All Rivers Run to the Sea_ Memoirs - Elie Wiesel [153]
I thanked him for the warm friendship with which this text is imbued, but when we next met I drew his attention to certain inaccuracies. To begin with, Night is not a novel. Second, having never been at the Austerlitz station during the Occupation, I could not have said that I was on that train packed with Jewish children. I probably remarked that I had been in a camp with Jewish children. Third, his criticism of Israel (which aroused no negative reaction within the Jewish community, which trusted him) was unjustified. Fourth, concerning Jesus Christ he ascribes to me a thought that is not mine but his: I believe it was Basil of Caesarea who said that man’s aim is to become God. In the Jewish tradition we aspire to greater humility: Man’s aim is to be human. Finally, I don’t know why he added that “Elie Wiesel stands on the borders of the two testaments,” like John the Baptist, but I felt I had to clarify my position for him (as I later did for my friend Jean-Marie Cardinal Lustiger, archbishop of Paris): Where I come from and from where I stand, one cannot be Jew and Christian at the same time. Jesus was Jewish, but those who claim allegiance to him today are not. In no way does this mean that Jews are better or worse than Christians, but simply that each of us has the right, if not the duty, to be what we are.
We had already discussed this latter point several years earlier, when he did me the honor of dedicating his book on Jesus to me: “To Elie Wiesel, who was a crucified Jewish child.” On the whole, however, our relationship was free of conflict. I responded to his friendship with friendship.
Mauriac was interested in Judaism, the Jews, and their enemies. He was perturbed by the anti-Semitism of some of his peers. We spoke often, very often, of Israel, its mission and its ordeals. I invited him to visit the Promised Land: “Let us go together where it all began, for you and me alike.” He agreed immediately. I got in touch with the Israeli ambassador, who sent him an official invitation, which he accepted in principle. But he feared the emotional upheaval he might feel at seeing the places where Christ lived his agony and his death. He postponed the journey repeatedly.
A single disagreement briefly troubled our relations when General de Gaulle in 1968 uttered his famous “little phrase” about a “self-assured and dominating people,” possibly inspired by Mauriac’s comment about genius devoted to conquest and domination. Except that Mauriac was referring to the state of Israel, de Gaulle to the people of Israel and therefore the Jewish people. I felt it necessary to criticize de Gaulle for this, while Mauriac defended him: “No one will convince me that de Gaulle is an anti-Semite.” I replied: “A man in his position is responsible not merely for what he says but also for how his words are interpreted. And his comment was interpreted as anti-Jewish.” Our quarrel did not last long. Mauriac was not only a great writer but a sincere humanist as well. He found a way to disassociate himself from the general’s comment without distancing himself from him. (His son Jean Mauriac later told me of de Gaulle’s warm admiration for the Jewish people.)
I happened to be in Paris on the day of Mauriac’s funeral. My publisher Paul Flamand and I went to Notre-Dame, but there were too many people. We stayed outside in silence.
My friendship with Mauriac continued until his death. My liaison with Kathleen lasted but a few months. For one thing, there was her fiancé, who was Greek. Then there were the French classes she was supposed to be taking at the Alliance Française. In her spare time she evidently preferred something other than my philosophical monologues on love’s “essential purity.” During the time we were “together,” she also “saw” other men. To make me jealous? To force me to