All Rivers Run to the Sea_ Memoirs - Elie Wiesel [122]
Alfred and I spent the day together. I liked him, but found him disconcerting. How could a Jew leave Palestine for Germany? “You forget I was a Communist,” he said. “The whole world was my country.” “Even Germany?” “Even Communist Germany” But why did he stay in Germany now? “Because I’m waging a battle I consider just—a battle against Communism and anti-Semitism.” Why couldn’t he wage that battle elsewhere? “It wouldn’t be the same.”
The truth is I didn’t understand him. I found it disturbing that Jews (many of them survivors) still lived in Germany. He told me I would understand someday.
After a silence he went on. “I was miserable and unhappy in Palestine.” Because he was a German Jew? “Because I was a Communist. I was a member of the most extreme faction, more Stalinist than Stalin. Close to the Arabs. People didn’t like it, and they made me pay. I couldn’t find a job. I was humiliated, treated like a traitor, dragged through the mud like a pariah.”
I introduced him to colleagues. We went to a press conference at the Israeli embassy together and had lunch with Sam Jaffe. It occurred to me that Yedioth had no correspondent in West Germany. I asked him if he would be interested. He said yes. I promised to discuss it with Dov, who agreed, but added, “Tell him the paper is not as rich as it used to be,” a tune I knew by heart. Alfred was delighted. He requested and obtained Israeli citizenship. He seemed at peace with himself. But then, as the years passed and he fought the Nazi resurgence in his country, his fear began to grow and he fell ill. In the throes of paranoia, he thought he had to be constantly armed. He saw Nazis everywhere, in the street, in front of his house. We talked often on the phone, and I tried to calm him down, to bolster his morale. I asked about his wife and daughter, whom I had met. Dov invited him to come and rest with his family in Israel. He went, but soon left again. Dov suggested he settle down in Israel, but he refused. He was afraid to leave Germany and afraid to live there. I called him from Tel Aviv to try to convince him, but he had become a prisoner of his fear. When I asked him what he was afraid of, he seemed incredulous. “You of all people ask me that? Don’t you know they’re here? They want to kill me, they want to kill all the Jews. Don’t tell me you don’t know it. It’s starting all over again. But this time I’ll be ready. This time I’m armed.”
The next day he put a bullet in his head.
Alfred and I had talked often about the question of forgiveness. Should—could—the Jews forgive their former enemies? Years later I was asked the question directly after a speech to German students: “Do you forgive us?” I replied that Ivan Karamazov was right: I could conceivably forgive the evil the Germans did to me personally, as an individual, but not the suffering and death they inflicted on my parents, on all the dead Jewish parents and all their murdered children. No one could grant forgiveness in their name. It must be noted that in any case, the German people never asked it of us.
I was now working full-time. Israel was increasingly in the news. Israeli government officials visited Paris, and so did actors, colleagues, and members of the Knesset. They kept me busy. The Israeli economy was improving, and so was the paper’s position. I was writing more articles, on more varied subjects: the funeral of André Gide, the death of Charles Maurras, the work of Gérard de Nerval.
And then—don’t laugh—there was Miss Israel, who filled my evenings and my daylight hours, in the apparent belief that my time belonged to her as much as I did. I guess I should explain. The Miss Israel contests were organized by La’isha, Yedioth Ahronoth’s women’s weekly. The lucky winner was awarded not only a crown but also a trip to Paris, where she needed a guide, if not a chaperon. Naturally, the task fell to me.
It must be said that I had some limited experience in the field. A few weeks before Miss Israel was elected, the Old Man asked me to interview Miss Europe.