder get struck by the butt of a rifle, and I winced in pain. I hugged my children closer
to me, in fear that they too would get hit. We waited for hours, as the last of the Jews slowly came
out of their houses. Had this been another time, the sun’s warmth would’ve welcomed me. But
now, being cramped together with all these people, it was torture. The back of my throat screamed
for water, and I knew my children must’ve felt the same way.
“I’m thirsty,” Tzipora whimpered.
Her voice had been soft, perhaps because talking would make the thirst worse. I really
wanted to go inside and get water for her, but we were not allowed to leave. Only after a few hours
had passed were we permitted to return back to our homes. Thankfully, we were the last convoy,
so we didn’t have to march quite yet. I ushered the girls into the house, but Schlomo followed the
Jews in the first convoy. Elie also stayed outside, watching them walk by.
I told the kids to go to sleep early. They needed to conserve their energy, and I feared that
soon we wouldn’t even have beds to sleep on. I tried to keep myself busy the next day by making
bread. I hadn’t used up all the flour to make the cakes, so I formed a quick dough. My arms didn’t
have the strength to knead the dough, so we would just have to deal with a denser bread. At least
they wouldn’t get crushed in our packs. Again, I told my children to go to sleep early.
Upon waking, I found out that we were going to be moved to a smaller ghetto. Like last
time, the Hungarian police yelled at us to step outside. There we waited the same, long hours
underneath the scorching sun. Finally, we were told to march. At one point, I saw Elie look
inquisitively up at me. I realized that he was also looking at Schlomo, who was crying. Was Elie
waiting for me to start crying too? No, I couldn’t do that. I had to stay strong for the kids, if for
nothing else. Secretly though, my heart ached.
Everything ached, but I hated seeing my family in such distress.
After a few minutes, my legs began to drag across the ground. I noticed everyone else had
started to slow down too. Our pace was now the equivalent of a leisurely stroll, although there was
no leisure in this. The police must’ve noticed, as then they commanded us to run. From then on, I
had no control over my body. I was being carried by a wave of frantic Jews, all of whom were
trying to escape the blows of the police. A few were not so lucky.
The smaller ghetto was worse than ours. We entered one of the houses and began to
unpack our necessities. Since it was dinnertime, I told Elie to get some wood for a fire. I felt bad
for using this family’s food, but I also knew they were never going to come back.

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 We cannot give up. I had always been thinking this, but I don’t know when I started saying
it outloud. Whether it became a mantra for my own good, or for my family’s good, I do not know.
All I knew is that we couldn’t give up.
We spent several days in this house. On Friday, we had the traditional meal of bread and
wine. As we said our blessings, I couldn’t help but wonder if anyone was even out there. As
thankful as I was for the food and for my children, I knew we were in a pretty unfortunate
situation. I hoped it would not get worse.
The next day is the day we left. Forever. All of the Jews walked in unison to the
synagogue. I hadn’t been in there in a few weeks, ever since they closed all of them down.
Holding Tzipora’s hand, and walking alongside Hilda and Bea, I followed the stream of woman
heading upstairs. Schlomo and Elie stayed downstairs, with all of the men. Everything was very
cramped and crowded. No one was allowed to leave, not even to use the restroom. I told my
children that everything was going to be fine, that conditions would soon be better. Only Tzipora
believed my words; the others were too old for false hope.
I must’ve gotten at least a few hours of sleep, as when I woke up, everyone was milling
about. We were going to be free of this prison. The irony of my place of worship being a prison
did not go over my head, and I thought about it as we walked to the station.
Eighty people to a car we were told. I clambered on one with the rest of my family. We
were all given some bread and a few pails of water. I urged the children to hold their buckets
steady, as to not spill any water.
Soon, the doors of the car were closed by the Gestapo on the outside. I took my last breath
of fresh air. There was a slight lurch, and the train began to move. Surprised, my hand jerked, and
a few drops of water splashed out of my own bucket.

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 Shlomo Wiesel
Chapter 2
Rewritten by Mykel Stevens

I looked around me in our crowded cattle car. People were packed against one another
like cigarettes. My son was pushed into my side, I was glad that he was with me and not
somewhere else, all alone. The rattling over the train jolted me and caused me to knock into the
people around me.
In my aimless browsing of the car, I noticed children around Elie’s age clinging to each
other and kissing as if their lives depended on it. No one seemed to take notice, strangely
enough. I remember what it was to be young. Those days have long since passed.
I still had a small ration of bread in my pocket. I decided to save it for something
important, God knows how long we will be stuck in this train. My stomach is growling like a
wild animal.
The train came to a rest in Kaschau, the town was small, resting on the Czechoslovakian
border. I realised that we weren't staying in Hungary, my hopes diminished. A rumble of
whispers rushed through our car, the others know too.
The whispers came to a sudden stop when one of the German officers threw open the
sliding door. He leaped up into the car followed by a Hungarian lieutenant. He began to rant
about how we were property of Germany and all of our valuables were to be handed in. Some
had a flash of resistance in their eyes, but he soon squashed it by informing us we would be shot
if we did not comply.
After his speech, the lieutenant came around with a bucket, taking the last of the things
we held dear. I still had my Elie, my boy. Many were reluctant, but still complied out of fear.
The German turned around before he departed and left us with these words: “I have
counted 80 of you, if I count any less, there will be none”. He swept out of the car, the lieutenant
dragging behind him. The doors slammed shut and were sealed once more. A wave of fear crept
up my neck, please don't let me die today.

