“But can there be no pardon, ever?” asked a young man named Bob, from Denver. He was short, intense, with piercing eyes, and spoke with a southern drawl. “Doesn’t there ever come a time when we have to put the past behind us?”
“No, Bob, I can’t do that,” said Begin. “I cannot forget or forgive what the Germans did to our people. Every German I see of that generation, I think to myself, perhaps he’s the one. Years ago, my wife and I visited the Vatican library in Rome. We had both studied Latin as students and were examining a Latin translation of a biblical text, comparing it with the original Hebrew, when a couple approached and asked us in English what language we were speaking. ‘Hebrew,’ we said. ‘So you must be from Israel,’ they said. And when they learned that we were, they shook our hands with tremendous enthusiasm, ‘Oh, you have no idea how much we admire and respect your country,’ they said. ‘And where are you from?’ I asked. ‘Germany,’ they said. ‘How old are you?’ I asked the man. ‘Forty-five,’ he said. So I said, ‘In World War Two, you would you have been twenty or so.’ He said, ‘That’s right.’ Instantly and instinctively, my wife and I started to back away, and we did not say another word to them. I thought to myself, perhaps this man took part in the slaughter of my father and my mother, and our Jewish children. And when I speak of my father, I speak of all the slaughtered fathers, and when I speak of my mother, I speak of all the slaughtered mothers, and when I speak of my little brother and my little cousins, I speak of all the slaughtered little Jewish children – of all the Moysheles and the Surales and the Yankeles and the Rivkales and the Dovidels. How much of the Jewish genius was choked and charred in the pit? How much was buried alive? Who can measure? To us the cost of the Holocaust will forever be paid.”
A melancholy silence fell upon the room, and when Begin next spoke it was from behind clenched teeth. “The Germans bear collective responsibility for a horror the like of which has not been known since God created man and man created Satan. So long as that embodiment of all evil – Adolf Hitler – brought them their victories, the German people hailed him. Only when his fortunes declined did they begin to turn their backs on him, and even then, only a small minority. So, no, I shall never shake the hand of a German – NEVER!”
“But what do you do when you have to officially receive Germans as prime minister?” asked a young lady in a flowery frock. She had large, intelligent eyes, and her name was Hilary. She was from Cleveland. “Don’t you shake their hands even then?”
“Oh, then it’s quite a different matter,” Begin reassured her. “As prime minister, I have my official duties to fulfill. When German representatives come to see me, I receive them with formal courtesy. That is my civic duty. We have important issues to discuss.”
“Do you ever speak to them in German?” asked Hilary.
“No. I know German but I won’t speak their language. We communicate in English.”
“Rumor has it, though,” said a husky, muscular type who introduced himself as Tony from Detroit, “that these days, you refuse to speak to the German Chancellor Helmut Schmidt, that you insulted him, causing something of a crisis with Germany. Is that correct?” He was looking at the prime minister with avid curiosity.
Silence.
Begin sat back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, and slowly began repeating back word for word everything the young man had just said, mulling it over. A muscle quivered in his cheek when he answered with a cordiality he clearly did not feel, “You evidently are unaware, Tony, of what the German Chancellor recently said – how he trampled on our people’s dignity, honor, and historic justice.”
Tony shrugged. “Yes, I guess I am unaware.”
“So I shall tell you,” said Begin grimly. “During a recent visit to Saudi Arabia, Chancellor Helmut Schmidt made a public statement declaring that Germany owed particular obligations to a number of peoples, among them the Palestinian Arabs. But he made no mention of Germany’s obligation toward the Jews. His nation destroyed more Jews than the population of Switzerland, of Norway, and almost as many as Sweden, yet he made no mention of his responsibility to the Jewish people. Oh yes” – this with acrid sarcasm – “he had the nicest things to say about his hosts, Saudi Arabia, to whom he intends to sell arms. He described Saudi Arabia as Germany’s most important ally after America and the European Union – this about a society that is corrupt from top to bottom.”
The prime minister’s eyes were burrowing into Tony’s, and his voice was raised when he added, “Is that not scandalous? Should not every German be ashamed? I was beside myself in astonishment when I heard about it. Could it be, I asked myself, that he, of all people, had consciously omitted to make mention of Germany’s obligation to the Jews – and in Saudi Arabia of all places? So, yes, I delivered a speech and I told him what I thought of him.”
