Written in response to the book, Night, by Ellie Wiesel. Sam's letter was awarded the top prize in the 9th through 12th grade level III competition of the Letters About Literature contest co-sponsored in Pennsylvania by the Pennsylvania Center for the Book. She was the sole winner out of 550 contestants and will receive a check for $150 and a $50 Target gift certificate at an awards ceremony at Pennsylvania State College on April 26, 2008. The letter will also go on to competition for the national award among entries from the 50 states and the District of Columbia. Congratulations, Samantha!
Samantha Weber
----------------
----------------
Dear Mr. Wiesel,
“When you think that something is the end, it is really only the beginning.” To me, this means that when one chapter ends in your life, good or bad, you can be sure that a new chapter is about to begin. Death has been one dreadful ending to a chapter of my life and the beginning of a new one. Earlier this year my twenty-one year old brother, Zach, died in a tragic hiking accident in the Alps, forty-five minutes from his Air Force base in Aviano, Italy. I couldn’t get past the timing: his tour of duty was up and my parents and I were to meet him at the Pittsburgh airport in three days! In your book Night, you shared your personal struggle to survive during the Holocaust with me. You lost your family, friends, and your faith. This year I lost my brother, my best friend, and, for a time, my faith, but the chapters continued after I closed your book and with your help, turned the page in my own life.
Zach passed away in April, and I had not seen him in eighteen months. My whole family was yearning for his homecoming, but not the one that would happen by way of a flag-draped coffin with military escort. Through reading your tragedy, I found a connection with my own, especially where you had to say goodbye to your mother and sisters. I remember the last time I said goodbye to my brother in early January 2006. After one of the best Christmas and New Year’s holidays our family had ever had, my parents, Zach’s best friend Chris, and I took him to the airport, sending him back to the Air Force in Italy. In the car, the silence was as oppressive as the longing we all had for one more day with each other. We arrived at the airport and walked, reluctantly, with Zach to security. I clung to my brother and then watched, tearfully, as he walked through the gate. Saying goodbye is always a hard thing; but when it’s for the last time, nothing really compares to it. Hugging and waving goodbye to Zach back then will always be cemented into my “hardest-moments” memory, but like every ending chapter, another chapter follows.
If the chapter in my life that began with Zach’s death had a title, I think it would be “Surviving.” It began in darkness as I went through all the necessities accompanying Zach’s death: visitations, the funeral, memorials; and then all his belongings coming home, followed by dark days of looking for him on IM and not being able to call him; not hearing from him on my birthday. I questioned God. If there was a God, how could he have let the ground fall from beneath Zach’s feet? Why did he let him venture onto the ledge alone? Why did my brother, who seemed to love God with all his heart, fall ninety meters into a ravine with no rescue possible? He’d been so safe there in Italy rather than in Iraq; was God just cruel to have him die right before he would be safely home? You also questioned God, and I knew your answer: “Your eyes were opened and you were alone – terribly alone in a world without God.” My fingers fumbled as I turned page after page in Night, waiting, wanting, along with you, for God to intervene, but he didn’t. Instead you were beaten, worked, starved, cold, and moved from camp to camp. You waited for the end, whether it came by rescue or by death. I waited for an answer to my “Why” questions, but they didn’t come either.
As I turned the last page in Night, depravity became a tangible feeling that flowed from your book up my arms and into my heart. Then, I looked out my window at the trees glowing orange and red and yellow; the sun was setting behind them and clouds wisped white across a pink sky. Stunning! The warmth of the picture before me soothed my aching soul and God’s presence, like the sun, lit up the room. The magnificent masterpiece before me was proof of God’s goodness, and I realized that no matter how many ghastly events happen, His goodness will always outweigh the hatred and darkness that sometimes emanates from the soul of mankind.
Although I greatly miss Zach, I know that it is time to turn the page in my life and start to read, no live, the next, exciting chapter. Reading how you answered your questions about God helped me to realize the mistake I was making in my own answers. I want to thank you for sharing your story, and I hope both our stories will have happy endings.
Sincerely yours,
Samantha Weber
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment