All Rivers Run to the Sea_ Memoirs - Elie Wiesel [86]
Kalman reappeared in Versailles. He had fallen ill and disembarked in Port-de-Bouc. His exuberance was gone. He seemed sad and discouraged. He gave me a firsthand account of the voyage of the Exodus, of the courage of the clandestine passengers, the complicity of the French authorities, and the duplicity of the British. For a brief moment the world’s heart beat to the rhythm of that ship, which has become part of Israel’s legend.
With hindsight we have a better sense of the historic dimensions of that epic journey. More than the debates in the United Nations and as much as the battles waged by the Jewish resistance groups in Palestine, the saga of the Exodus fascinated and swayed public opinion on several continents. There was much admiration for these men and women without weapons or resources who had chosen to tear themselves from the graveyard that was Europe and to reclaim the land of their ancestors.
Sometimes I stare at photographs taken at that time, looking for familiar faces, and I still wonder: How was it that these refugees from so many lands, survivors of so much persecution, of so many massacres and so much hatred, found the courage to confront the perils of that crossing, not to mention His Britannic Majesty’s invincible navy? They were survivors of death camps, women with veiled eyes, stooped old men and eager adolescents, students drawn by the Torah or inspired by patriotic faith. How did they manage to transform themselves into heroes? Kalman’s only answer was a shrug. “That’s how it was.”
Of course, they were inspired by a common ideal: to break with the vicissitudes and temptations of exile, to build their homes in joy rather than in fear, to render unto Jewish destiny and Jewish history their due. They could not know, they could not have guessed, that their dream, once realized, would entail new challenges and fresh perils.
I study their faces in candid photos, taken later on Israel’s liberated soil. Sober, melancholy, do they regret that true redemption, ultimate messianic deliverance, has yet to come? No, they are used to waiting. They have been waiting for centuries. Some demand peace, all dream of it. “We have done our duty,” they might easily say. “Leave us alone.” But they don’t. Peace—peace with the Arabs, with the Palestinians—is now their goal, for they have children and grandchildren who also must live, just as the other children, on the other side, must also live. There is enough sun to warm all hearts, enough dew to freshen all flowers. How to explain the generosity of the people of the Exodus? It was thanks to them, and people like them, that the Jewish state was born.
Israel: nearly fifty years of social turmoil, of wars, victories, and burials, and now, as the century draws to a close, its anguish grows ever more violent. What can be done, what must be done? How I would love to be able to discuss that with my friend Kalman.
He emigrated to the United States, where he became an authority on radar. I saw him in Brooklyn during my first visit to the United States. “How’s your work on asceticism going?” he asked. Much later we met again at Hunter College, where he was teaching and I had come to make a speech. He hadn’t changed; he was as reserved and delicate as ever, and as frail. Some years later I got a call from Harav Menashe Klein, our old friend from Ambloy. “Call Kalman immediately,” he said. “He’s not well.” It was cancer. “Do you know Professor Steven Rosenberg?” my childhood friend asked in a whisper. “He’s the man who operated on President Reagan. He alone can help me live. Without him I’ll die.” My heart breaking, I did all I could to make contact with the famous oncologist. Kalman beat me to it, but in vain. He died soon afterward, and once again I got the news from Menashe. I was out of New York, too far away to make it to