While my remembrance is different from those who have spoken of Wiesel since his death two weeks ago, I cannot forget the special circumstance that gave me a warm and humorous view of the man whom the Nobel Prize Committee described as a “messenger to humanity.”
As the tributes flow in praising Elie Wiesel, called “a living memorial” by President Obama and many others, I have a distinctly personal memory of this unique human being.
While my remembrance is different from those who have spoken of Wiesel since his death two weeks ago, I cannot forget the special circumstance that gave me a warm and humorous view of the man whom the Nobel Prize Committee described as a “messenger to humanity.”
I cannot say that I really got to know him during the one evening at a Holocaust commemoration event at the old Civic Center in 1985, but we did have an experience that was new to me, and unnerving. Wiesel was the guest speaker at a conference of Holocaust survivors, at which Singing City Choir and other organizations performed.
As public relations and development director of Singing City and part of the planning committee for the event, I wondered if Wiesel would consider giving a press conference at the end of the evening. When I checked with his office, I was told that he would be delighted to meet the press. That was only the beginning of his graciousness.
The program went well, including Singing City’s beautiful performance and, of course, Wiesel’s dramatic and touching talk. When the program ended, a group of us were shown to a room in the back of the Civic Center, where our guest of honor answered many questions from Philadelphia’s newspaper and broadcast professionals.
Finally, I called an end to the press conference, suggesting that Wiesel had had a long day. We all stood up to leave the room, and moved toward what we thought was the main door leading from the Civic Center out to the street.
There was one problem: The door was locked, as were the other doors we attempted to open in an increasing state of panic.
Knowing that they would be thrilled to be in Wiesel’s presence, I had brought several friends with me — and they joined in the effort to find a way out. We were particularly chagrinned by not being able to find the Civic Center staff person supposedly in charge of the arrangements for the press conference — in the days before cellphones, we could not contact anyone even if we knew whom to call.
I felt dreadfully responsible for the situation, and kept apologizing to Wiesel. All the while, this wonderful human being kept trying to put me at my ease. “There is nothing to worry about,” he said. “We’ll get out before morning!” There was a twinkle in his eye which helped to calm me down — somewhat.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, a janitor came along, concerned that lights were still on in that huge building. He quickly opened the main door and soon we were outside, shaking our heads. We offered Wiesel a ride to his hotel, but he demurred and a journalist found him a taxi before I even had time to thank him properly.
I did write to him, expressing our organization’s thanks and my personal concerns about the unfortunate moments after the press conference. Soon I received a lovely note, thanking me and our group — he called them “your friends” — for inviting him to the event.
Every time I look at the note, which hangs in my office, I am reminded of a world figure who exemplified moral conscience — and was still the essence of kindness.
Margot Horwitz is a board member of the Jewish Social Policy Action Network.
