Foreign journalists often come to interview me, and I am torn between two desires: wanting to talk freely with them, and worrying about being caught by them, because I don’t know what they think of France.On such occasions, I tend to be wary. One morning, a young Jewish man interviewed me on behalf of the Tel Aviv Daily.From the moment we met, I was overwhelmed by him, and the conversation quickly turned to personal issues, as he recalled his experiences during the occupation, and I kept listening and sharing.Sometimes what moves you may not necessarily move others.The sight of a cattle train full of Jewish children stopping at Auschwitz railway station was a harrowing sight, and I told my young guest that nothing I had witnessed in those dark times was as horrifying as it was. Surprised... But, that's not what I saw with my own eyes, but what my wife described to me.My wife still felt palpitations when she recounted those events.At that time, we knew nothing about the methods of Nazi extermination.Who would have thought that such a thing would exist in the world!To take a lamb from its mother's arms is an atrocity far beyond our imagination.I am sure it was that day that I first realized that there was such a secret evil in the world, and that its exposure meant the end of an era and the beginning of another.Westerners began to weave their dreams in the eighteenth century, saw the dawn in 1789, and became clearer on August 2, 1914, with the Enlightenment and subsequent scientific discoveries.However, in front of the train full of Jewish children, the dream finally died sadly.With the distance between us, I can only imagine that the children were doomed to end their lives in the gas chambers and crematoriums.

That's probably what I told the interviewer at the time.I sighed: "These children make people sigh." He said to me: "I am one of them." He is actually one of them!He witnessed his mother and a lovely little sister, the whole half of the family, except the father and the other two sisters, were thrown into the crematorium and disappeared in the raging fire.Day after day the child watched his father die in excruciating pain, becoming a victim.What a death!This book tells the story, and I invite the reader—as many readers of this book as I do—to read for yourself, and read about a child who miraculously escaped death.

There are many similar works describing heinous crimes that are no longer secrets, but I think this private record is distinctive and very different from those works.In Transylvania there is a small town called Segat, and the Jews in the town are doomed.They had time to escape, but they ignored the imminent disaster; what is even more incredible, they were caught with passive attitude.A witness to the Holocaust survives, telling them what he saw, warning them and pleading for their lives.However, Chi Chi was blind, misunderstood his meaning, and denounced it as a bullshit, calling him a madman raving.Such a situation, I believe, is enough to stir one's mind and to write an extraordinary book.

There is one other point in this unusual book that caught my attention.The child who tells the story is God's chosen people. He wants to dedicate his life to God from the moment he starts to think about problems. He studies the Talmud, eager to understand the mysterious teachings, and serves the Almighty Lord wholeheartedly.Worst of all, has it ever occurred to us that even a less visible and less egregious act of evil can shake people's faith?When a child is suddenly confronted with naked evil, in the depths of his heart God dies. We might as well imagine that thousands of victims were burned, his little sister and mother were also thrown into the crematorium, and the black smoke from the crematorium was twisted and circled and dispersed in the air. What would he do? Thoughts?

I will never forget that night, that first night in the concentration camp, which turned my whole life into one long night, a long night shrouded in seven layers of darkness. I will never forget those clouds of smoke. I will never forget the little faces of those children, their bodies turned into wisps of green smoke under the silent sky. I will never forget those flames that consumed my faith. I will never forget the silence of the black hole, which forever took away my will to live. I will never forget that moment when it killed my God, my soul, and reduced my dreams to ashes. I'll never forget it all, even if I'm cursed to live forever like God.

will never. Only then did I understand why this young Jewish man made my heart tremble: Lazarus stood up from the pile of bones, his eyes were fixed, but he was still detained in the gloomy place, wandering in a daze, in the desecrated corpse He staggered in the forest skeletons.For him, Nietzsche's cry was almost a living reality: God is dead!In the watchful gaze of the child, the God of love, the God of tenderness, the God of compassion died, and the God of Abraham, Esau, and Jacob disappeared forever in the haze of human carnage.The killing was man-made, and the wickedness of man is unmatched by all idols.

How many devout Jews suffered this death?That day was the most horrific of all the horrible days, and the child who had seen another child hanged (that's what it was!) had the expression of a very sad angel, he told us.He heard someone groaning behind his back: "God, where are you?" I heard the echo deep in my heart: "Where is he? There he is--on the gallows." On the last day of the Jewish year, the child attends the solemn ceremony of Rosh Hashanah.He heard thousands of slaves praying in unison: "God bless!" He would have knelt in reverence and love in prayer not so long ago, but this day he stood and refused to kneel.He endured humiliation and trampling beyond the imagination and endurance of ordinary people, and he despised the god who turned a blind eye to evil and disaster and turned a deaf ear to it.

I don't beg for anything, I don't grieve, on the contrary, I feel strong.I am the curser, I curse God.I am alone with my eyes open, alone in a world without God and man, without love, without mercy.I am nothing but ashes after a catastrophe. I have always attached my life to the Lord, but I feel that I am stronger than the Almighty Lord.Among this praying crowd, I was just a bystander, a stranger. I believe God is love, how should I answer this young interviewer?Angelic sadness flashed in his eyes, the sadness in the eyes of a child who was sacrificed on the gallows. How should I tell him?May I say so to the Jew, the brother who was crucified, perhaps like him, whose cross conquered the world?Can I explain to him that a stumbling block that robbed him of his faith was my foundation?It seems to me that the connection between the cross and human suffering is the key to unlocking the bottomless mystery.

However, the faith of his childhood was lost.Mount Zion rose again from the ruins of the crematorium and the slaughterhouse, and the Jewish nation was resurrected after a thousand deaths.It is they who have given this country new life.We cannot estimate the value of a drop of blood or tear.Everything is grace.As long as the Almighty remains the Almighty, his last words to everyone remain his last words.That's what I'm supposed to say to that Jewish kid.However, all I could do was hug him and cry bitterly.