Free The Oath by Elie Wiesel

children less frightened and their parents less weary. Imagine Jewish men and women freed from all anguish, all threats …
    Oh yes, he knew, good old Abrasha, he knew how to handle me. I became his accomplice, his brother-in-arms. Together we visited dozens and dozens of communities, outwitting police and thwarting informers, recruiting new members, training militants, extending the borders of the clandestine network from province to province, from region to region. We had our tasks divided: he took care of the working circles, I was in charge of Talmudic schools. While he distributed pamphlets and tracts among the tailors and shoemakers, the apprentices and clerks, I attended the places of worship, participated in the services, then in the studies. In the evening I would detain the best students to delve with them deeper into this complex
Sugya
or elucidate that obscure commentary, and soon the cell was ready to function. I don’t remember how many schools I seeded. Only once did I face danger—a rabbi, the head of a rabbinical school, caught me in the act.
    It happened late one night, in a mountainous village buried in snow. We were in the middle of a cell meeting. The comrades in caftan were leaning on their desks, swaying forward and backward, listening to me, concentrating on my every word as though they were attending an advanced course in Talmud. The very idea that they could consider me a sage robbed me of myusual earnestness; there was in this scene an element of the absurd. Several times I had to repress a violent urge to laugh. I quickly lost that urge, for suddenly the door opened with a bang. The police, I thought—we are lost. No, it was only the rabbi. Nevertheless we were lost. There he stood—tall and erect, fierce, personifying power and implacable will. He stared at us, and then, without uttering a word, he went from student to student, sizing them up, curling his lips, as though taking stock of the extent of the betrayal: You too, you too. Then, with one motion, he sent them all away. Like reprimanded children, they left humiliated, their heads bowed. In less than a minute we were left face to face, he and I, he and his cold anger, and I, curious, waiting for what was to come. I was somewhat intimidated but I managed not to show it.
    I chose a direct, frontal attack. “My compliments,” I began. “Bravo. You are tough. You terrorize your students. They are like slaves. The same fear, the same obedience. Are you proud, proud of your power? Are you proud of crushing spirits so as to rule them? Is that your concept of Judaism?”
    His eyes would not let go of mine; they were taking possession of me. Only at the price of great physical effort was I able to hold my head high. There emanated from his person such strength that he canceled my will. What was he going to do? I felt the blood rushing to my face. I was swimming in fantasy. One of us was out of place. I knew I ought to break up this strange confrontation, and disentangle myself before it was too late. But my body obeyed him, not me. I gripped my desk, knowing I was defeated, without recourse. And all this time the rabbi was not saying a word. Why was he staring so? What punishment did he have in store for me? Was he planning to hand me over to the authorities? He guessed my fears andshook his head. What was the meaning of this no? That I had nothing to fear or nothing to hope? He began to speak and the gentleness of his voice stirred me to the core.
    “And so once more a stranger comes to bring us the good news: salvation is possible and its name is communism. If what he says is true, then our lives so far have been mistakes and lies. The future would matter more than the past, progress more than inherited values. Is that what he came to teach us? That in order to build the future, we must destroy the past? Or in other words, that man will continue his work of destruction until the end of time. And he dares call that a message of hope! What