"The author . . . has built knowledge into artistic fiction." The New York Times Book Review
Elisha is a young Jewish man, a Holocaust survivor, and an Israeli freedom fighter in British-controlled Palestine; John Dawson is the captured English officer he will murder at dawn in retribution for the British execution of a fellow freedom fighter. The night-long wait for morning and death provides Dawn, Elie Wiesel's ever more timely novel, with its harrowingly taut, hour-by-hour narrative. Caught between the manifold horrors of the past and the troubling dilemmas of the present, Elisha wrestles with guilt, ghosts, and ultimately God as he waits for the appointed hour and his act of assassination. Dawn is an eloquent meditation on the compromises, justifications, and sacrifices that human beings make when they murder other human beings.
|Publisher:||Farrar, Straus and Giroux|
|Edition description:||with New Preface by Author|
|Product dimensions:||5.45(w) x 8.09(h) x 0.28(d)|
|Age Range:||12 - 18 Years|
About the Author
Hometown:New York, New York
Date of Birth:September 30, 1928
Place of Birth:Sighet, Romania
Read an Excerpt
Somewhere a child began to cry. In the house across the way an old woman closed the shutters. It was hot with all the heat of an autumn evening in Palestine.
Standing near the window I looked out at the transparent twilight whose descent made the city seem silent, motionless, unreal, and very far away. Tomorrow, I thought for the hundredth time, I shall kill a man, and I wondered if the crying child and the woman across the way knew.
I did not know the man. To my eyes he had no face; he did not even exist, for I knew nothing about him. I did not know whether he scratched his nose when he ate, whether he talked or kept quiet when he was making love, whether he gloried in his hate, whether he betrayed his wife or his God or his own future. All I knew was that he was an Englishman and my enemy. The two terms were synonymous.
"Don't torture yourself," said Gad in a low voice. "This is war."
His words were scarcely audible, and I was tempted to tell him to speak louder, because no one could possibly hear. The child's crying covered all other sounds. But I could not open my mouth, because I was thinking of the man who was doomed to die. Tomorrow, I said to myself, we shall be bound together for all eternity by the tie that binds a victim and his executioner.
"It's getting dark," said Gad. "Shall I put on the light?"
I shook my head. The darkness was not yet complete. As yet there was no face at the window to mark the exact moment when day changed into night.
A beggar had taught me, a long time ago, how to distinguish night from day. I met him one evening in my home town when I was saying my prayers in the overheated synagogue, a gaunt, shadowy fellow, dressed in shabby black clothes, with a look in his eyes that was not of this world. It was at the beginning of the war. I was twelve years old, my parents were still alive, and God still dwelt in our town.
"Are you a stranger?" I asked him.
"I'm not from around here," he said in a voice that seemed to listen rather than speak.
Beggars inspired me with mingled feelings of love and fear. I knew that I ought to be kind to them, for they might not be what they seemed. Hassidic literature tells us that a beggar may be the prophet Elijah in disguise, come to visit the earth and the hearts of men and to offer the reward of eternal life to those who treat him well. Nor is the prophet Elijah the only one to put on the garb of a beggar. The Angel of Death delights in frightening men in the same way. To do him wrong is more dangerous; he may take a man's life or his soul in return.
And so the stranger in the synagogue inspired me with fear. I asked him if he was hungry and he said no. I tried to find out if there was anything he wanted, but without success. I had an urge to do something for him, but did not know what.
The synagogue was empty and the candles had begun to burn low. We were quite alone, and I was overcome by increasing anxiety. I knew that I shouldn't be there with him at midnight, for that is the hour when the dead rise up from their graves and come to say their prayers. Anyone they find in the synagogue risks being carried away, for fear he betray their secret.
"Come to my house," I said to the beggar. "There you can find food to eat and a bed in which to sleep."
"I never sleep," he replied.
I was quite sure then that he was not a real beggar. I told him that I had to go home and he offered to keep me company. As we walked along the snow-covered streets he asked me if I was ever afraid of the dark.
"Yes, I am," I said. I wanted to add that I was afraid of him, too, but I felt he knew that already.
