Mankind must remember that peace is not God's gift to his

“Mankind must remember that peace is not God's gift to his creatures; peace is our gift to each other.” Thus declared Elie Wiesel, survivor of unspeakable darkness, witness to humanity’s cruelty, and prophet who urged remembrance so that such horrors would not be repeated. His words strike with the gravity of lived suffering, for he knew that peace does not descend from heaven like rain upon the earth. It is not bestowed without effort, nor preserved by divine decree. Rather, it must be forged by human hands, carried in human hearts, and freely given by one person to another.

When Wiesel says peace is not God’s gift, he does not deny the divine, but reminds us that heaven has entrusted the responsibility to us. We pray, but prayer alone does not stop the sword. We hope, but hope alone does not rebuild burned villages. To achieve peace requires choice: the choice to forgive, the choice to listen, the choice to build rather than destroy. In this sense, peace is sacred precisely because it is not automatic. It is fragile, costly, and meaningful only when we take up the duty of giving it.

Consider the power of his testimony. Wiesel survived the Holocaust, where millions perished under hatred’s iron fist. In those camps, peace was absent, replaced by terror and despair. After such devastation, he might have turned to bitterness. Instead, he chose to speak, to write, to dedicate his life to ensuring that memory itself became a shield for future generations. His life embodied his own words: that peace must be given—through witness, through teaching, through building a world where such atrocities are not allowed to flourish again.

History confirms this truth. After the Second World War, Europe lay in ashes. The victors could have chosen vengeance, but instead, leaders forged reconciliation. The Marshall Plan, though born of politics, was also an act of gift: offering resources to rebuild shattered nations, even to those who had been enemies. Out of this generosity grew stability, prosperity, and one of the longest stretches of peace in Europe’s history. This was no miracle from heaven—it was mankind’s conscious gift to each other.

The wisdom of Wiesel also warns against complacency. Too often, we wait for peace as though it will arrive by itself, forgetting that every day is a battlefield between division and reconciliation. Families, communities, nations—none achieve peace unless people actively give it through patience, humility, and compassion. And when peace is neglected, violence quickly fills the void. Thus, Wiesel cries out: remember, it is yours to give. If you withhold it, the world will bleed. If you offer it, the world will heal.

The lesson is clear: if we desire peace, we must not wait for it to descend upon us. We must create it. We must practice peace in the smallest acts—listening before judging, forgiving before striking back, sharing instead of hoarding. We must practice it also in the largest—supporting justice, standing against hatred, defending the dignity of all peoples. For every act of peace, however small, is a stone laid in the foundation of a better world.

Practical wisdom follows. Begin where you are: give peace in your family by softening harsh words. Give peace in your community by bridging divides and treating strangers with kindness. Give peace to the world by resisting hatred and lifting up those who suffer. Remember that peace is not passive—it is a gift, and gifts require intention, effort, and sacrifice. In giving it, you ensure that future generations will inherit a brighter dawn.

Thus let Wiesel’s words endure: “Peace is not God’s gift to His creatures; peace is our gift to each other.” For in this truth lies both warning and hope. The warning: that if we fail to give peace, the earth will groan beneath war. The hope: that if we dare to give peace, even in small ways, the world may yet be transformed. And this is the calling of our age, and of all ages—to make of our lives not weapons of harm, but gifts of peace.