In the corner there is a woman, she is called Mrs. Schächter. She is holding her little boy
as close as she can, he was all she had left. The rest of her family was torn from her when the
first transport left. She was breaking, I could see the cracks forming in her, the loss was
destroying her.
She happened to be a close friend of my family. She would spend long evenings at our
house with her husband and sons. She was working woman, her husband was a man of books,
she supported her family. The woman in this car was not who she was.
The poor woman had totally lost her mind. On the first day she began to mumble and
moan. She begged for her family, clutching her boy to her chest. She later began to scream and
sob.
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 Very late one night, while I was drifting in and out of consciousness, she shot up and
began to scream. She screamed about fire.
The whole car erupted in terror. Only I knew who had screamed, her voice familiar yet
distant. She was in middle of the car, standing in the pale moonlight looking dead, like a tree.
She howled and stared at the window in fear. Her finger rose to the window and she began to
scream about fire again.
One of the larger men rushed to the window, squinting in search of the fire. His face
twisted in annoyance. There was no fire.
The entire car began to settle, but no one slept. We were all too shaken by her screams.
Every noise made us jolt and wence. Elie curled into me, clutching my coat. “Be strong my boy”
I whispered.
People began to gossip in the void of sleep. People were saying that she'd gone mad, I felt
a slight anger. The poor woman lost her family, have some compassion. One woman held her
head in her lap and dabbed her forehead with a rag. Her son clung to her, “Mamma, please!
Quiet! Mamma!”, his tears rushing down his face like a river.
Other women also came to her aid, attempting to calm her. Telling her that her family
would be there when the train stopped. Those beautiful liars, telling her such hopeful things.
Their words did nothing to calm her, she thrashed worse, bruising herself and some others.
Everyone was pushed to a boiling point, including I. I squirmed in place, my skin
crawling. We all seemed to be touched by her madness. Everyone had given up. Some men,
much younger than I, bound her and stuffed her mouth.
A peaceful silence settled over our car. Mrs. Schächter’s son sat by her side, small tears
streaming down his face. I reveled in the silence, honing in on the sound of the train rushing over
the tracks. I began to doze off, cuddling Elie to my chest.
I was asleep for a few hours before another scream ripped me from my slumber. She had
broken free of her constraints. She was howling, it was much louder than before. I pulled Elie
closer, covering his ears. He has heard so much already.
The same group of young men grabbed her by her arms and waist. They forced her to her
knees and pulled her arms behind her back. They began to bind her again, but she was resisting
much more harshly. She thrashed and spit. One of the men struck her.
A wave of approving sounds rolled through the car. The men began to hit her more. They
hit her head, they could kill her. She began to quiet down, crumpling in place, arms tied
painfully. Her boy clung to her, no tears, just pain in his eyes.
I didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. When day break came everyone’s harrowed faces
shone bright. Not many had gone back to sleep, only a few. Mrs. Schächter sat quietly in her
corner. Her son had moved away and sat with another family.
Mrs. Schächter had a glazed look in her eyes and her face was emotionless. She was
staring into the distance. She remained this way all day, until nightfall. She began to scream
again.

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 She was pointing at something, but no one knew what and no one cared to know. No one
made any move to apprehend her or beat her into silence. The heat and thirst were horrendous,
but they didn’t even hold a candle to her screams. They ripped at my heartstrings. I think that all
of us would have gone mad like her, if only more time had passed.
The train began to slow. We were pulling into a station. Excited whispers erupted. One
man stood on a box and looked out the window. He said, “Auschwitz, that is where we are.”. I
had never heard that name before. I don’t think anyone else had either.

Our train didn’t move after we stopped in Auschwitz. Time drug on and on, like molasses
dripping out of a jar. Suddenly the doors were slammed open. I looked up at the doors. A man
came in and told us that two men were allowed to get water. Two of the largest men got up and
went to fetch water.
When they came back they had amazing news, as amazing as it could be given the
circumstances. They had spoken to some people inside of the camp. They found out that this was
our last stop. We weren’t going to be on this horrid train anymore, we were going to work. They
had told us that the conditions were good and that we got to stay with our families.
A burst of optimism and confidence swelled inside our car. People began to excitedly
whisper. A large weight had been lifted off of us, off our chests and shoulders. I could breathe. I
began to pray. I thanked God, he had brought us to safety.
Mrs. Schächter remained silent and closed off. Our celebrating didn’t reach her. Her eyes
were still glazed and she showed no emotion. I prayed for her, only God could save her now.
As night fell, we ate the last of our food. I savored every bite of my stale bread,
attempting to get as much from it as possible. After I finished my food, I settled down with Elie
and began to doze off.
I was woken abruptly by screaming again. Mrs. Schächter was screaming of another fire.
People rushed to the windows. There was an air of belief, but it was gone faster than it had come.
There was no fire, there never was. People returned to their spots, full of shame and fear. She
kept howling and was struck down. She fell quiet again.
The leader of our car flagged down a German officer and asked if they could remove her.
The officer told him to have patience and walked away. The man sat down in defeat. She would
be staying in our car.
The train began to move again shortly after. People were confused, we were supposed to
stay in Auschwitz. A sense of dread washed over me, I tried to shake the feeling and failed.
We began to slow down again. The train halted. People rushed to the windows once
more. They were greeted by barbed wire fencing. This was where we were going to stay. A chill
krept up my spine.
Another scream fell over the car. She was going on about fire again, but this time was
different. Her eyes has geniune fear in them. She pointed and people rushed to the windows

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once more. Large columns of smoke and flame rose from tall chimneys. Shock and
disbelief washed over our car, there were real flames.
Mrs. Schächter fell silent, going back to her original state. People still looked at her in
a strange way. There were actually flames this time.
Our doors slammed open again. People dressed in striped jackets and black pants leapt
into our car. They began to push us out with sticks and flashlights. I gripped Elie closer, I’m
not going to lose my son.
I was greeted by the smell of burning flesh when my feet came in contact with the
ground. I gagged and swallowed hard. I wouldn’t throw up then. We began to walk. I saw a
sign, it read: “Birkenau”. We were in Birkenau.