"You mustn't be afraid of the dark," he said, gently grasping my arm and making me shudder. "Night is purer than day; it is better for thinking and loving and dreaming. At night everything is more intense, more true. The echo of words that have been spoken during the day takes on a new and deeper meaning. The tragedy of man is that he doesn't know how to distinguish between day and night. He says things at night that should only be said by day."
He came to a halt in front of my house. I asked him again if he didn't want to come in, but he said no, he must be on his way. That's it, I thought; he's going back to the synagogue to welcome the dead.
"Listen," he said, digging his fingers into my arm. "I'm going to teach you the art of distinguishing between day and night. Always look at a window, and failing that look into the eyes of a man. If you see a face, any face, then you can be sure that night has succeeded day. For, believe me, night has a face."
Then, without giving me time to answer, he said good-by and disappeared into the snow.
Every evening since then I had made a point of standing near a window to witness the arrival of night. And every evening I saw a face outside. It was not always the same face, for no one night was like another. In the beginning I saw the face of the beggar. Then, after my father's death, I saw his face, with the eyes grown large with death and memory. Sometimes total strangers lent the night their tearful face or their forgotten smile. I knew nothing about them except that they were dead.
"Don't torture yourself in the dark," said Gad. "This is war."
I thought of the man I was to kill at dawn, and of the beggar. Suddenly I had an absurd thought: what if the beggar were the man I was to kill?
Outside, the twilight faded abruptly away as it so often does in the Middle East. The child was still crying, it seemed to me more plaintively than before. The city was like a ghost ship, noiselessly swallowed up by the darkness.
I looked out the window, where a shadowy face was taking shape out of the deep of the night. A sharp pain caught my throat. I could not take my eyes off the face. It was my own.
AN HOUR EARLIER Gad had told me the Old Man's decision. The execution was to take place, as executions always do, at dawn. His message was no surprise; like everyone else I was expecting it. Everyone in Palestine knew that the Movement always kept its word. And the English knew it too.
A month earlier one of our fighters, wounded during a terrorist operation, had been hauled in by the police and weapons had been found on him. A military tribunal had chosen to exact the penalty stipulated by martial law: death by hanging. This was the tenth death sentence the mandatory power in Palestine had imposed upon us. The Old Man decided that things had gone far enough; he was not going to allow the English to transform the Holy Land into a scaffold. And so he announced a new line of action — reprisals.
By means of posters and underground-radio broadcasts he issued a solemn warning: Do not hang David ben Moshe; his death will cost you dear. From now on, for the hanging of every Jewish fighter an English mother will mourn the death of her son. To add weight to his words the Old Man ordered us to take a hostage, preferably an army officer. Fate willed that our victim should be Captain John Dawson. He was out walking alone one night, and this made him an easy prey for our men were on the lookout for English officers who walked alone in the night.
John Dawson's kidnapping plunged the whole country into a state of nervous tension. The English army proclaimed a forty-eight-hour curfew, every house was searched, and hundreds of suspects were arrested. Tanks were stationed at the crossroads, machine guns set up on the rooftops, and barbed-wire barricades erected at the street corners. The whole of Palestine was one great prison, and within it there was another, smaller prison where the hostage was successfully hidden.
In a brief, horrifying proclamation the High Commissioner of Palestine announced that the entire population would be held responsible if His Majesty's Captain John Dawson were to be killed by the terrorists. Fear reigned, and the ugly word pogrom was on everyone's lips.
"Do you really think they'd do it?"
"The English? Could the English ever organize a
"They wouldn't dare."
"World opinion wouldn't tolerate it."
"Why not? Just remember Hitler; world opinion tolerated him for quite some time."
The situation was grave. The Zionist leaders recommended prudence; they got in touch with the Old Man and begged him, for the sake of the nation, not to go too far: there was talk of vengeance, of a pogrom, and this meant that innocent men and women would have to pay.
The Old Man answered: If David ben Moshe is hanged, John Dawson must die. If the Movement were to give in the English would score a triumph. They would take it for a sign of weakness and impotence on our part, as if we were saying to them: Go ahead and hang all the young Jews who are holding out against you. No, the Movement cannot give in. Violence is the only language the English can understand. Man for man. Death for death.
