Maureen Lipman plays Wladyslaw Szpilman’s mother in Roman Polanski’s The Pianist. Off-stage she is just as dramatic, discovers Ori Golan. Monday, 14 July 2008
Lipman at the piano
Maureen Lipman plays Wladyslaw Szpilman’s mother in Roman Polanski’s The Pianist. Off-stage she is just as dramatic, discovers Ori Golan. 
Thoughts out of the Blue.
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He has been described as an eccentric maverick. He prays with nuns, meditates with Buddhists and loves a pint with atheists in local pubs. Ori Golan takes tea with Rabbi Blue.Written in Britain
Nineteen ninety seven looks set to be an eventful year here in Britain. The royal family - ex-members included - look set for another tumultuous year. The Duchess of York, - also, or better known as Fergie - has been portrayed as a bit of a hussy and Prince Charles has had to hire a battery of image-setters and media advisors to assure the public that there will no Queen Camilla to rule the waves.
Judaism without God
Philanthropist Felix Posen is not a non-believer. He doesn’t like negative adjectives but thinks religion hampers creativity. He talks to Ori Golan.
Ears at my feet.
Becoming deaf was a terrible shock for Sister Denise. Then Caldey came into her life. For the times they are a-changin'
" Come senators, congressmen…Please heed the call/ There's a battleoutside/ And it is ragin'./ It'll soon shake your windows/ And rattle your walls/ For the times they are a-changin'" Bob Dylan
When the Great Danes bark.
The post-Viking Danes are quietly filing their horns in preparation for an onslaught. The target: foreigners.The Hound Snatchers
A wave of dog theft is sweeping across Britain. The lucky ones pay a ransom to get their dogs back. The less fortunate ones are dreaming of seeing their dogs again. The police don’t want to know. A cautionary tail. Ori Golan.Four interviews and a massacre
Ten years ago, on Purim day, Dr. Baruch Goldstein donned military reserves uniform and headed for the cave of Patriarchs in Hebron. Ori Golan returns to the site of the massacre in Hebron.Brussels is not just the name of a sprout
Contrary to prevailing beliefs, Belgium was not constructed for, or by, tourists as a stop-over on their way to France from the Netherlands, or vice versa. There are people who actually live there. Ten million, in fact. And Brussels is not just the name of a sprout. Sunday, 13 July 2008
La mort de ma mère
La mort de ma mère ne fut pas un événément, mais un processus; une longue et inssupportable agonie. Elle n’a pas joui d’une ‘mort douce’, mais une mort lente et cruelle. Nous etions à son chevet, lui tennant la main, lui parlant, lui epargnant la souffrance la plus cruelle: la solitude, l’abandon. Et tout au long de ce voyage vers l’infinie ma mère nous confiait son désir de partir doucement: glisser dans un someil profond, sans retour. Son souhait n’a pas été exaucé.
Elle suppliait aux medecins et aux infirmières de lui aider mettre fin à sa souffrance. Entretemps, son cœur continuait tant bien que mal son travail de vaine résistance et son pouls battait pour irriguer ce qui restait accessible de son corps qui n’en pouvait plus.
Maintenant, hormis la tristesse et la nostalgie de l'avoir perdue, je suis heureux d'avoir eu la force de l'accompagner ainsi et d'avoir pu faire face sans lâcheté. Parce qu’au cours de ce voyage cauchemaresque elle a suffert terriblement, pour la plûpart en silence. Et cela allait de mal en pis.
Vers la fin, elle a dû se resigner à un de ses craints: la dépéndence sur autri pour assurer son hygiène personnel. Nul ne peut imagine la honte, l’humiliation, l’empleur de l’horreur qu’elle a dû epreuver.
S’il y a une petite consolation à laquelle je me cramponne, c’est le fait que le pire de ses peurs, celle qu’elle redoutait plus que tout ne s’est pas réalisé: elle a gardé ses facultés mentales indemnes et sa clarité d’ésprit intact. Même lorsque ses dernières heures furent proches, elle arrivait à s’exprimer d’une manière stupifiante.
La mort lui tennant la main, elle nous a dit qu’elle veut y aller; qu’ elle a fait la paix interieure. Et nous l’avons regardé, médusés. Parmi les images qui me resteront des derniers jours de ma mère, il en est une, très belle, presque indicible tant elle se révèle riche de sens. C’est l’image de la main droite, diaphane et émaciée qui prend un peigne pour se brosser les cheveux. C'était ce qu'il lui restait de sa pudeur, sa modestie, sa vie de femme. Peut être n’y a-t-il pas de morts heureuses, mais la sienne fut une mort triste; prolongée sans but ni raison par simple lâcheté de al part du corps médical; les aides-soignantes, les infirmières, le medicins.
