by Elie Wiesel
Then the other shoe falls. The White House spokesman announces that in the course of his trip to Germany, the president will visit a German military cemetery. No one knows which one. It will be revealed later: Bitburg. The name means nothing to the reporters. It will soon be famous.
People will long remember the tempest aroused by this news, not only among Jews, but also among veterans of the two wars. The editorials are harsh, the commentaries ferocious. Former soldiers send back their military medals, won on the battlefields of Europe. For the first time since his election, Reagan does not have the support of the people. The Great Communicator is having trouble communicating. The White House tries to justify itself—reasons of state, the duty of reconciliation, NATO, the defense of Europe. Most Americans reject these arguments. Yet, at the start of the polemic, everyone thinks the cemetery in question is reserved exclusively for soldiers and officers of the Wehrmacht. The country soon learns that the cemetery at Bitburg also shelters tombs of the SS.
Now the entire nation is outraged. Public opinion unanimously decries the decision. The past is recalled, specifically the atrocities carried out by the SS. The letters “SS” project terror. When Bitburg is mentioned, Auschwitz comes to mind. The White House is besieged. It defends itself as best it can, that is, badly. The drop in the polls is telling; the myth of Reagan’s invulnerability has been shattered.
In truth, even if it had been just a Wehrmacht cemetery, it did not deserve a visit from an American president. I know that Germans like to stress the difference between the “good” soldiers of the Wehrmacht and the “bad” SS, and that to earn Germany’s goodwill the West played along. Yes, there is a difference. But from that to whitewashing the Wehrmacht is a big step. One cannot forget that it was the Wehrmacht that gave logistical support to the SS units raging against the Jews. Historical documents confirm this, and they are irrefutable. The deadly Einsatzkommandos could not have operated at Babi-Yar, Minsk, and elsewhere—in Ukraine, White Russia, and Warsaw—had they not had the active cooperation of the Wehrmacht. The SS were more guilty, that is true. In fact, the Nuremberg tribunal declared all the SS formations collectively guilty. And here is the president of the United States preparing to officially, solemnly, bestow on them the honors of our nation by placing a wreath on their tombs!
Telegrams by the thousands pile up in the White House mail-room. Petitions and appeals pour in from all corners of the country. The Senate and the House are unanimous: A visit to Bitburg is a grave error, a gratuitous provocation. Republican officeholders are tearing their hair out. Reagan is moving heaven and earth to get some support. Henry Kissinger telephones me: He understands my position, but the president himself has called, so he cannot help but support him. Too bad, but his support doesn’t change things one iota.
To placate irate tempers, at least irate Jewish tempers, the president’s chief of staff, Donald Regan, invites a few Jewish Republican leaders for a briefing. Though I am not in that category, I am also invited. Ex officio, as president of the Memorial Council? Perhaps.
Around the table are gathered Max Fisher, the wealthy philanthropist and dean of Jewish lobbyists to the Republican administration; his political friends Gordon Zaks and Richard Fox; and Kenneth Bialkin, the New York lawyer and Jewish community leader.
The administration is represented by Chief of Staff Donald Regan, Patrick Buchanan, and Ed Rollins. Buchanan, a journalist, is the president’s adviser for communications, Rollins his political adviser. Of the three, Regan is the only one I know—we met at Colgate University a year or two ago. I had given the commencement address, and he had made the speech welcoming the new students. My words had been tinged with pessimism, while his had been strikingly optimistic. Pleasantly, he reminds me of our dialogue: “Shall we continue it today?”
Some of the Jews present express their opposition to the Bitburg visit: Zaks firmly, Bialkin diplomatically. Fisher is reluctant to criticize the president’s decision openly; he recognizes the administration’s concern with the possible consequences of a diplomatic incident. Why, he argues, aggravate the tensions between Americans and Germans? Why place the pro-American Kohl in a delicate position? We need to think in terms of air bases and the short-range tactical nuclear weapons the United States maintains in Germany.
