Who's The Enemy?

Elie Wiesel’s novel Day, tells the story of a character that had previously survived the dreadful events of WWII. This character’s life is based on real facts and life events of Elie Wiesel himself, as he tells us in the preface. He tells us how his hero [the main character] having already struggled through the war, now has to surpass his horrible past and memories. And become subject of change, yet not only him, but as Wiesel learns and later tells us, suffering of one (apart rom changing oneself), can also destroy the others. And know try to, without much success, find hope and believe in the future. Additionally having those constant thoughts leading to guilt, of why his life was saved, while there where 60 million that others weren’t.

Since the preface, and the beginning of the first chapter, the author introduces to us the accident, which is mainly what the whole novel is about. Yet the curious thing is, that before the accident actually happened, the author when talking about it does so as if at the time he already knew it was going to happen: “We where still in the same spot. Why hadn’t we moved? I don’t know. Perhaps we where waiting for the accident” (Pg. 5).

Another interesting or rather curios aspect of this first chapter is the characters doctor. After a conversation between them about God, the character tells how even when he was in pain, after this conversation, the doctor didn’t touch him, he did nothing. And according to Elie’s hero (the character), the doctor acted this way because he knew. But the question is, what did the doctor know? And why did his attitude change? “Again I had the uncomfortable impression that he knew-or at least that he suspected-something.”

Elie chooses to end the chapter talking about Kathleen, the character’s girlfriend, and again for me this is curious. Since after all the talk about God and death, and the future, and the questioning toward what or who is the enemy, he decides to take us to the past, o rather make a connection to it: “ It had been cold on the day-no, the evening, the evening when I met Kathleen for the first time”.

Knowledge Is Everything

Since the very beginning of this narrative, we all knew the ending wasn’t going to be tragic, at least not for Douglass. Evidently, because he is the author and main character of the narrative, nothing fatal could have happened to him. Yet what we did not know until the last chapter, was how the ending would turn out, how was Douglass able to escape slavery. At the end of the book, even though we never learn how he planned out his escape exactly, we understand he gets safely to New York and starts his new life as a free man, obviously with a harsh start.

While the whole pint of this narrative, was clearly relating the story of a slave boy, who eventually escaped. The other important topic that Douglass mentioned a lot, and what makes up what the narrative is, and why everything happened why it did, is the importance of knowledge, of being literate.

            Clearly for us it might not be such a big deal, at least nothing we truly think as being a big deal. Since learning how to read and write is something natural and common in our society, unusual would be not to know, and this would mean no future. In contrast to Douglass’ case it was the complete opposite, and lucky for him, he new the difference between right and wrong, he knew what he had to do and went for it. And yes, everything just because he got his hand on books and became well informed.

            So finally we see this narrative had a complete different moral, at least the way I saw it, and that is, as I stated earlier, the importance of becoming educated. How gratefully in only good ways it can improve someone’s life and view of morals and beliefs. Obviously omitting the fact that knowledge can bring someone to learn the harsh truth, as it was for Douglass’s case in realization that slavery was wrong: “…to make a contented slave, it is necessary to make a thoughtless one.” “…to annihilate the power of reason. He must be able to detect no inconsistencies in slavery; he must be made to feel that slavery is right; and he can be brought to that only when he ceases to be a man” (pg.156).

Where Am I?

There’s no doubt about it, I am a very distracted person. Since I was a little kid I have had horrible sense of direction whatsoever. Even if I had been to a place numerous times before, I still got lost. And as a matter of fact, sadly or rather pathetically I still do, although fortunately not as bad as I did before.

One of the many and possibly worst times I got lost, (not for me, but for my parents), was when I was about 11 years old. It happened one summer while staying at my grandmother’s place, which not coincidentally is in the same neighborhood as my aunt’s place. You would think her neighborhood is pretty complex and confusing, and getting lost is easy, well it isn’t, at all. There are only four buildings in the whole neighborhood, and they are actually not that different, that’s all there is to it.

So everything started when my mom sent me to take some radish from my aunt’s house to my grandmother’s for dinner that night. I, of course very confidently, because well, why shouldn’t I be, there’s not much mystery to it, took the short cut to my grandma’s house, went to the 18^th floor and knocked on the apartment 1811. Well guess what, it wasn’t the right building.

I don’t like to think of myself as a strange person, but I guess undeniably I am a little weird, and I occasionally like to imagine odd stuff, or in this case, I guess I just imagined what seemed possible. So, after being knocking at this same door for what seemed like a lifetime, with no answer whatsoever, I thought to myself that perhaps everyone was watching a movie, or doing something involving loud noises. Not only that, but I also somehow thought to myself that I could hear my grandmother talking inside the apartment assuring me the apartment wasn’t empty. Back then, this was completely normal to me, of course now I just think of myself being absolutely weird and silly.