“What did you say?”
“I publicly reprimanded him. I said his statement showed callous disregard for the Jews exterminated by his people in World War Two. I reminded him that he had been a soldier in the German Army – an officer, no less – and that he had remained steadfast to his personal oath of loyalty to Hitler to the very end. He served both on the Russian front and the Western front, until he was captured by the British in forty-four.”
“And how did he react to that?”
“He demanded an apology.”
“And did you offer one?”
“Certainly not! I said that I was speaking as a free man who had fought for the survival and liberation of my own people, and I counseled him. I said to him, Mr. Schmidt, take an example from your predecessor, Chancellor Willie Brandt. Go to Warsaw, as he did. Go to the site where the Jewish ghetto once stood, and go down on your knees as he did, and ask for the forgiveness of the Jewish people for the crimes perpetrated against us by the Nazi regime, which you so loyally served as an officer in the Wehrmacht.”
Some slight unease came into Mr. Begin’s voice as he added, a little shamefacedly, “But, Tony, I have to confess I made one mistake.”
“What was that?”
“I was told that Lieutenant Schmidt had been among the select audience of viewers of a film that showed the hanging of the German officers who rebelled against Hitler in the July Plot of nineteen forty-four. I later learned, however, that Mr. Schmidt had been invited to the screening, but did not attend. Nevertheless, he did take part” – again, his voice picked up its earlier contempt – “in a shameful trial against Nazi oppositionists that was presided over by the infamous Judge Freisler, the ‘hanging judge’ of the Nazi People’s Court of Berlin. Freisler had been a participant in the nineteen forty-two Wannsee Conference, which decided on the extermination of the Jews of Europe – the Final Solution.”
“And did you apologize to the chancellor for that mistake – about the screening?” asked Tony.
“No, I chose not to. Rather, I informed a certain member of the Bundestag who wrote me on the matter, that while I have no hesitation in admitting my error concerning the film, Mr. Schmidt remains culpable for participating in an infamous trial that was held in the most dreaded tribunal of the Third Reich and presided over by the most dreaded of judges of the Third Reich – Herr Freisler. That, in itself, is an indelible stain on the record of any German officer of the Third Reich.”75
Then, surprisingly, Begin beamed a sudden smile, the smile one flashes when sharing a juicy piece of gossip. “The irony of it all,” he shared, “is that Chancellor Helmut Schmidt’s father was the illegitimate son of a self-confessed Jew, or so I have been told.”
“Whaddya know!” marveled Tony.
At this point, Yechiel Kadishai walked in to remind the prime minister of his next meeting.
“Before you leave, Mr. Prime Minister,” said Irving Bernstein, anxious that his wards take away some parting wisdom, “would you share with us what you think is the relevant message of the Holocaust for the people here, who are the coming leaders of the American Jewish community?”
Menachem Begin scan
ned the circle of young men and women surrounding him, stroked his chin in prolonged contemplation, leaned across the table from the edge of his chair, and said, “I pray with all my heart that you shall forever enjoy lives of tranquility and security. However, you must always remember that we Jews have a certain collective national experience that goes back many centuries. And in light of that experience, I believe the lessons of the Holocaust are these. First, if an enemy of our people says he seeks to destroy us, believe him. Don’t doubt him for a moment. Don’t make light of it. Do all in your power to deny him the means of carrying out his satanic intent. Second, when a Jew anywhere is threatened, or under attack, do all in your power to come to his aid. Never pause to wonder what the world will think or say. The world will never pity slaughtered Jews. The world may not necessarily like the fighting Jew, but the world will have to take account of him. Third, a Jew must learn to defend himself. He must forever be prepared for whenever threat looms. Fourth, Jewish dignity and honor must be protected in all circumstances. The seeds of Jewish destruction lie in passively enabling the enemy to humiliate us. Only when the enemy succeeds in turning the spirit of the Jew into dust and ashes in life, can he turn the Jew into dust and ashes in death. During the Holocaust it was after the enemy had humiliated the Jews, trampled them underfoot, divided them, deceived them, afflicted them, drove brother against brother, only then could he lead them, almost without resistance, to the gates of Auschwitz. Therefore, at all times and whatever the cost, safeguard the dignity and honor of the Jewish people. Fifth, stand united in face of the enemy. We Jews love life, for life is holy. But there are things in life more precious than life itself. There are times when one must risk life for the sake of rescuing the lives of others. And when the few risk their own lives for the sake of the many, then they, too, stand the chance of saving themselves. Sixth, there is a pattern to Jewish history. In our long annals as a nation, we rise, we fall, we return, we are exiled, we are enslaved, we rebel, we liberate ourselves, we are oppressed once more, we rebuild, and again we suffer destruction, climaxing in our own lifetime in the calamity of calamities, the Holocaust, followed by the rebirth of the Jewish State. So, yes, we have come full circle, and with God’s help, with the rebirth of sovereign Israel we have finally broken the historic cycle: no more destruction and no more defeats, and no more oppression – only Jewish liberty, with dignity and honor. These, I believe, are the underlying lessons to be learned from the unspeakable tragedy of the Holocaust.”