I sit there thinking to myself that this is doubtless how things happened during the Holocaust; the Jewish leaders came here to plead for European Jews but wound up saying the same things as their hosts. Probably there was much talk about the situation at the front, but little or nothing about the massacres in Poland.
Among the high American officials, only Rollins speaks against the visit to Bitburg. For what he claims are political as well as moral reasons, Buchanan is in favor of the trip. He argues that, above all, we must avoid giving the impression that the president is yielding to pressures from the Jewish community. I ask him: “But you don’t care if he yields to German pressures?” Regan proposes what he considers a fair solution: The president will also go to Bergen-Belsen. He insists on the “also.” Does this mean that Bitburg remains on the program? Yes. I respond with a plea: “Give up Bitburg and Bergen-Belsen.” In vain.
As we leave the White House, Bialkin turns to me and asks: “Did you notice that during the discussion Patrick Buchanan was constantly doodling, scribbling on the yellow pad in front of him? Since I was sitting on his right, I glanced over. Would you believe me if I tell you that he was scrawling two words over and over: ‘Jewish pressure, Jewish pressure.’ That is what obsessed him in this whole affair, that is what he is afraid of.” In Max’s plane that takes us back to New York, Bialkin repeats this several times, always with the same bewilderment.
By coincidence, an event that had been decided upon much earlier, a ceremony awarding me the Congressional Gold Medal, is about to be scheduled. This medal represents a rare and prestigious distinction—it has been awarded to no more than one hundred or so individuals in all of American history.
In the spring of 1984, the U.S. Mint is authorized to strike a gold medal in my likeness. We have to choose the artist. For once the decision is easy: the talented artist Mark Podwal. We have already collaborated on a book about the Golem and on a Haggadah. The front of the medal will show my likeness taken from a photo by the legendary photographer Roman Vishniac. Above it, three words: AUTHOR—TEACHER—WITNESS. For the back, Mark draws an open book: Jerusalem and the shtetl, facing each other. On the page representing the City of David, Mark inscribes, in letters barely visible to the naked eye, a verse from the Psalms, “If I forget thee, O Jerusalem …”
The White House has been in touch with Congress and me to set a date for the award ceremony. Though the medal is offered by Congress, tradition calls for the president to bestow it. Congressional aides suggest October, then January, then April. The president’s aides say yes, then maybe, and change their minds and the date several times. In the end they settle on April 19, 1985. That suits me perfectly. For us it is an unforgettable and historic date: The Warsaw uprising started on April 19, 1943. The technical details remain to be settled, but the White House decides to hold the ceremony in the East Room. Three hundred seats have been set aside for Cabinet members, guests of the president and myself, members of the Memorial Council, and representatives of the media.
Once the Bitburg affair becomes public, however, the White House decides to change the venue. We are now told that the award ceremony will take place in the Roosevelt Room, which can barely accommodate forty people. I am now entitled to a total of four invitations. Obviously the president’s staff is trying to scuttle the ceremony, fearful that I might use the occasion to evoke the controversial trip. Everything is arranged to ensure its taking place very quickly, almost secretly. It puts me in the unpleasant position of having to cancel invitations sent to friends in Congress, members of the Council, and friends from abroad. Several senators call the White House asking it to reverse its decision. My own intervention with Reagan fails as well.
Mea
nwhile the Council holds an extraordinary meeting. There is only one item on the agenda: Bitburg. There are words of resentment, anger. After privately consulting with me, Sigmund, so emotional that he is on the verge of tears, proposes that the entire Council resign in protest if the president really chooses to go to Bitburg. Most members consider that “solution” premature. Let us wait: There are still three weeks before the scheduled trip. Yet something must be done, if only to register our disagreement. I consider refusing the medal. But it is not a presidential award, rather one given by Congress on behalf of the American people. How can I refuse such an honor?
Finally a short and solemn resolution expressing our concern, our anguish, is passed unanimously. We appeal to the president’s humanism, to his understanding of history; we shower him with praise even as we ask him to cancel his visit to the SS cemetery.