Soon the whole world was alerted. The major newspapers of London, Paris, and New York headlined the story, with David ben Moshe sharing the honors, and a dozen special correspondents flew into Lydda. Once more Jerusalem was the center of the universe.
In London, John Dawson's mother paid a visit to the Colonial Office and requested a pardon for David ben Moshe, whose life was bound up with that of her son. With a grave smile the Secretary of State for Colonial Affairs told her: Have no fear. The Jews will never do it. You know how they are; they shout and cry and make a big fuss, but they are frightened by the meaning of their own words. Don't worry; your son isn't going to die.
The High Commissioner was less optimistic. He sent a cable to the Colonial Office, recommending clemency. Such a gesture, he said, would dispose world-wide public opinion in England's favor.
The Secretary personally telephoned his reply. The recommendation had been studied at a Cabinet meeting. Two members of the Cabinet had approved it, but the others said no. They alleged not only political reasons but the prestige of the Crown as well. A pardon would be interpreted as a sign of weakness; it might give ideas to young, self-styled idealists in other parts of the Empire. People would say: "In Palestine a group of terrorists has told Great Britain where to get off." And the Secretary added, on his own behalf: "We should be the laughingstock of the world. And think of the repercussions in the House of Commons. The opposition are waiting for just such a chance to sweep us away."
"So the answer is no?" asked the High Commissioner.
"And what about John Dawson, sir?"
"They won't go through with it."
"Sir, I beg to disagree."
"You're entitled to your opinion."
A few hours later the official Jerusalem radio announced that David ben Moshe's execution would take place in the prison at Acre at dawn the next day. The condemned man's family had been authorized to pay him a farewell visit and the population was enjoined to remain calm.
After this came the other news of the day. At the United Nations a debate on Palestine was in the offing. In the Mediterranean two ships carrying illegal immigrants had been detained and the passengers taken to internment on Cyprus. An automobile accident at Natanya: one man dead, two injured. The weather forecast for the following day: warm, clear, visibility unlimited ... We repeat the first bulletin: David ben Moshe, condemned to death for terroristic activities, will be hanged ...
The announcer made no mention of John Dawson. But his anguished listeners knew. John Dawson, as well as David ben Moshe, would die. The Movement would keep its word.
"Who is to kill him?" I asked Gad.
"You are," he replied.
"Me?" I said, unable to believe my own ears.
"You," Gad repeated. "Those are the Old Man's orders."
I felt as if a fist had been thrust into my face. The earth yawned beneath my feet and I seemed to be falling into a bottomless pit, where existence was a nightmare.
"This is war," Gad was saying.
His voice sounded as if it came from very far away; I could barely hear it.
"This is war. Don't torture yourself."
"Tomorrow I shall kill a man," I said to myself, reeling in my fall. "I shall kill a man, tomorrow."
Elisha is my name. At the time of this story I was eighteen years old. Gad had recruited me for the Movement and brought me to Palestine. He had made me into a terrorist.
I had met Gad in Paris, where I went, straight from Buchenwald, immediately after the war. When the Americans liberated Buchenwald they offered to send me home, but I rejected the offer. I didn't want to relive my childhood, to see our house in foreign hands. I knew that my parents were dead and my native town was occupied by the Russians. What was the use of going back? "No thanks," I said; "I don't want to go home."
"Then where do you want to go?"
I said I didn't know; it didn't really matter.
After staying on for five weeks in Buchenwald I was put aboard a train for Paris. France had offered me asylum, and as soon as I reached Paris a rescue committee sent me for a month to a youth camp in Normandy.
When I came back from Normandy the same organization got me a furnished room on the rue de Marois and gave me a grant which covered my living expenses and the cost of the French lessons which I took every day of the week except Saturday and Sunday from a gentleman with a mustache whose name I have forgotten. I wanted to master the language sufficiently to sign up for a philosophy course at the Sorbonne.
The study of philosophy attracted me because I wanted to understand the meaning of the events of which I had been the victim. In the concentration camp I had cried out in sorrow and anger against God and also against man, who seemed to have inherited only the cruelty of his creator. I was anxious to re-evaluate my revolt in an atmosphere of detachment, to view it in terms of the present.