La loi n’est pas encore arrivé à définir ce qui constitue ‘une qualité de vie’, et en consequence, ne le milieu hospitalier ne peut pas porter succours aux personnes qui jugent leur vie depourvu de qualité. Son visage fut contorté; ses yeux creux, sa physique squellette. Elle était méconnaisable. Ma mère. Qui croirait que ce corps, rangé par un cancer virulent, sans pitié, m’a porté au monde?
La voir entamer son dernier voyage, être temoin de ses heures finales sur notre planète bleue fut un privilège et un act de pardon. Le passé s’est effacé d’un seul coup. Ce qui comptait était le present; le futur n’ayant plus ni rôle, ni place. J’ai senti une transformation; la paix était venu. Ma mère a fait la paix. Je la vois encore, respirant tranquillement, la bouche grande ouverte. Je vois la morphine fait son œuvre et, finalement, la plonge dans un sommeil profond où la douleur disparaît en même temps que sa conscience. Cette femme, plongée dans son coma morphinique, c’est ma mère.
Elle suppliait aux medecins et aux infirmières de lui aider mettre fin à sa souffrance. Entretemps, son cœur continuait tant bien que mal son travail de vaine résistance et son pouls battait pour irriguer ce qui restait accessible de son corps qui n’en pouvait plus.
Maintenant, hormis la tristesse et la nostalgie de l'avoir perdue, je suis heureux d'avoir eu la force de l'accompagner ainsi et d'avoir pu faire face sans lâcheté. Parce qu’au cours de ce voyage cauchemaresque elle a suffert terriblement, pour la plûpart en silence. Et cela allait de mal en pis.
Vers la fin, elle a dû se resigner à un de ses craints: la dépéndence sur autri pour assurer son hygiène personnel. Nul ne peut imagine la honte, l’humiliation, l’empleur de l’horreur qu’elle a dû epreuver.
S’il y a une petite consolation à laquelle je me cramponne, c’est le fait que le pire de ses peurs, celle qu’elle redoutait plus que tout ne s’est pas réalisé: elle a gardé ses facultés mentales indemnes et sa clarité d’ésprit intact. Même lorsque ses dernières heures furent proches, elle arrivait à s’exprimer d’une manière stupifiante.
La mort lui tennant la main, elle nous a dit qu’elle veut y aller; qu’ elle a fait la paix interieure. Et nous l’avons regardé, médusés. Parmi les images qui me resteront des derniers jours de ma mère, il en est une, très belle, presque indicible tant elle se révèle riche de sens. C’est l’image de la main droite, diaphane et émaciée qui prend un peigne pour se brosser les cheveux. C'était ce qu'il lui restait de sa pudeur, sa modestie, sa vie de femme. Peut être n’y a-t-il pas de morts heureuses, mais la sienne fut une mort triste; prolongée sans but ni raison par simple lâcheté de al part du corps médical; les aides-soignantes, les infirmières, le medicins.
La loi n’est pas encore arrivé à définir ce qui constitue ‘une qualité de vie’, et en consequence, ne le milieu hospitalier ne peut pas porter succours aux personnes qui jugent leur vie depourvu de qualité. Son visage fut contorté; ses yeux creux, sa physique squellette. Elle était méconnaisable. Ma mère. Qui croirait que ce corps, rangé par un cancer virulent, sans pitié, m’a porté au monde?
La voir entamer son dernier voyage, être temoin de ses heures finales sur notre planète bleue fut un privilège et un act de pardon. Le passé s’est effacé d’un seul coup. Ce qui comptait était le present; le futur n’ayant plus ni rôle, ni place. J’ai senti une transformation; la paix était venu. Ma mère a fait la paix. Je la vois encore, respirant tranquillement, la bouche grande ouverte. Je vois la morphine fait son œuvre et, finalement, la plonge dans un sommeil profond où la douleur disparaît en même temps que sa conscience. Cette femme, plongée dans son coma morphinique, c’est ma mère.
My mother’s death
My mother’s death was not an event, but a long process; an unbearable agony. It was not a ‘sweet death’ but a slow, drawn out and cruel death.
