I first saw Elie Wiesel in Claude Lanzman’s “Shoah”. Hearing and seeing a deeply religious and articulate man question God’s actions was troubling. His book of Memoirs is a feat, filled with nostalgia and poetry. Karma had it that I finished reading the book on the day we reopened our town’s old Jewish Temple for visits, during the Night of the Museums, a couple of days ago. Wiesel passed away last year. I thought of him at the Temple.