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 Mrs. Schächter
Chapter 2
Rewritten by Ranae Zhen

We took turns in sitting down. It was cramped, and the air was stuffy. We traveled
for days, and the heat wasn’t helping. We were to save our food for tomorrow, and eat only
enough to get through the day. I couldn’t stop thinking about my husband and children. They
were deported on the first transport. I dismissed any negative thoughts and told myself they were
fine, and we were going to meet once the train arrived. The train stopped at Kaschau, a
small town on the Czechoslovakian border.
Something wasn’t right. It dawned on us that we weren’t staying in
Hungary. The door of
the train car opened, and a German officer and a Hungarian lieutenant as his interpreter. “From
this moment on, you are under the authority of the German Army. Anyone who still owns gold,
silver, or watches must hand them over now. Anyone who will be found to have kept any of
these will be shot on the spot. Secondly, anyone who is ill should report to the hospital car.
That’s all.”
The Hungarian lieutenant went around with a basket and collected the possessions of the
people who obeyed out of fear.
“There are eighty of you in the car,” the German officer stated. “If anyone goes missing,
you will all be shot, like dogs.”
The officer and lieutenant left. I worried about my two sons. They may have disobeyed
the rules. They could be in trouble, but I kept my mouth shut and listened in fear of losing my
youngest son. At least he was with me. At least I could save him. The doors were shut and
nailed. We were trapped in the tiny cattle car.
I was usually quiet, but I was also suspicious of where they were taking us. I knew it was
nowhere good, but I didn’t know what they were going to do to us. I was in fear for my children,
especially my youngest one. I hoped I could protect him. My family meant everything to me.
Why was I separated from my family when everyone else seemed to be with theirs? I
didn’t understand. It was so unfair. I became paranoid and worried about my husband and sons. I
cried and sobbed for what they have done to me and my family. Every day without them felt like
months.
On the third night, I woke to see smoke. I was confused in what it was, so I squinted at
the shadows outside the cattle car bars. Then I saw it. Orange flames rising from these huge
pillars bellowing grey smoke, not far into the distance. We were heading towards the pillars.
“Fire! I see a fire! I see a fire!” I cried, frantically pointing in the direction of the flames.
There was a moment of panic. For a second, they didn’t know what had happened. They
woke from their sleep, and some looked out the window to see.
“Look! Look at the fire! The terrible fire! Have mercy on me!” I shouted. They didn’t
seem to see what I saw.

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 They tried to reassure each other and calm themselves down, like it was nothing too
important. They seemed scared. Not of the flames, but of execution, of my warnings.
“She is mad, poor woman…” someone said. I looked at them in disbelief. I hoped that
one person would at least look closer and see those awful flames, to prove I wasn’t crazy.
Someone had placed a damp rag on my forehead, like I was sick, or losing my mind. I
continued to scream out to them, to tell them of what I saw. They only responded back with
annoyance and ignorance.
“Fire! I see a fire!” I continued to yell. They all heard me, but they didn’t listen to what I
was saying. I was protecting them, warning them, but they ignored me just as before.
Even my own son didn’t believe me. He was crying and clinging onto my skirt, trying to
hold my hand to calm me down. They didn’t understand this was to inform them. Other women
tried to tell me it was nothing, to reassure me everything was fine, and that I would see my
husband and kids in a few days. I wasn’t even sure they were still alive.
“ Jews, listen to me,” By then I was sobbing, screaming for their understanding. “ I see a
fire! I see flames, huge flames!”
They tried to reason with me, to get me to shut up. But didn’t they see? I was helping
them, offering them a hand, but they chose not to take it.
“ She is hallucinating because she is thirsty, poor woman.... That’s why she speaks of
flames devouring her…” someone said, to try to get the others to pity me.
But I was not hallucinating. Yes, I was thirsty, but not thirsty enough to hallucinate. I did
not speak of flames devouring me, I was speaking the truth, the reality, the sight that I saw.
Couldn’t they tell I was warning them?
All of a sudden they turned on me. They hit me,forced me to sit down and shut up
because of their fear of being shot. They did not understand that I would be saving them if only
they listened. I was bound and gagged. They were only hurting themselves. My son sat next to
me, crying, thinking I had gone mad.
I worked at my bonds and finally got free. Again, I saw the smoke and the flames. I had
to warn them. Maybe this time they might see it.
“Look at the fire! Flames everywhere…” I started to yell before they tied me up and
gagged me again, only this time they hit me. They hit me hard, and the others cheered them on.
“Keep her quiet! Make that madwoman shut up. She’s not the only one here…” They
said. They were all against me. They kept striking at me and hit me harder and harder every time.
I couldn’t see the fire in the daytime. We might have passed it. I could no longer see the
glowing flames and the thick grey smoke. Once the sun started setting, I saw it again.
“ The fire, over there!” I shouted and pointed. They didn’t beat me this time, but they
didn’t seem to see the flames, either.
We pulled into a station. Someone near a window read to us:
“Auschwitz.”
None of us have heard of that name before.

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 The train stayed still for the whole afternoon. The doors opened and two men were
allowed to fetch us water.
When they came back, they told us that they exchanged a gold watch for some
information. They were told that this was our final stop. We were to leave the train here, and
work at the labor camps. They said conditions were good, and that families would not be
separated. The young and healthy work in factories and the old and sick work in the fields.
The people in my train car seemed happier and more relieved. I was still worried about
the flames. Every day it seemed to get closer. You could see the flames in the evenings.
“ Look at the fire! Look at the flames! Over there!” I shouted again when I saw them.
This time, some heads were turned, and some seemed as if they believed me for a second. They
rushed to the window again only to see nothing, and continued to sleep. I howled desperately for
them to understand, to see, but they only hit me again. The man in charge of our wagon called
for a German officer to take me away. He said I was sick, and needed to be moved to a hospital
car.
“Patience,” the officer replied, “Patience. She’ll be taken there soon.”
The train started to move again, but it was slow, so you could tell that we were almost at
the camps. They crowded at the window to see what was going on.
“ Jews, look! Look at the fire! Look at the flames!” I yelled. They were so close. The
flames were huge. They seemed to finally understand. You could see the guilt of mistreating me
on their faces. None of them admitted that I was right but all of them knew. I tried telling them
before. But now it’s too late.
A horrible stench filled the air. Our doors opened, and thin, strange creatures wearing
striped jackets and black pants jumped into the wagon. They shouted and struck at us with sticks
and flashlights.
“Everybody out! Leave everything inside. Hurry up!” They directed us. We were at
Birkenau. The flames were in front of us, glowing against the pitch black sky. There was a
stench of burning flesh. We were at the camps.

