Refugee today means somebody who has no home. No homeland. No security. No government to protect him or her. And it is of course one feels not only uprooted, one feels useless. One feels always surrounded by hostile forces. Arousing suspicion.
For in the end, it is all about memory, its sources and its magnitude, and, of course, its consequences.
Holy War is a contradiction of terms.
I think that human beings are capable of the worst things possible and they show that there were times, and there probably are times, that it is human to be inhuman.
Love makes everything complicated.
If there is one person on the planet who still is suffering from loneliness and from pain or despair, and we don't know about it, or we don't want to know about it, then something is wrong with the world.
There are victories of the soul and spirit. Sometimes, even if you lose, you win.
The primary task of a Jew in turbulent times is to be Jewish.
Now, when I hear that Christians are getting together in order to defend the people of Israel, of course it brings joy to my heart. And it simply says, look, people have learned from history.
I think that human beings are capable of the worst things possible.
Fanaticism in many lands has surfaced as the greatest threat to the world. Indifference to its consequences would be a serious mistake.
Indifference, to me, is the epitome of evil.
The more you ask certain questions, the more dangerous they become.
Often I say to myself "Really, what are we doing on this planet?" We are passing the message as well as we can, communicating our fears, our hopes ... Day in day out, week after week and year after year, people kill each other.
For in my tradition, as a Jew, I believe that whatever we receive we must share.
Which is worse? Killing with hate or killing without hate?
Man, by definition, is born a stranger: coming from nowhere, he is thrust into an alien world which existed before him-a world which didn't need him. And which will survive him.
My God was never happiness, but to understand and be understood.
I'd rather speak as a student of philosophy. Philosophically it makes no sense, absolutely makes no sense. Why should people inherit evil things when their memories could contain and should invoke good things?
Listen to me, kid. Don't forget that you are in a concentration camp. In this place, it is every many for himself, and you cannot think of others. Not even you father. In this place, there is no such thing as father, brother, friend. Each of us lives and dies alone. Let me give you good advice: stop giving your ration of bread and soup to your old father. You cannot help him anymore. And you are hurting yourself. In fact, you should be getting his rations.
Not to transmit an experience is to betray it.
No human being is illegal.
For me, every hour is grace.
It was pitch dark. I could hear only the violin, and it was as though Juliek's soul were the bow. He was playing his life. The whole of his life was gliding on the strings--his last hopes, his charred past, his extinguished future. He played as he would never play again...When I awoke, in the daylight, I could see Juliek, opposite me, slumped over, dead. Near him lay his violin, smashed, trampled, a strange overwhelming little corpse.
I feel that books, just like people, have a destiny. Some invite sorrow, others joy, some both.
"Not to remember is not an option."
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