All Rivers Run to the Sea_ Memoirs - Elie Wiesel [214]
I arrived in Paris just in time for the annual conference of French Jewish intellectuals organized by Jean Halpérin and André Neher under the auspices of the World Jewish Congress. Rather than speak on that year’s designated topic (God and…),! recounted my experiences and impressions while in Moscow: the clandestine meetings, the celebration of Simchat Torah, the desperate calls for help from these Jews I found so admirable in their defiance.
The next day I returned to the subject during the popular television program “Lectures pour tous.” Its normally unflappable host, Pierre Dumayet, seemed shaken and incredulous. He didn’t say so, but I sensed it in his questions, and I could understand why. He could not believe that fifty years after the Communist revolution there were still Jews in the Soviet Union devoted to their Jewishness. I tried to explain it, but confronted, as I was, by a man of secular, rationalist logic, especially of the French type, I found it a difficult task.
As I walked into my hotel later, the phone rang. It was Yaakov Herzog, secretary to Levi Eshkol, in Paris on an official visit. “The prime minister would like to see you,” he said. What about? “He’ll tell you himself.” We made an appointment for Saturday afternoon, at the Bristol. As usual, I arrived early. “He’s in a meeting,” Herzog told me, “and he’ll be late. He asks you to excuse him.” But the prime minister wasn’t late. At the appointed hour I was ushered into the suite that served as his office.
Years later my friend, the former ambassador of Israel Emile Najar, recalled: “Eshkol was more Jewish than Israeli. Imagine: In 1966 he summoned all his European ambassadors to Paris. The meeting had a full agenda, but in the middle of the discussion he stood and asked to be excused. He had a meeting with ‘some Jew’ who had come to talk about the fate of Soviet Jews.” At that time Emile didn’t know I was that Jew.
Eshkol bombarded me with questions: How badly were the Jews suffering? Did they still live in fear? Did they have hope? Was it true they wanted to remain Jewish? I reported in detail. He interrupted frequently. Was I absolutely sure there were many young Jews who wanted to return to Judaism? Had I really seen them dancing on the night of Simchat Torah? Was it true thousands of people had come out into the streets? As I answered his questions, he stood from time to time and paced back and forth, hands behind his back, punctuating his march with exclamations: “Incredible! After fifty years of Communist oppression …” After nearly two hours, a secretary came in and whispered something to him. “Let them wait,” the prime minister replied, before launching into more questions. It was nearly dinnertime when he escorted me to the door. “One last thing,” Eshkol said. “Tell me, what do you think we can do for them, apart from what we’re already doing?” I was about to suggest a more determined political campaign, a push for greater press coverage, more critical speeches at the UN. But I knew there were limits to what he could do, and to ask for too much made no sense. So I decided to be realistic. “While I was there,” I said, “I often listened to Israeli radio broadcasts aimed at Soviet Jews. These broadcasts are listened to religiously.” I told him I thought the content and tone of these programs needed to be changed. They picture Israel as too perfect, as though there were no difficulties in adapting, as though everyone were always happy. What if the gates were someday opened and masses of Soviet Jews immigrated to Israel? They would most certainly be disappointed. Eshkol listened intently. “What do you think we should do?” he asked. “Tell the truth,” I replied, “even if it’s unpleasant.” He looked at me sadly and said, “You and I both know that the gates will not open anytime soon. The Soviet Jews will