The pall of the Holocaust clung to Menachem Begin like a shroud, unremittingly. This greatly influenced my own perceptions of Germany and the Germans. Indeed, were it not for those intense years I worked for Menachem Begin, I doubt whether I would have had the temerity to defy protocol and create the stir I did in Buckingham Palace, when the president of Germany made a state visit to London during my tenure as Israeli ambassador there.
It all began when the royal summons reached me on a July day in 1986, in the form of an envelope as soft and as thick as summer cream. It contained a gold-embossed card sealed with the Queen’s seal, informing me in Florentine script that:
The Lord Steward has received Her Majesty’s command to invite His Excellency the Ambassador and Mrs. Avner to a State Banquet to be given by the Queen and the Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, at Buckingham Palace in Honor of the President of the Federal Republic of Germany and Freifrau von Weizsacker.
Came the day, and to the standing ovation of peers, government notables, civic dignitaries, and foreign envoys – many wearing dazzling insignia of high rank and ancient office – heralds trumpeted a ceremonial flourish as Queen Elizabeth ii and her consort escorted the German president and his lady into the palace’s spectacular banqueting chamber. Women in evening gowns curtsied and men in black ties bowed as the majestic procession glided across the crimson carpet under a chandelier-laden ceiling whose radiance cast a pleasing light on the Gainsboroughs, Reynolds, Holbeins, Hogarths, and Constables which Queen Victoria hung in 1856 to celebrate the end of the Crimean War.
Silver-buttoned butlers fussed over the sumptuous kosher fare that had been reserved for my wife and me, and which resembled in every detail the menu served to the rest of the guests: consommé, halibut dressed with herbs, chicken flavored with basil and served with Savoy cabbage, roast potatoes and salad, followed by vanilla praline and coffee ice cream. The only distinction of our kosher fare was that our plates were piled twice as high as everybody else’s.
Heralded by a drum roll, a squad of royal bagpipers of the kilted Gordon Highlanders, complete with dashing tartan sashes, played traditional Scottish skirls, their melancholy ululations mingling with the peals of laughter that rose from along the table. Then, upon the fierce command of a red-liveried toastmaster who barked, “Pray silence…,” the sounds in the glittering hall muted and the sovereign rose to toast her guest of honor. Glasses were raised, and all stood in honor of the strains of the German national anthem, rendered by the brass band of the Grenadier Guards.
My wife, Mimi, who was sitting next to the leader of the opposition, Neil Kinnock, stood up hesitatingly, her reluctance to rise all too obvious. I, too, made as if to stand, but faltered. My legs would not carry me. They had gone numb. A hard fist of indecision knotted my stomach as chamberlains, ladies-in-waiting, and other notables cast scandalized glances in my direction. But the image of Menachem Begin appeared before me and I could not stand for that anthem. Its stanzas had been sanitized, true, but not its notes. Its melody still echoed the Sieg heils of Hitler’s Third Reich.
