by: Elie Wiesel

Section Four


He liked my shoes; I would not let him have them. Later, they were taken from me anyway. In exchange for nothing, that time.


That evening, in the latrines, the dentist from Warsaw pulled my crown with the help of a rusty spoon.


Then the entire camp, block after block, filed past the hanged boy and stared at his extinguished eyes, the tongue hanging from his gaping mouth. The Kapos forced everyone to look him squarely in the face.


The head of the camp read the verdict. All eyes were on the child. He was pale, almost calm, but he was biting his lips as he stood in the shadow of the gallows.


Behind me, I heard the same man asking: “For God’s sake, where is God?” And from within me, I heard a voice answer: “Where He is? This is where—hanging here from this gallows…”