A'isha
Miss Schoolteacher
I find it entirely unsurprising that you can't even comprehend the idea of reading a book for yourself instead of relying on the words of known liars who happen to share your ant-Semitic worldview, to the point where you think someone even suggesting that you do so is writing "gibberish".
But have it your way. Wiesel left with the Germans because, contrary to the assertions of Faurisson that you're parroting, he did not think he was given a choice between leaving with the Germans, or waiting for liberation.
Instead, he believed the choice was between being killed immediately, or delaying death in the hopes of escaping that fate entirely. At that point, all Wiesel cared about was not being separated from his father, so he asked his father what fate they should both choose for themselves, together: stay in the infirmary and be killed by the Germans before they left the camp, or go with the Germans and maybe live a little longer.
They decided to go with the Germans, and only after the war did Wiesel learn that it was not death that awaited those who stayed (like everyone thought), but liberation by the Russians.
But have it your way. Wiesel left with the Germans because, contrary to the assertions of Faurisson that you're parroting, he did not think he was given a choice between leaving with the Germans, or waiting for liberation.
Instead, he believed the choice was between being killed immediately, or delaying death in the hopes of escaping that fate entirely. At that point, all Wiesel cared about was not being separated from his father, so he asked his father what fate they should both choose for themselves, together: stay in the infirmary and be killed by the Germans before they left the camp, or go with the Germans and maybe live a little longer.
They decided to go with the Germans, and only after the war did Wiesel learn that it was not death that awaited those who stayed (like everyone thought), but liberation by the Russians.
The camp had become a hive. People ran about, shouting at one another. In all the blocks, preparations for the journey were going on. I had forgotten about my bad foot.
A doctor came into the room and announced: “Tomorrow, immediately after nightfall, the camp will set out. Block after block. Patients will stay in the infirmary. They will not be evacuated.”
This news made us think. Were the SS going to leave hundreds of prisoners to strut about in the hospital blocks, waiting for their liberators? Were they going to let the Jews hear the twelfth stroke sound? Obviously not.
“All of the invalids will be summarily killed,” said the faceless one. “And sent to the crematory in a final batch.”
“The camp is certain to be mined,” said another. “The moment the evacuation’s over, it’ll blow up.”
As for me, I was not thinking about death, but I did not want to be separated from my father. We had already suffered so much, borne so much together; this was not the time to be separated.
I ran outside to look for him. The snow was thick, and the windows of the blocks were veiled with frost. One shoe in my hand, because it would not go onto my right foot, I ran on, feeling neither pain nor cold.
“What shall we do?”
My father did not answer.
“What shall we do, father?”
He was lost in thought. The choice was in our hands. For once we could decide our fate for ourselves. We could both stay in the hospital, where I could, thanks to my doctor, get him entered as a patient or a nurse. Or else we could follow the others.
“Well, what shall we do, father?”
He was silent.
“Let’s be evacuated with the others,” I said to him.
He did not answer. He looked at my foot.
“Do you think you can walk?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Let’s hope that we shan’t regret it, Eliezer.”
I learned after the war the fate of those who had stayed behind in the hospital. They were quite simply liberated by the Russians two days after the evacuation.
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