After dinner in the Throne Room, where brandy, liqueurs, coffee and cigars were proffered, a string quintet and harp vainly pitted Johann Sebastian Bach against the high-pitched chatter of the elegant crowd. Amid the hubbub, a towering equerry wearing a black frockcoat, buckling at the breast with military ribbons, bore down upon my wife and me and informed us that His Excellency, the president of Germany, wanted a private word in my ear. He was standing at the far end of the room talking to Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, next to the proscenium arch under which the opulent, regal “Chairs of State” stood.
President Von Weizsacker was a silver-haired, slender figure, with a distinguished presence made all the more imposing by the sash across his chest. When the equerry announced our names he half-bowed to my wife, took my hand, and said, “I noted you did not stand for my country’s anthem.”
There was nothing I could say but the truth: “I could not – ”
He interrupted me mid-sentence. “I just want you to know, I take no offense.”
“I meant no personal offense, sir.”
“One cannot reverse history,” he said. “Nothing of the Holocaust may ever be forgotten. Memory is everything.”
His accented English rang with sincerity. The German president was well known for challenging those Germans who claimed they had known nothing of the Holocaust. On a state visit to Israel the previous October, he had openly confessed Germany’s guilt.
“Excuse my butting in, but I could not but overhear what you were saying,” said Prime Minister Thatcher. And in a robust voice, as if proposing a toast, declared, “We should be mighty proud, all of us, that after Dunkirk and after Auschwitz, here we all are, standing together in friendship – you, the president of Germany, and you, the ambassador of Israel, and me, the prime minister of Britain, all of us guests of Her Majesty the Queen in Buckingham Palace, right here in Churchill’s London. Now, isn’t that a splendid thing! It is proof, if any was needed, that while one should never forget the past, we should never let it determine the future.”
“Good Lord, if we were always living in the past, I’d still be fighting Scotland, Spain, and America.” Thus Queen Elizabeth, with an easy smile. She had been standing close by, with Freifrau von Weizsacker, and as she approached in her finery of royal blue, and her glittering regalia, she somehow managed to be regal yet relaxed at the same time.
“Ma’am,” said Prime Minister Thatcher, picking up the jocular
cue, “and we women would still not have the vote.” And then, to me, “I have yet to thank you, Ambassador, for the wonderful hospitality I enjoyed in your country.”
Margaret Thatcher, accompanied by her husband, Denis, had paid an official visit to Israel the week before, the first British prime minister ever to do so.
“What’s Jerusalem like?” asked Princess Diana, who had sidled up to join the circle, exquisite in a simple creation of red. “I hear it’s fascinating.”
“Indeed it is,” trumpeted Mrs. Thatcher with enormous gusto, “but it’s going to be a tough nut to crack if there is ever going to be peace. And then there’s the issue of settlements which Mr. Begin started, and we certainly don’t see eye-to-eye about that. But one cannot but admire their good old-fashioned patriotism. And they are doing more for the interests and protection of the free world in that unstable part of the globe than any number of NATO divisions.”
The German president said something about Israel’s tiny geography being a complicating factor in advancing a peace process because the risks were so high. Meanwhile, his wife was asking Princess Diana how her little princes, William and Harry, were faring. Laughing, Princess Diana answered with an infectious candor that William, at four years old, and Harry, at two, were “a pair of daredevils up to all kinds of mischief.”
The Queen’s husband, Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, came rambling over. He was chatting with the German ambassador, a tall, silver-haired aristocrat named Baron Rüdiger von Wechmar. He was a highly professional and gregarious diplomat who, at our very first meeting, had insisted I call him Rudi. He wanted us to be friends.
“Are you two friends?” asked the Duke, in his typically gauche fashion.
The Queen’s husband had a provocative way about him, presumably born out of years of boredom. After all, what exactly was his job other than to trail behind his wife at official functions, hands behind his back, making meaningless small talk? Whenever he encountered a diplomatic line-up where protocol prescribed that I stand between the ambassadors of Iraq and Iran, this being the order in which we had presented our credentials, he would invariably toss out some wisecrack, like, “You three having fun together, are you?” or “Going at each other, are you?” All three of us would return him a forced smile, while continuing to ignore one another with the well-drilled habitual silence of hereditary enemies.
The Prime Ministers: An Intimate Narrative of Israeli Leadership Page 59