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 Mrs. Schächter
Chapter 2
Rewritten by Jonathan Du and David Guan

Fire. “Mom, Dad, where are you?” Marie pouted as she frantically ran to find her
parents throughout the house. She never should have run off to play by herself. Fire. It
consumed everything around Marie. She stopped calling, starting to run. Fire. The roof
collapsed, then the third floor, then the second floor. She ran out. And the house collapsed.
Fire.
Marie never would forget that day. She was taken, crying, from the remains of the
house by an aunt, one she’d never met. She was always very distant when Marie was growing
up. She never liked to do things with Marie, so Marie comforted herself with memories of her
family, trying to drown out the memory. The last memory. Around every month, however,
she couldn’t stop reminiscing. On those days, she always had flashbacks. Of fire.
She had these flashbacks more regularly from once a month, to once a week, to once a
day. She had flashbacks daily until she met the man of her life. She stopped having the
memories until two months after their wedding. Those flashbacks came more regularly.
“They‘re getting worse, and more often, Jim” Marie told her husband. “What’s getting worse?”
“The flashbacks, of course.” Mr.Schächter sighed. “Maybe you’re just getting older. After all,
you’re in your fifties.” Marie said, “I guess. I just hope the kids don’t get bothered by them.”
“It’ll be okay, Marie. Nothing will happen to us or the kids. You’re safe.”
They received news of the deportation late at night. After blearily waking up and being
told, they started to pack. They prepared to the best of their ability, taking only the necessities.
They waited outside, in the burning heat, for hours upon hours, in silence. “I want to go to the
restroom” Joe, the youngest son, declared. “I’ll take him to a private spot, you watch the older
ones.” Mrs.Schächter told Mr.Schächter. They had only left for a few minutes when a distant
call rang out from a police officer. “March!” Marie ran back, “My family! Please, wait!” The
officers paid no heed, except to strike her with a baton, with orders to “Go back!” As she and
Joe walked back to their positions, she saw her family reach the railcar, not realizing she was
still gone.
“Fire! I see a fire! I see a fire!” It had been four days since Mrs.Schächter was
separated from her family, and three since she got on the car. She didn’t know what reality was
anymore. The darkness was the same in her hallucinations as in the car. “Look! Look at this
fire! This terrible fire! Have mercy on me!” Occasionally, she would feel blows, hits to the
head, and knew she was in reality. But the fire never stopped burning. She felt fatigued.
Hunger overcame her.
The flashbacks came back again and again, as well as the blows, again and again.

“Everybody out! Leave everything inside. Hurry up!” The sticks held by German
officers struck at will, and their flashlights cut through the air. Everyone left the railcar and

14
began walking. In the distance was the camp. “Men to the left! Women to the right!”
Everyone was split up, into genders. Mrs. Schächter did not notice her son leaving her, nor the
club hitting her. She did not hear the sharpness of the rocks in the path underneath her, or hear
the cries from the other women. She saw fire all around her, surrounding the path she walked
to the “showers.” They were led into a large room, where hundreds of other women, some
with babies, were already there. She then heard the fire. The hissing noise. Then, she could
hear the screams. Her body became numb, fire was engulfing her. She fell to the floor. The
last thing she could feel was the burning touch of the fire to her skin.

15
 Shlomo Wiesel

Chapter 6

Rewritten by Fernando Sarmiento-Cala

A glacial wind blew fiercely, but we had to keep marching. The SS officers ordered us to
go faster. “Faster, you tramps, you flea-ridden dogs!” But why, if we could not go on much
longer, could they? We marched faster. “Faster you filthy dogs!” I was no longer concentrated
on myself, for I was worried for how long my son would last. “Faster, you filthy dogs!" We were
running like the devil’s soldiers were chasing us. Some were caught by him. Every so often, we
would hear a shot, a shot that gave us hope that someday, this madness would end. The SS
soldiers were told to shoot anyone who could not keep up with the pace.

They found great pleasure in shooting anyone left behind. They must’ve been very happy
that night. We were not allowed to stop for even a second, for our lives were in danger. I didn’t
feel human anymore. I felt like a steam engine, having one purpose and one purpose only which
was to keep going forward. At that point I was tired and wanted a quick death, and I knew that
my wish could easily be granted by the soldiers but my survival instincts had other ideas. All
around us people were dying. Exhaustion. Cold. Suicide.

A mob of beings ready to trample anyone for their own survival. They were the SS
soldiers’ helpers. I was amazed at how my son was enduring all of this, with his injured foot and
all. I thought, “If he can go on with an injury, I can go on as well.” As a father, I thought that if
he died, I would die with him, seeing as he was all I had left. I was still feeling really tired but, I
forced myself to go on. All I wanted was rest but I knew I could not have it.

I glanced at Eliezer, and saw that he was running with his eyes closed and I knew that he
was probably thinking the same thing. We were freezing, hungry, and thirsty, not to mention that
we were still running the living exhaustion out of us. After what seemed like an eternity, the sun
finally rose to end this wretched night. “We’ve covered 20 miles since we left.”

Finally, we saw our salvation, a break from this torture. An abandoned village. There was
no life visible here. Empty, run-down buildings differentiated here from the wilderness. At last,
we were told to stop. All around me people fell from exhaustion onto the snow. I saw my son
doing the same, causing me to come out of my thoughts. I told him not to rest here for there was
an abandoned shed and that he needed to get up. He was not very cooperative, wanting to stay
and sleep. After a lot of persuasion, he got up. The shed’s roof had caved in, had its windows
broken, and dusty, weathered walls the other prisoners would not make entering easy, since they
all wanted to get in. it took a while, but we managed to get inside. The floor was caked in snow,
making not much of a difference but at least we were protected from the outside winds. Eliezer
collapsed, once more, on the ground. Panic welled up in me since I knew the dangers of falling

16
asleep in the snow. I let him sleep a while because we were all exhausted. Eventually I woke him
saying, "Don't let yourself be overcome by sleep, Eliezer. It's dangerous to fall asleep in snow.
One falls asleep forever. Come, my son, come…Get up." Once again, his tired self refused to get
up. I kept urging him to get up and I thought, “I’m not letting my son die when I can still save
him. Not on my watch.”