So many questions obsessed me. Where is God to be found? In suffering or in rebellion? When is a man most truly a man? When he submits or when he refuses? Where does suffering lead him? To purification or to bestiality? Philosophy, I hoped, would give me an answer. It would free me from my memories, my doubts, my feeling of guilt. It would drive them away or at least bring them out in concrete form into the light of day. My purpose was to enroll at the Sorbonne and devote myself to this endeavor.
But I did nothing of the sort, and Gad was the one who caused me to abandon my original aim. If today I am only a question mark, he is responsible.
One evening there was a knock at my door. I went to open it, wondering who it could be. I had no friends or acquaintances in Paris and spent most of the time in my room, reading a book or sitting with my hand over my eyes, thinking about the past.
"I would like to talk with you."
The man who stood in the doorway was young, tall, and slender. Wearing a raincoat, he had the appearance of a detective or an adventurer.
"Come in," I said after he had already entered.
He didn't take off his coat. Silently he walked over to the table, picked up the few books that were there, riffled their pages, and then put them down. Then he turned to me.
"I know who you are," he said. "I know everything about you."
His face was tanned, expressive. His hair was unruly, one strand perpetually on his forehead. His mouth was hard, almost cruel; thus accentuating the kindness, the intensity, and warm intelligence in his eyes.
"You are more fortunate than I, for I know very little about myself."
A smile came to his lips. "I didn't come to talk about your past."
"The future," I answered, "is of limited interest to me."
He continued to smile.
"The future," he asked, "are you attached to it?"
I felt uneasy. I didn't understand him. The meaning of his questions escaped me. Something in him set me on edge. Perhaps it was the advantage of his superior knowledge, for he knew who I was, although I didn't even know his name. He looked at me with such familiarity, such expectation, that for a moment I thought he had mistaken me for someone else, that it wasn't me he had come to see.
"Who are you?" I asked. "What do you want with me?"
"I am Gad," he said in a resonant voice, as if he were uttering some cabalistic sentence which contained an answer to every question. He said "I am Gad" in the same way that Jehovah said "I am that I am."
"Very good," I said with mingled curiosity and fear. "Your name is Gad. Happy to know you. And now that you've introduced yourself, may I ask the purpose of your call? What do you want of me?"
His piercing eyes seemed to look straight through me. After several moments of this penetrating stare he said in a quite matter-of-fact way:
"I want you to give me your future."
Excerpted from "Dawn"
Copyright © 2006 Elie Wiesel.
Excerpted by permission of Farrar, Straus and Giroux.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Reading Group Guide
Questions for Discussion
1. What contemporary insights does Elie Wiesel's preface yield? How was your reading affected by this nonfiction commentary preceding a novel?
2. In a lecture delivered as he accepted the Nobel Peace Prize in 1986, Wiesel reiterated his belief that while it is crucial to remember the past, a "holy war" is a contradiction in terms. What does Dawn reveal about the makings of a "holy warrior"? Could Elisha's dream for Israel have been realized without war? Discuss your reactions to Elisha's recruitment, in which Gad promises to turn his future into "an outcry first of despair and then of hope. And finally a shout of triumph."
3. Early in the novel, Elisha recalls his childhood encounter with a beggar, whom he meets in a synagogue. What does the beggar's advice about distinguishing night from day indicate about the nature of dawn? How does this advice influence Elisha as he looks into the faces of his fellow human beings throughout Dawn?
4. Do you agree with Ilana's assertion in her Voice of Freedom broadcast that she and her fellow fighters are not murderers, but that the Cabinet ministers are? How does Elisha view God's commandment not to kill?
5. How were you affected by the narrator's recollections of Catherine from his days in Paris? What does this scene tell us about his experience with love, and its inability to restore his former life with his family?
6. Does the memory of Elisha's parents weigh on his conscience? Does it spur his admiration for the freedom fighters, or does it make him feel shame? Had they survived the Holocaust, would his parents have shared his passion for Zionism?
7. Characterize the Old Man's influence over the other characters in the novel. What is the source of his power? Is he wise?
8. Discuss the scene in which Elisha's fellow soldiers recall the various ways in which they escaped a brush with death. How do they view death and fate? How do they view their ability to save a life?
