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In the Land of the Cedar, the theater of tragedies relentlessly unfolds, each scene of horror surpassing the conceivable. One might fancy themselves ensnared within a grim piece, a stage for horror cinema that would even surpass the ingenious imagination of Hitchcock. Scenes which are too surreal to be true sculpt our reality. The unthinkable transpired on the eerie night of Tuesday, a tragedy that defies comprehension.
Maya Germanos and Tania Tadros were invited to dinner at a friend’s. According to corroborated reports, the building’s elevator had malfunctioned during the day. The caretaker had assisted a woman trapped within, yet negligently failed to secure the entrance to what had now become a fifteen-meter deep chasm of metal. Tania Tadros, arriving that evening with desserts, instinctively opened the elevator door, only to be tragically hurled into this steel abyss.
Maya Germanos, on her part, had forewarned of her late arrival due to a co-owners’ meeting at her own building. Forty minutes following Tania’s arrival, it was Maya’s turn to confront the unfolding horror. She spontaneously opened the elevator door, only to stumble upon the lifeless body of her friend. It was not until dawn, following the location of Tania Tadros’ iPhone within the building that a search was initiated. The bodies were eventually discovered at 3 PM. The victims were presumed to have died instantly.
In this land where irresponsibility triumphs, the frequent power outages and carelessness in maintaining elevators turn these machines of convenience into commonplace death traps. Elevators transmogrify into urban guillotines. The news of this disaster, as sharp as a blade, sent shockwaves through relatives, friends, the entire city. The absences of Maya and Tania echo in the deafening silence of the abyss of grief. Their lives, until yesterday brimming with promise, are now effaced, swallowed by the injustice of fate. The question of guilt drowns in this morass, leaving room for a corrosive feeling of impunity.
In the face of this tragedy that jostles our understanding of the world, the question persists: why do such things happen? Is God’s silence the echo of human folly, or is His very existence an embodiment of this folly? If we adhere to the philosophy of Camus, rejecting evil by embracing life, relentlessly fighting for it, might provide some solace. In the face of fate, perhaps this is our only power: to act for the happiness of others and our own.
In conclusion, and with particular thought to Maya Germanos, a dear friend whose life was a veritable via dolorosa that she trod with admirable courage, I am tempted to distance myself from the concept of “divine will” that allows for such pain in this life. My cry (our cry?) echoes in the silence of the absurdity of this tragedy, a cry laden with revolt and despair.