I finally got him to get up from the snow and at this point, I was starting to feel
responsible for his misery from not being allowed to sleep. I pushed that thought aside since I
knew it was for his survival. He was not happy about it. I half dragged him outside, carefully
maneuvering around the bodies of the dead and alive lying on the snow. We both constantly had
to clench our teeth and endure the cold, icy winds. We looked around us and we saw nothing but
corpses of people, not even able to distinguish life from death. It all looked so similar. I
wondered how much time I had before I would join these bodies, before I was a part of them
“Come, Father, let's go back to the shed … " I did not respond. “Come, Father. It's better there.
You'll be able to lie down. We'll take turns. I'll watch over you and you'll watch over me. We
won't let each other fall asleep. We'll look after each other." I pondered this for a second, and I
thought it was a good idea, at least then we would regain some of our strength. It was difficult
work getting back in the shed, but when we got inside, I let him take the first turn sleeping. He
wanted me to take the first turn sleeping, but I said no. "Don't worry, son. Go to sleep” I said,
“I'll watch over you."

I saw a person trying to wake up his friend but I knew that it was too late. After seeing
that he was no longer living, he fell asleep next to him, suicide, or sleepiness perhaps. Death was
all around us taking us away to whatever came after life. I saw Eliezer trying to wake him up,
uttering the same words I had told him. "Wake up. One mustn't fall asleep here … “He glanced
at him, saying, "No advice, I'm exhausted. Mind your business, leave me alone." I decided to
take a little nap too. This man’s words had dawned on me and at that point, I wanted nothing
more than to fall asleep forever. "Wake up," I shot up, scared and stunned, realizing I had fallen
asleep and that my son had awoken me. How long had I fallen asleep? Minutes, an hour? Time
does not exist when one is sleeping. I smiled, grateful for my loving son that I still had left, a son
who still loved his father, and would not abandon his own family for his survival. Meanwhile,
snow continued to fall, like a shark, consuming anything and everything it can.

All of a sudden, the shed’s door opened and an old guy appeared. I looked at my son and
I knew that he also recognized him. It was Rabbi Eliahu; he was a very loving man, one who was
loved back by everyone in camp. He was always addressed as Rabbi and instead of making
others mad with his wise words, he was able to calm them down. He entered the shed, asking
around if anyone had seen his son. He told us that he had lost his son during the running, and that
he had searched for him in the snow and among the dying, but that he had had no luck. "It
happened on the road. We lost sight of one another during the journey. I fell behind a little, at the
rear of the column. I didn't have the strength to run anymore. And my son didn't notice. That's all
I know. Where has he disappeared? Where can I find him? Perhaps you've seen him
17
somewhere?" "No, Rabbi Eliahu” my son answered, “I haven't seen him." And so he left,
defeated because he had not found his son. We started to hear shouting outside and we ran
outside to see what the commotion was. The SS solders were ordering us to form ranks, and we
continued to march. No one woke the sleeping and we abandoned the dead. On the road, the
snow continued to fall without ceasing.

It seemed as though everyone in the world was absolutely exhausted, and the guards that
had endured the running with us, were also tired. At this point, the guards didn’t care anymore
about the way we walked, they no longer shot us. If we wanted to stay behind, they would let us
through, without a second glance. "Hold on! We're almost there!" they would say, "Courage! Just
a few more hours! We're arriving in Gleiwitz!" I noticed that even though they were the bad
guys, they still had as big a desire to get to our destination as we did. That was all we wanted. To
get to that place where we would have rest. We were so close, everyone trying to spot the edge
of our next place of misery, but we though, “Anything is better than what we are enduring right
now.”

It had stopped snowing. After a few more hours of unearthly cold, we finally made it to
the camp. Getting into the concentration camp was absolute chaos. People were shoving and
pushing and climbing over bodies to try to get in. My son and I were thrown onto the ground in
the midst of all this trouble. I heard a voice pleading for help but I couldn’t recognize who it
belonged to. We were all being slowly killed by the others. There was barely any room to
breathe what with all the bodies crushing and trapping us. I thought that we would be killed this
way, but my instincts kicked in and I started fighting, pushing for air. I hoped that my son was
doing the same and that he would succeed. I kept fighting and pushing until I found a
comfortable position in which I would be able to get some rest and breathe.

“FATHER, ARE YOU THERE?" Upon hearing this I felt joy like I had never felt
before."Yes!" I replied hoping he would hear me as well. "I am trying to sleep." I responded. All
of a sudden, a violin started playing. Who could be playing a violin at a time like this? I
remembered seeing Juliek with his violin before all this madness broke out. It must’ve been him.
It was a beautiful piece of music in the middle of all this dread. That violin was never played
again.

We stayed in Gleiwitz for three long, horrible days. We were not given food or water and
we were ordered not to leave the barrack. Even if we tried, the door was guarded by the SS. We
were all hungry, thirsty, and dirty. I wondered how long it would be before we would be given
food and water again. One could hear in the distance cannon shots coming from the Russians.
One day we heard that we were going to be moved to the heart of. On the third day early in the
morning, we were exited out of our barrack. We grabbed some blankets, hauled them over our
shoulders, and trudged over to a gate that split the concentration camp into separate parts. A
group of SS officers stood outside waiting for us.

18
 All of a sudden, there was one word that everyone kept talking about, selection! Upon
hearing this, all my hope escaped my battered body and my weak mind. I knew that I was in no
condition to be useful. I was old, weak, and tired. I only hoped my son would get past the
selection. The SS officers started. The weak, to the left; those who walked well, to the right. I
was sent to the left. I Saw Eliezer run after me and I knew that even though he loved me, that this
would only get us in more trouble. An SS officer shouted at him, "Come back!" he weaved and
zigzagged through the crowd. A lot of SS men rushed to find him.

This started a lot of commotion that some people were able to switch to the right. My son
and I took advantage of all this confusion and switched to the right. Lots were killed but I was
just grateful for still having the chance to spend another day alive with my son. We were led out
of the camp. After a march that seemed to take forever, we arrived at a field with railroad tracks
on it. Here we were to wait for the train to come and take us away. Once again, snow was falling;
it was like a familiar friend, always with you. We were not allowed to sit or move and were
given our daily ration, bread. We quickly gobbled it up like there was no tomorrow which if you
thought about it, there might not be a tomorrow. Someone had the idea of eating snow off the-
person-in front-of-him’s back. Soon, everyone was doing the same, trying to quench our thirst.
The SS officers were amused by this. Hours that felt like days passed by. Our eyes were
exhausted from staring at the horizon waiting for a train that didn’t seem to come.