After our meeting we hold an improvised press conference. I say improvised because, since 1978, we have never used that particular form of communication. Most probably we are the only governmental agency that has never used the services of a press attaché. To my mind, the Holocaust and public relations do not go together. We are doing our duty; let the press do what it is supposed to do. Only this time it’s different. As we face the television cameras, the microphones, the flashing lights, we must try to reconcile firmness and discretion, opposition and respect. To a reporter asking me whether I intend to resign, I reply: “I don’t believe that will be necessary; I don’t believe the president will be going to Bitburg.” He wants to know whether I know something they don’t. I assure him that I do not. I know the president; he is a man of dignity; he will not ignore the wishes of the American people; he will not pay homage to the SS. Actually I am not so sure, but I tell myself there is nothing to be lost by seeming optimistic.
The country is in a state of upheaval. People are talking about nothing but Bitburg. Why is Reagan being so stubborn? Chancellor Kohl has painted him into a corner. Why doesn’t he try to get out?
Back in New York I call another special meeting of the Council. Sigmund reintroduces his resolution asking the Council to submit its collective resignation to the president. I am for it, and this time I say so openly. Nevertheless a majority is against resignation. I fail to understand them; why are they so afraid of opposing the president’s decision? And why are my fellow survivors so attached to their official titles? “Resigning would be a premature act,” they say. “The trip is more than two weeks off. Why rush?”
The day of the ceremony is getting closer. The journalists are harassing me day and night. How many times must I repeat that the president’s visit would be a mistake, both morally and politically? And that there is no way the president will whitewash the SS, whose crimes continue to haunt our generation?
From Washington, I am told to expect a call from Marshall Breger, Jewish affairs adviser to the White House. I am also told that Breger is a practicing Orthodox Jew and that surely he will understand our position. When he calls I tell him what I think of the presidential trip. He does not agree with me. I guess that is his job, but I cannot fathom how a devout Jew can concur in an anti-Jewish policy. He should resign. But few low-level officials ever do. They need to earn a living; they need to feel important. Well, it’s his problem.
Abe Rosenthal and Arthur Gelb, the powerful editors of the New York Times, are with us, not only in their professional capacity but as friends. As Jews. They are men of conscience, and they are an ideal team. There are those who fear them, and others who swear by them, but all agree that they are superb professionals. Marion and I keep them informed of developments. Sigmund acts as liaison with Capitol Hill. The atmosphere becomes more and more tense. The ceremony is scheduled for the following Friday. We still don’t know anything, including whether we will be allowed additional guests. And most important: Will we succeed, at the last hour, in persuading the president’s advisers? Or will the visit to Bitburg take place?
Suddenly there is a new question from the reporters trailing me: Will I attend the ceremony, or will I boycott it? To maintain the suspense I do not give a definite answer. But my speech is ready. Well, almost. Abe and Arthur are positive about it. Its tone is respectful but firm and uncompromising. As always, since I rarely write in English, Marion offers precious, indispensable suggestions.
On Wednesday, April 17, we take the shuttle to Washington. Elisha accompanies us. He will celebrate his bar mitzvah in June. I see that he looks a little troubled. Is it his bar mitzvah or our nervousness?
Per Ahlmark, former deputy prime minister of Sweden, outspoken foe of anti-Semitism, and talented poet and writer known for his moral courage, has come from Stockholm. We meet for lunch. He gives us sad news: Our friend Tim Greve, editor in chief of the Norwegian newspaper VG, has been diagnosed with cancer. None of us touches the food.
