All Rivers Run to the Sea_ Memoirs - Elie Wiesel [219]
I knew I had to leave for Israel. I made the decision in the first hours of the crisis, even though I had no illusions: Israel did not need men like me. I had no experience with weapons, and would probably even be a burden as a soldier. But I had to go anyway, determined to stay to the very end, which I feared would be bitter. Deep within myself, I was convinced this war would mark the end of the Jewish state, the death of a dream. I should have had more faith in the Israeli army, I know. But at the time I was terrified. As I listened to Arab speeches and observed the passivity of Western governments, I told myself it was happening all over again. Clearly the Jews would fight courageously, as they had in the Warsaw ghetto, but they would be outnumbered, as before. The well-equipped Arab armies would crush Israel in the end. Then the so-called civilized world would shed crocodile tears and deliver grandiloquent funeral orations on our death. I say “our” death because, like so many of my contemporaries, I associated mine with Israel’s. For me it was inconceivable to wish to live in a world that had no place for a sovereign Jewish state.
My pessimism was ill-founded. The war turned in favor of the Israel Defense Force shortly after it began. I told my friends I was going even though I had no idea how I would cover the travel costs. Yedioth certainly would not, and Simon Weber at the Forverts announced that he would be delighted finally to have a war correspondent, though he would have to be unpaid. This trip would deplete my savings account. But that was not my only problem: getting there was not easy. Most airlines had suspended their flights to Lod, and seats on El Al were at a premium. It was, however, the only company where I had some connections, and on the afternoon of June 6 luck was on my side and I obtained passage on a flight from Paris to Lod. I jumped in a cab, rushed to Kennedy Airport, and caught a TWA flight to Paris. I changed planes in Orly and was the last passenger to board the El Al flight, which took off just as I boarded. Exhausted, I closed my eyes. A short nap would do me good. Everyone already knew that Israel was out of danger, but my own anguish was not so easy to quell. Sure, I was no longer afraid of Israel’s demise and my own with it. Instead, my fear was of the kind that comes over us at the approach of the unknown, the anxiety that comes with the certainty of reaching a turning point, a shift in life’s pace and intensity. I knew I was about to live a new chapter in Jewish history.
A pretty stewardess lifted my morale. She brought me coffee and whispered in confidence that she knew who I was. A little later she mentioned that she had read and liked my book. In the singular. I knew that if I asked her, “Which one?” she would be embarrassed, so I merely thanked her again. I tried to doze off, but the young stewardess had other ideas. Since regulations did not permit her to nap, she decided to keep me company. She told me she read a lot, “especially between Paris and New York, when the passengers are asleep and the cabin is quiet.” Usually, she said, she read quickly, “but I liked your book so much I forced myself to slow down. In fact, there was something in the fourth chapter I didn’t understand, Mr. Schwarz-Bart.”
My humility back in place, I told her she was making a mistake. “I’m not André Schwarz-Bart.” She waved away my denial: “I know you’re traveling incognito. I promise I won’t tell anyone.” I repeated that I was not Schwarz-Bart. She smiled knowingly and went to bring me another coffee, a snack, and some fruit. Loath to usurp a great writer’s identity and fame, I resolved to press on. “Listen,” I told her, “your mistake is understandable. André and I have a lot in common. To start with, we’re both writers. And some of my works are concerned with the same subject as his. We even have the same publisher. In fact, we’re friends, and some even say we look a little alike. So it’s only natural for you to confuse us.” She didn’t believe a word of what I said, and by now