It came in the late afternoon. The SS shoved us inside, a hundred per car all crammed
into each other. Once everyone was onboard, the train left, taking us to our misery.

19
 Shlomo Wiesel
Chapter 8
Rewritten by Devon Nguyen

At the entrance to the camp, SS officers were waiting for us. My son and I were counted. We
were then directed to the Appelplatz. Orders were given over the loudspeakers:

“Form ranks of fives! Groups of one hundred! Five steps forward!”

My son tightened his grip on my hand; he looked scared, or worried.

My son and I saw the tall chimney of the crematorium’s furnace. It was no longer a surprise to
see this, and it barely drew our attention.

A veteran of Buchenwald told us that we would be taking a shower and afterward be sent to
different blocks. The idea of a hot shower didn’t entice me, as I was too tired to do anything anyway. I
didn’t say a word, and my son noticed me breathing heavily.

“Father,” he said, “just another moment. Soon, we’ll be able to lie down. You’ll be able to rest…”

The thought of resting was the only thing in my mind at the moment. But I still didn’t say
anything. My son looked tired, and didn’t say a thing.

My son forced me to the showers, and we ran into hundreds of other prisoners. The guards
seemed incapable of restoring order. They were lashing out, left and right, to no avail. Some prisoners
were in the same condition as I was; no strength left to jostle, or even stand, so they decided to sit in the
snow. I wished to do the same. I weakly said to my son:

“I can’t anymore… It’s over… I shall die right here…”

My son then dragged me toward a pile of snow from which human figures poked out, torn
blankets.

“Leave me. I can’t go on anymore… Have pity on me… I’ll wait here until we can go into the
showers… You’ll come and get me.”

My son’s frustration was obvious. He looked like he could’ve exploded.

“Father!” he howled. “Father! Get up! Right now! You will kill yourself…”

He grabbed my arm. I continued to moan:

“Don’t yell, my son… Have pity on your old father… Let me rest here… a little… I beg of you,
I’m so tired… no more strength…”

My son began to judge me… I could see that he was, at least in his head.

“Father,” he said, “you cannot stay here.”

He pointed to the corpses around me; I wanted to rest as they did.

20
 “I see, my son. I do see them. Let them sleep. They haven’t closed an eye for so long… They’re
exhausted… exhausted…”

My son howled into the wind:

“They’re dead! They will never wake up! Never! Do you understand?”

I could not focus for the rest of the discussion. I felt like I was talking to Death itself, rather than
my son. I told it that I wanted the suffering to stop, and I feel that Death would consider my wish.

The sirens began to cry. Alert. The lights went out in the entirety of the camp. The guards chased
all of us toward the blocks. In an instant, there was no one left outside. I was glad that we didn’t have to
stay outside any longer, as it was freezing out there. I immediately sunk into the floor, glad to be able to
rest. The cauldrons at the entrance garnered no attention. There were many bunks… To rest was the only
thing I could think about.

When I woke up, it was daylight. This is when I remembered that I had split from Eliezer. During
the alert, I had tried my best to follow the mob, but I struggled to stick with them. I had barely gotten into
the block, and immediately went to a bunk to sleep.

It must’ve been hours before I saw my son; he was in a line, waiting for coffee.

I called out to him:

“Eliezer, my son… bring me… a little coffee…”

He ran toward me, then proceeded to hurl a jar of questions at me:

“Father! I’ve been looking for you for so long… Where were you? Did you sleep? How are you
feeling?”

I felt horrible, and very warm. My son felt my head, then went back in line for coffee. He fought
through the line to the coffee cauldron like a wild animal. He succeeded in bringing back a cup. He took
one sip, then gave the rest of it to me.

I was so grateful for my son, and I showed it with my facial expression while I chugged the rest
of the beverage. I could see the disappointment in my son’s face, but I couldn’t figure out why he
expressed this.

I was lying on the boards, ashen, my lips pale and dry, shivering. I could see that my son wanted
to stay with me, but he couldn’t. Everyone had been ordered to go outside to allow for cleaning of the
blocks. Only the sick could stay inside.

The healthy stayed outside for five hours, and when they were allowed to come back inside,
Eliezer rushed toward me.

“Did you eat?”

21
 “No.”

“Why?”

“They didn’t give us anything… They said that we were sick, that we would die soon, and that it
would be a waste of food… I can’t go on…”

Eliezer gave me the rest of his soup, but he had the look as if he regretted giving the rest of the
soup to me.

Everyday, I had been getting weaker. I had not seen myself recently, but I had an idea of what I
may look like. On the third day after we arrived in Buchenwald, everybody was required to go to the
showers. Even the ill like myself, who were instructed to go last.

After returning from the showers, the healthy were instructed to go outside, as the cleaning of the
blocks had not been completed.

Later, my son spotted me and ran toward me, but I passed him by, without stopping, without a
glance in his direction.

He called to me, but I did not turn to look at him. He then ran after me:

“Father, where are you running?”

I looked at him for a moment, but saw through him. I then proceeded to run away.

I had been suffering from dysentery, and was prostrate on my cot. There were about five other
sick inmates nearby. My son sat next to me, and stared at me with no emotion in his face nor eyes.

I sat up, to the surprise of my son and whispered into his ear:

“Eliezer… I must tell you where I buried the gold and silver… In the cellar… You know…”

And I continued to talk, not really knowing what I was saying. Maybe I was a little delirious, I
don’t know. Eliezer tried to tell me that it was not over yet, that we would be going home together, but I
didn’t want to listen to him. I couldn’t listen to him any longer. I was so tired, worn out. I noticed that
saliva mixed with blood was dripping from my lips. I closed my eyes, gasping for air.

Later in the day, my son got a cot next to mine. A doctor had arrived in the afternoon, and Eliezer
went to tell him that I was ill.

“Bring him here!”

My son dragged me to the doctor, as I couldn’t stand up on my own. The doctor stared at me,
then asked impolitely:

“What do you want?”

“My father is sick,” Eliezer answered in my place… “Dysentery…”

“That’s not my business. I’m a surgeon. Go on. Make room for the others!”