9. Like Elisha, the reader does not meet John Dawson until the end of the novel. Were you surprised by his personality? Did he meet Elisha's expectations? What is the nature of their conversation? Why might Dawson think he could persuade Elisha to spare his life?
10. What motivates Elisha to go through with killing Dawson? Were you surprised to see him do it at precisely the moment Dawson uttered his name? Does Elisha seem to achieve his intended result?
11. Inhabited by ghosts, with a timeline in which memories are always present, is Dawn a surrealistic novel? Or is it a quite realistic portrait of a Holocaust survivor?
12. As in Night, Wiesel concludes Dawn with an image of the narrator seeing his own face. How does Elisha's image of himself compare to Eliezer's image of himself after being freed from the Nazis?
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
I had to read a historical fiction novel for AP world history, this was one of the books on the list. Having read his first novel, Night a few months ago, I had high expectations for the book when I decided to read it. This book outdoes it's amazing predecessor. It follows the experience of Elisha, a Jewish teenager who survived the holocaust and now has joined the revolution against the English for the Holy Land in Palestine. He has been chosen to perform the execution of a British officer, which is to take place at the same time as a friend of his from their side. The story follows the hours and minutes leading up to the execution, covering topics such as what brands a person as a killer, past regrets, the cost of war, and the loss of one's self. Dawn is a short, but intensely written read with excellent pacing that takes a look into the mind of a person whom is forced to commit the ultimate crime, and how it ties in with the protagonist's dark past. This book was the highlight of my many summer assignments and was a breath of fresh air in the world of required reading which normally is filled with dry, overly descriptive novels which one can find hard to relate to. Dawn was a page turner that kept me highly intriuged from the first page to the final word. The story's deep plot line and haunting ending will have you thinking and questioning your own morale even after you've finished reading.
Dawn is an amazing book. It is the sequel to Night. To understand this book you have to read Night. Wiesel references events from Night quite a bit. Dawn also answers some unanswered questions from Night. The book starts off with Wiesel being in Palestine. He also mentions that he has to kill an English man the next day and he didn’t know why. He says that he will never go back to his home town and officially confirms that he never found his mother. Also in chapter one he brings up the beggar. The man wears black clothes. Wiesel met the man when he was 12 years old. This man taught Wiesel how to distinguish night from day. The rest of the book is when Wiesel was 18 years old. Chapter 2 goes back to right after the war. He went to Paris and that is where he met Gad. He was offered asylum in France. He wanted to learn the language and go to school. Wiesel compares Gad to a god. In chapter 5 we discover Catherine, a possible love interest, who is a 26 year old that spoke little German. She was a person who would talk to him in the summer of the war. The book continues to go through his life after the war. I would recommend this book to young adults. I am planning on reading Day the last book in his series. -J. Leavey
Dawn is a short story by Wiesel standards but is a story you cannot put down. Elisha is a young rebel in Palestine fighting the British at the time and is torn in that at (Dawn) he must execute a British officer in reprisal for the British hanging a Jewish rebel. Elisha establishes an almost friendship with this officer and the story also talks of Elisha with his rebel friends especially Gad who is almost like a fatherfigure to him. Action packed and a great-short story by Weisel I strongly suggest this read.Can`t wait to finish this triology with Day. DNC
Very well written...almost Dostoevskian, with a similar sort of religious existentialism. Wiesel makes the best argument I've ever heard for the so-called "cycle of violence"---but unfortunately, it's equivocal. The plot involves a distinction between cold-blooded acts of violence and those committed in the heat of the moment, but the theme depends on ignoring not only this distinction but any distinctions among any uses of force whatsoever (most significantly between an aggressor's initiation of force and the victim's retaliatory use of force in self-defense).
Having been moved to tears by Night, I was expecting something different, and could not wrap my mind around the text that was presented. Extremely philosophical and political, Dawn failed to resonate with me. Perhaps, I was plagued by listening to the audiobook, which although beautifully read, did not allow ample time to ponder the deeper levels but instead provided opportunity for distractions.
This book I felt would be something I wrote when I had no idea on how to approach a theme. I think Weisel missed the mark on this one. I would hate to be in the head of main character trying to make an ordinary sandwich. There were to many repeated comments leaving nothing to the imagination. No surprises and at the same time no feeling of realism. I really became sick when I finished the book because it really made me remember my writing style in 5th grade.
