(JTA) — On Friday my world was shaken. It hit me, as though it were a fresh wound: My father, Elie Wiesel, was really gone. It hurt terribly when he died over five years ago, on July 2, 2016. But I also found peace and awakening as I grieved. I had this sense from the very moment he passed that he would be with me always. Through his dreams for me, I felt that as long as I lived, he would too — as would my ancestors.