22
 My son was obviously frustrated, and tried to protest, to no avail.

“I can’t go on, my son… Take me back to my bunk.”

He took me back and helped me lie down. I was shivering.

“Try to get some sleep, Father. Try to fall asleep…”

My breathing was labored. My eyes were closed but I could see everything, the truth in all things.

Another doctor came to the block, but when Eliezer tried to get me to get up, I refused. I knew
that it would be of no use.

In fact, that doctor had come only to finish off the patients. I listened to him shouting at them that
they were lazy good-for-nothings who only wanted to stay in bed. Eliezer looked extremely angry, with a
bloodlust shown in his eyes. He looked like we wanted to kill the doctor, but took no action. He looked
too tired to do anything. He then went to go get some bread from the bread distributors.

While my son was gone, two of my neighbors came over and began to beat me.

“Why? Why are you doing this?” I forced out, groaning.

They said nothing, acting in pure hatred…

By the time Eliezer had gotten back from the bread distribution, I had already been broken. I was
crying:

“My son, they are beating me!”

“Who?” my son said, with a bewildered look on his face.

“Him, the Frenchman… and the Pole… They beat me…”

“Eliezer… Eliezer… tell them not to beat me… I haven’t done anything… Why are they beating
me?”

Eliezer confronted the two aggressors, and the they had a what seemed like a long conversation.
There were insults being thrown at each other, begging from my son, laughing, and anger. My son
eventually walked away from the confrontation, empty handed.

Many days, possibly weeks went on. I could not remember much, as I was in a constant state of
sleeping or in agony. I remember that the Frenchman and the Pole beat me and took my bread rations for
a week, and that I would plead to my son for water. He would tell me that I couldn’t have any water
because of my illness, but I did not, could not believe him.

I remember that the Blockälteste came to my son, and they talked for a while. I couldn’t hear
most of their conversation, as they kept their distance from me. In this action I knew that the conversation
was about me… it had to be! They talked on for a bit, with the Blockälteste pointing at me a few times.
The Blockälteste then left, and Eliezer had a look on his face, as if he were pondering something. He was
deep in thought for a minute or two, then a look of disgust crossed his face. He then went to go get some
soup, and came back. He offered the soup, implying that I should eat it, but I refused. I wanted water.

23
 “Don’t drink water, eat the soup…”

“I’m burning up… Why are you so mean to me, my son? … Water…”

He brought me water, then left the block for roll call. But he quickly turned back. He lied down
on the upper bunk. He said that he was going to pretend to be sick, to stay with me.

Time flied by, and all I can remember is that an SS officer dealt a violent blow to my head, and I
groaned:

“Eliezer…”

I was barely breathing-in gasps. My breathing was all that I could hear.

After roll call, my son came down from his bunk. He remained next to me for at least an hour,
just looking at me. I couldn’t imagine what I looked like, as my face hadn’t been cleaned from the blow
the SS officer had dealt me.

Eliezer then climbed into his bunk, above me. After a few minutes I had fallen asleep. And that
was the last memory I would ever have, my son leaning over me, with a worried look on his face.

24
 Shlomo Wiesel
Chapter 8
Rewritten by Joseph Decker
As the suffering Jews were led into camp and counted, orders were given over the
speaker system. “Form ranks of five! Groups of one hundred! Five steps forward!” I was already
so weak, and that’s when I felt the comforting touch of my son, Elie. Bless his soul, the child had
stayed with me through all of the pain, and not once had he forgotten me, no matter how hard. As
we walked, we met a veteran of our camp, Buchenwald. He told us that we would soon be taking
some hot showers, but the news was poorly received with me. I felt weak, and hot, and dizzy all
at once.
“Father,” my son said, “just another moment. Soon, we’ll be able to lie down. You’ll be
able to rest…”. He trailed off, but I was too miserable to say anything. It was all too
overwhelming. A man can only take so much before he fails, and I felt near to impending
destruction. We started working our way towards the showers, which wasn’t an easy task in the
slightest, as all prisoners were rushing for the sweet delight of heating.
We passed some who were too tired and lay down in the snow. I couldn’t hear it, but I
could feel myself moaning with them. I had to stop and rest. “I can’t anymore…It’s over...I shall
die right here…”. It was difficult to get a full sentence out, as I was gasping in pain and despair. I
led my son over to a few piles of snow. I made out some odd shapes, but in my state of mind
thought nothing of it. My son, though, wouldn’t stop nagging me.
“Father!” he yelled, almost screeching. “Father! Get up! Right now! You will kill
yourself…”. He had trailed off once more. I felt him grab my arm, but I was in a state of weak
confusion, so my mind didn’t register what my mouth was saying. “Don’t yell, my son...Have
pity on your old father...Let me rest here… a little...I beg of you, I’m so tired...no more
strength…”. It was getting hard to speak between gasps. I felt my mind slowly shutting down. I
tried fighting it to hear my son over an overwhelming black silence that was my consciousness.
“Father,” he said. “You cannot stay here.” He pointed to various shapes on the ground.
He must be confused. Those were only exhausted men as myself, just slumbering
peacefully in the soft snow, where I wanted to join them. I forced a few words of protest out of
my mouth. “I see, my son. I do see them. Let them sleep. They haven’t closed an eye for so
long...They’re exhausted...exhausted…”. I was losing power over the darkness that swept over
me. I was getting waves of blankness, and all I wanted to do was stop fighting. What I heard next
brought me back, a little bit back into the hell we were trapped in. My son was screaming into
the wind, as if in complete frustration.
He then started yelling an absurd sentence, one that was hard to believe in the slightest.
“They’re dead! They will never wake up! Never! Do you understand?”. I was in complete denial,