I guess it must have been a really loud and annoying knock, because eventually people from apartments near where I was, started opening their doors and interrogating me on my being there knocking for almost forty minutes. Yes, it had already been almost forty minutes. There were even some people who just peeked through their half opened doors, gave me a “what the hell are you doing” look, and immediately closed their doors back again. I remember this lady that tried to play the nice lady role and tried to apparently help me, however now I can see she was just trying to get me out of the building, and honestly when I think about it now, I can’t blame her.

All that time, however long it was, (according to my dad almost two hours, but this is not possible, besides he is an extremely exaggerated man), all I was thinking about was, why haven’t they opened the door yet, and how badly I was craving for food. Not once did I question myself of being in the wrong place, or why hadn’t my mother showed up yet, since she was supposed to come right after me.

Ultimately, it all ended when my grandmothers best friend came out of the elevator followed by two policemen. And a moment later came my mother crying, my father with his usual worried face, and everyone else who was supposed to be at the dinner. I got hugs from everyone, except the policemen obviously who just gave me blank, probably annoyed looks. And I remember how confused I was, but not at all, feeling anything like all these people were.

I learned later that my parents had called all the security from the entire neighborhood on me, and I had been looked for all over the area, in every floor of every building, and had even been notified to all doormen and people around the zone. As silly as it sounds, and as it all started, it created chaos in my entire family, even those who where not there that day. But also created a memory, one I should be ashamed to tell, since its really ridiculous, but aren’t because it is who I was and partly whom I still am, an extremely disoriented and distracted person.

Is it Really Irony?

…I find it rather ironic that a slave who was born with out a family, with out an identity, and with out rights still hopes for that special "something" he will never have…We must not forget, that slave owners indeed believed in THE SAME GOD as slaves did, so why would slaves pray to this God when they new their opponents (slave owners) begged for this race's removal. It seems ironic to think about the religion in this time period…

       -Maria Andrea Sanchez

According to Dictionary.com, the word ironic means: a technique of indicating, as through character or plot development, an intention or attitude opposite to that which is actually or ostensibly stated.

First of all I would have to say, I do not believe both groups (slaves, and slave owners) pray to the same God, being as different as they are, or at least show to be, they most surely not have the same beliefs to life or religion. Not mentioning their obvious distinctive physical race, background in ancestry and different education and culture, religion must clearly, additionally to this, be different too. So to conclude my point this is unquestionably NOT irony, since it is NOT the same God they are praying to.

Additionally when in her blog post, Maria Andrea Sanchez says that it is ironic how slaves, having more or less nothing (referring to family and identity), still have hope and beliefs in somewhat a religion, I would have to be in complete disagreement here. Similarly to the part she states, how ironic it is to think of religion in that time period. Not only because of the use of the word irony, but because to me it seems rather difficult, if not, impossible to think of a time or even a place where religion wasn’t existent. In my way of seeing it, there is no point for anything without some sort of religion, or at least some sort of beliefs, mainly and most importantly in moments as hard as the ones slaves had to overcome.

Nevertheless, she does mention, after saying how ironic it is, how having hope and faith must have helped this poor slaves live through life. Which makes the post considerably more agreeable yet still not fully.

Stupidity Rather than Knowledge?

In this previous reading, Douglass talks mainly about his learning how to read and write; although what essentially caught my attention the most was the way he talked about preferring to be stupid rather than knowledgeable, or the other way around, as he explains in this quotation: “I would at times feel that learning to read had been a curse rather than a blessing. It had given me a view of my wretched condition, without the remedy” (Pg.92). These strong words coming from Douglass got me thinking quite bit. Primarily my thoughts where: how could somebody say this, when clearly having the ability to read and be literate is definitely considered a great privilege. But if I come to really think of it, for one being on the other side of the story in specifically Douglass situation, it is suitable to say that his words are utterly valid, sorrowful but true.

Another thing that stand out in this previous reading, is the fact Douglass has put faith in himself, and has brought it to his readers too. Right after he accepts the disappointing fact that he is and always will be a slave for life. Douglass ultimately realizes that his literate talents are, after all, not a horrible curse, but instead a glorious gift of faith. As he tells us finalizing chapter six: “I consoled myself with the hope that I should one day find a good chance [to run away]. Meanwhile, I would learn to write” (Pg. 96). This gives a thrilling turn to the story, and obviously also to Douglass’s life, as now we will learn how he really came to be to what he is, and how it was his acquired talents that got him there.