After reading Night, I dived into Dawn. Then I waded, and barely floated until the end.I did not like this book. After Night this was a contrived piece of fiction. Too much like soap opera, I thought for such a talented author.But I made sure I finished it.
A graceful and emotionally profound extension of Night. In postwar Palestine, Wiesel leads us through one long night, painful and harrowing to read, to the dawn - a watershed in Wiesel's life, with a sense of irreversible change, and that this represents his final shift from adolescence to adulthood. His prose is beautiful, and suffused with a sense of drama. This is a short read, but don't be fooled into thinking this is a quick one to read on the bus to work.
"Night", being a memoir, and "Dawn", being a novel, are profoundly different books; although, tied together by the Holocaust (a catastrophe that the young Eliezer lives through in "Night", and that haunts Elisha in "Day"). This point being made, I will admit that I still enjoy "Night" (and also "Day") more than "Dawn"; however, I do feel that if one is going to read "Dawn" that they should begin the book with the understanding that it is going to be different from "Night", and to approach this work as such.I admire "Dawn" for its writing style, and the philosophical issues that Wiesel examines through Elisha. The aesthetics of style reminded me of a those books that have been written in the post-Kafka tradition (Judaic overtones, the nature of the absurd, and a nightmare-like quality). The issues of evil, death, and aftermath are poignant and haunting. Through the implied death of David ben Moshe and actual execution of the British Colonel we see the spiritual demise of Elisha - and the absurd nature of differences (are we so very different or are we the same?).
I mooched this for a friend and thought I would read it before sending it to her. This is a story of a moral dilemma. Elisha is a young Jewish man whose family all died in the concentration camps and who has joined the resistance against the British in Palestine. One of his comrades is to be executed by the British and he is charged with killing a captured British officer in reprisal. The story deals with his conscience and attempts to rationalise taking the life of this British officer with whom he might be friendly in other circumstances. A short, quite stark but gripping read.
Dawn was a good book. It sheds some light on the Zionist movement, which I really did not know about before I read It. The plot of the story was interesting and keeps your attention. It is interesting to see the point of view from someone who is about to assassinate someone, and how he felt beforehand.
Dawn the second book in the Night Trilogy. However, one does not need to read the book Night in order to understand Dawn. Dawn allows the reader to be immersed into a different culture. Multiple times religion is mentioned within the book. The fact the audience is able to be inside Elisha's head, the protagonists, gives way to the emotional impact the story has. Also the way the author, Elie Wiesel, justifies the how and why the Jews are going to war is well thought out and clever. He uses facts from history and his own personal experience. All in all, the book was phenomenal and offered a different perspective on life.
The second book of Elie Wiesel's trilogy, Dawn, goes through the life of a teenage Holocaust survivor who now is a part of the movement. This historical fiction book goes through the thoughts of eighteen year old Elisha who is appointed to kill an Englishman. Wiesel does a great job going into great depth of Elisha's past experiences that haunt him and all of the thoughts racing in his mind up to the minute he has to kill the Englishman. Wiesel's writing is very intriguing and pulls the reader in as if they were there and leaves the reader wanting more. I am not into historical fiction, but this is a fantastic story.
Elie Wiesel's follow up novel, Dawn, is a wonderful piece of literature that leaves the reader with an understanding of Jews and their lives after World War 2. Before reading the book with my English class, i looked up Dawn and saw it was classified as historical-fiction. My first thought was that this story would be a far off from from nonfiction but I think actually gives the reader a clear understanding of the time period. It gives the reader the sense that they are in the story because of the detailed thoughts the main character Elisha gives. Wiesel gives a detailed picture of the internet fight and struggle Jews going against society. I personally liked this book but wish it could have been made into a longer story. I think more background info would have outback this book over-the-top novel.
I would recomed this book to someone who has been alot through in life, and already knows what to expect from life. I honestly think that this book may get boring, but not just any 18 year old boy like Elie can make this tough decisions of killing or waiting to be killed. Without his family who died, Elie has to go through all this in order to become a man.