25
and all he was doing was keeping me from lying down and going to sleep. We had this argument
for a little while, all the time he looked stricken, as though I had done some grievous wrong.
Suddenly, we both heard the loud sirens coming from the speaker system. Every light in
the camp went out. The guards chased us towards our blocks. Despite my weakness and
confusion, I ran as fast as I could, a limping, stumbling run. When I entered the block, I almost
collapsed to the floor, but instead limped into bed. A realization kept me awake for one second
longer though. My son was not here. Where was my son? Then, complete blackness and relief
from pain.
When I awoke, it was daylight outside, and the sun was streaming through the cracks in
the blocks. Then, without warning, my head felt like someone had laid a hot iron on it. My hands
flew to my forehead, which was burning hot to the touch, and I writhed in agony for awhile,
before I regained control of myself. I had to find Elie. With tremendous will and stubborn
persistence, I got out of bed, and went looking. I looked for hours without finding him in the
large camp, and finally found myself at the coffee dispensing area. I sunk to the ground, unable
to continue for my head was on fire. I looked up, and behold, the miracle of all miracles, my son
was right in front of me, looking the other way. I found myself thirsty and cold, so I weakly
asked him for a favor. “Eliezer, my son...bring me…a little coffee...”. It was, again, an effort to
speak, worse than the day before. He turned around, and I saw shock form on his face. He ran
towards me and when he arrived, he said, “Father! I’ve been looking for you for so long...Where
were you? Did you sleep? How are you feeling?”. He put his hand on my forehead, and I saw a
pained look in his eyes. Suddenly, he started for the coffee. He pushed and clawed his way
through, making it out with a valuable cup of coffee.
He took a solitary gulp, and handed me the rest. I doubt that I had ever been happier in
my life. My hands were warmed by it, and it felt like heaven as it went down my parched and
sore throat. When I finished, I found my son analyzing me, with an expression of worry on his
face. I probably looked worse than I realized. Only then did I find that I was trembling as bad as
a leaf caught in an autumn wind. I went inside, as I was sick, and waited for my son.
About five hours later, I saw him rush into the infirmary, where I was staying. He
suddenly asked, “Did you eat?” I replied with a simple, “No.”. He then asked, “Why?”. “They
didn’t give us anything...They said that we were sick, that we would die soon, and that it would
be a waste of food...I can’t go on…”. It seemed that I had said that phrase so many times, yet this
one was final. I couldn’t keep my strength any longer. My son gave me what was leftover of his
soup. I was grateful, but I noticed he had a sour look on his face. When I had finished, he left
without a word.
Every day, my son would come to see me. He said how weaked I looked, but I bet that I
felt a lot worse than I looked. Those were wretched days indeed. On the third day in camp,
everyone was instructed to shower, even the sick, who had to go last. As we finished our
showers, we were instructed to wait outside in the cold. I saw red, and purple, and green, and

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every other color swim before my eyes. I was in pain, from my forehead, to even my legs. I had
been wandering around a long time when my son found me. He called to me, but I was in a
coma-like state, not really listening. He ran after me and said, “Father, where are you running?”.
I looked at him, but not seeing anything interesting, I ran away once more, intent on what my
muddled brain was doing.
I later learned, that I was suffering from dysentery. I lay prostrate on my little cot, seeing
my son watching me. As I felt my life slipping away, I realized secrets had to be told before it
was too late. I quickly pressed my lips against his ear, so only he could hear what I had to say.
Speaking rapidly, I started. “Eliezer...I must tell you where I buried the gold and silver...In the
cellar...You know…”. He must have thought I had gone mad, looking at his facial expression. I
then went on a rant, telling him everything he needed to know, if he ever got liberated, if he ever
went home. He tried protesting, saying that we would both go, but I knew it wasn’t true, so
therefore ignored it. I stopped when I couldn’t speak anymore. I felt saliva, though it felt thicker,
drip out of my mouth, accompanied by a burning pain in my chest. I felt myself gasping, and
then passed out.
My son paid a ration of bed for the bunk above me. He never left my side. Always he was
there, taking care of me. When he tried to make a doctor take care of me, all he did was sneer
and say, “Dysentery? That’s not my business. I’m a surgeon. Now go on!” My strength was
rapidly fading, and I knew my time was limited. As my death grew near, the abuse I suffered
from those near me increased. One day my son came in to find me crying, as the men nearest me
would hit me daily. I struggled to ask my son why they kept hitting me, but he said nothing. He
had a stormy look on his face, and started mocking those who abused me. When realized that
was fruitless, he even offered to give up some of his rations for my sake. They got angry and said
I couldn’t go outside and relieve myself anymore. It was true, I was lying in my own excrement.
It was a miserable existence for me, yet all I thought about was water. Cold, trickling, thirst
quenching water. I tried ignoring it, yet the next day my neighbors took my ration of bread while
hitting me. I begged my son to make them stop, and I truly believed that he could, if he wanted. I
then started begging for water. I truly think I couldn’t survive another minute without any. He
weakly protested, but I was so desperate, he finally caved in. I then said, “You, at least, have
some mercy on me…”.
An entire week went like this, me in a state of delirium of pain and thirst, and my son,
always protecting and bringing me water. On one particular day, he ran and tried to give me
some soup, but all I could imagine was water. I begged for it again, and refused to touch the
soup. He said, “Don’t drink water...have some soup…”. I replied drowsily, “I’m burning...why
are you being so unkind to me, my son? Some water…”. He gave me some water, and left for
what I believe was roll call. A short while later, an SS officer came in while I was pleading for
my son. “Quiet, over there!” he barked. I just kept groaning for Eliezer...I was so weak. “I kept
moaning, and the guard gave me a blow on my head. I barely felt it, and one last groan escaped
my lips, a soft mutter amidst a black silence, “Eliezer…”. Finally, relief filled, and I let go.

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“It teaches you to persevere because there is always light at the end of a tunnel.”

-Petru Nechiti

“Opened my mind more, engaged me in a different perspective on how the Holocaust was.”

-Serina Ibarra

“I thought it was a very touching novel, it really gets your emotions at hold.”

-Devon Nguyen

Elie’s Father
Ms.Schächter
Elie’s Mother

Living a normal life until, hell arose. Join them into a journey of their lives in which they go
through an unforgettable experience, looking at death in the face. From working in concentration
camps to killing loved ones for personal survival. Moments they believed would never happen to
them. See through the eyes of these characters as they retell their most memorable chapter of
Night.

This edition is based off of true stories of the Holocaust from real people that went through it.

Front and Back cover made by: Shriya B. , Cindy C. and Olivia B. P4

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