Marian Craig calls from the Council offices to inform me that Michael Deaver has been trying to reach me. I consider Deaver the adversary. More than just an adviser to Ronald Reagan, he is the one who, on the American side, bears responsibility for Bitburg. He is reputed to be wily, arrogant, and self-satisfied, and he beats all records for unpopularity among the president’s staff. He led the group that months earlier had gone to Germany to prepare the presidential trip. He was the one to whom they showed the Bitburg cemetery. Did the Germans tell him of the SS graves? They swear they did. I have no desire to speak to him, but, then again, perhaps he has good news. I call him back. He can no longer be reached, but Arthur Burns, U.S. ambassador to Germany, comes on the line. I know him. We met in Newport, Rhode Island, during a conference about the first Jews who came to America. A Jew who has no problem with his Jewishness, he tells me that “he has been asked” to speak to me. “Since the president is going to Bergen-Belsen, I consider Bitburg acceptable,” he tells me. I do not agree. He goes over the same geopolitical and diplomatic arguments. To those he adds the necessity of not letting down Kohl, Washington’s great ally. I let him have his say, but my response is still no. I tell him: “To me it’s a question of Jewish memory. Bitburg will taint that memory. That must be avoided.” He has done his best to convince me. He too has failed.
Thursday morning we attend the annual Day of Remembrance. It takes place in the Rotunda. There is a procession of flags of the particular army units that liberated the camps. We go through the ritual: the songs, the lighting of the six candles. Feelings are running high because of Bitburg, as is to be expected.
Most congressional leaders are present along with personalities from the worlds of politics and religion. Secretary of State George Shultz represents the administration. His speech, delivered in his slow and dignified style, is not just eloquent—it is moving. I am not surprised. Shultz is the humanist on Ronald Reagan’s team.
In my speech, only partly devoted to the subject that is on our minds, I evoke the inhumanity that the SS symbolizes. At one point I speak directly to Shultz and ask him to “be our intercessor.”
He understands me. His spokesman, Bernie Kalb, confirms it later. The secretary of state calls his ambassador in Bonn several times, hoping to convince Kohl not to insist on Bitburg. But to Kohl, this visit to the military cemetery is too important. He needs the image of Reagan bowing before the graves of German soldiers, including the SS. Shultz personally expresses his reservations to the president, but Reagan feels committed to Kohl. Even a partial rehabilitation of the SS will reinforce Kohl’s popularity, and not only in the nationalist circles of the German right.
Peter Petersen, an old parliamentarian too close to Kohl for my taste, tries to reason with me: “You are wrong to condemn all the SS. There were bad ones, but there were also decent ones: Not all of them were running concentration camps; many of them fought at the front.”
But for me there were no “good” SS. The German tactic is obvious: to whitewash the SS. It is the final step in a carefully conceived plan. To begin with, Germany rehabilitated the “gentle,” “innocent” Wehrmacht. And now, thanks to Kohl, it was th
e turn of the SS. First of all, the “good” ones. And then would come the turn of the others. And once the door was open, the torturers and the murderers would be allowed in as well. Bitburg is meant to open that door. From Kohl’s point of view it makes sense, but it is difficult to understand Reagan. Why is he so intent on compromising himself in this affair? He has nothing to gain. Deaver and Buchanan are harming him, can’t he see that? Officials in the State Department tell me that Kohl bears full responsibility for this debacle; he convinced Reagan that if the visit were canceled it would be his, Kohl’s, defeat, and hence that of the alliance between the United States and Germany.
Following tradition, the Council gathers in full session after the ceremony of remembrance. The schedule for the day includes an urgent matter dealing with the future museum. We must choose between two designs, Zalman Einav’s and the one proposed by Sonny Abramson’s architect. The first is sober, modest. I prefer it to the other, which reminds me of a glorified supermarket. But we are on the eve of the White House ceremony. Everyone is more preoccupied by Bitburg than by architectural models. People come and go constantly. The vote is taken while I am outside giving an interview on television. Abramson’s banal proposal wins. I listen to Benjamin Meed’s panegyric praise: He loves this design; he believes in it; he knows now that the museum will be built; therefore, it’s the greatest day in his life. Someone tells me that the rules were not followed; there was no quorum. We’ll see about that later.
In the corridors it is impossible to move without running into a photographer or a reporter. Everybody wants to know whether I’ll go to the White House. The suspense continues for another few hours.