We were at her bedside; holding her hand, speaking to her and sparing her the worst of possible suffering; that caused by loneliness or abandon. During her journey to infinity, my mother made clear her desire to depart this world quietly; to slip into a deep and comfortable sleep of no return. Her wish was not granted.
She pleaded with the nurses and the doctors to help her put an end to her suffering. Meanwhile her heart continued as best it could to resist against the odds, while her pulse fought to pump blood to what was left of her body.
Now, alongside the sadness and memories after her disappearance, I am grateful for the strength I found to accompany her through on this journey. Because throughout this nightmarish journey, she suffered enormously, mostly in silence.
And her situation went from bad to worse.
Towards the end she had to resign herself to the reality of one of her deep seated fears: becoming dependent on others in order to maintain her personal hygiene. No one can imagine the dread, the humiliation and the sheer horror which she must have gone through.
If there is a small consolation I can salvage, it is the fact that the darkest of her fears did not materialise: her mental faculties remained undamaged and her mind remained intact. Even when her last hours were approaching, she was able to communicate her thoughts in an astounding manner. As death was taking her by the hand, she to told us that she wanted to go; that she was at peace with herself. And we looked on, spellbound.
Of the many vivid mental pictures of my mother’s final days, there is one which I shall always remember. It is particularly beautiful and rich in meaning - almost indescribable. It is the image of her right hand, emaciated and diaphanous, holding a comb and brushing her hair. It was all that remained of her modesty, her self-awareness, her femininity.
Perhaps there is no such thing as a happy death, but hers was a sad death; extended without reason or purpose, by the failing of the medical establishment: the nurses, the orderlies and the doctors. The law has yet to define what constitutes a ‘quality of life’ and, consequently, the hospital environment cannot offer assistance to those who deem their lives devoid of quality.
Her face was contorted; her eyes hollow and her body skeletal. She was barely recognisable. My mother.
Who would believe that this body, ravaged by a virulent, pitiless cancer, is the same body which brought me into this world?
Seeing her embark on her final journey; being witness to her final hours on this blue planet of ours, was both a privilege and an act of closure.
The past disappeared in one fell swoop. What mattered was the present; the future had neither a role, nor a place. I felt a transformation; peace had descended. My mother was at peace with the world.
I see her still, breathing peacefully, her mouth gaping. I see the morphine working its way into her and, finally, easing her into a deep sleep where her pain disappears at the same time as her consciousness.
This woman, deep in a morphine-induced coma, is my mother.
We were at her bedside; holding her hand, speaking to her and sparing her the worst of possible suffering; that caused by loneliness or abandon. During her journey to infinity, my mother made clear her desire to depart this world quietly; to slip into a deep and comfortable sleep of no return. Her wish was not granted.
She pleaded with the nurses and the doctors to help her put an end to her suffering. Meanwhile her heart continued as best it could to resist against the odds, while her pulse fought to pump blood to what was left of her body.
Now, alongside the sadness and memories after her disappearance, I am grateful for the strength I found to accompany her through on this journey. Because throughout this nightmarish journey, she suffered enormously, mostly in silence.
And her situation went from bad to worse.
Towards the end she had to resign herself to the reality of one of her deep seated fears: becoming dependent on others in order to maintain her personal hygiene. No one can imagine the dread, the humiliation and the sheer horror which she must have gone through.
If there is a small consolation I can salvage, it is the fact that the darkest of her fears did not materialise: her mental faculties remained undamaged and her mind remained intact. Even when her last hours were approaching, she was able to communicate her thoughts in an astounding manner. As death was taking her by the hand, she to told us that she wanted to go; that she was at peace with herself. And we looked on, spellbound.
Of the many vivid mental pictures of my mother’s final days, there is one which I shall always remember. It is particularly beautiful and rich in meaning - almost indescribable. It is the image of her right hand, emaciated and diaphanous, holding a comb and brushing her hair. It was all that remained of her modesty, her self-awareness, her femininity.
Perhaps there is no such thing as a happy death, but hers was a sad death; extended without reason or purpose, by the failing of the medical establishment: the nurses, the orderlies and the doctors. The law has yet to define what constitutes a ‘quality of life’ and, consequently, the hospital environment cannot offer assistance to those who deem their lives devoid of quality.
Her face was contorted; her eyes hollow and her body skeletal. She was barely recognisable. My mother.
Who would believe that this body, ravaged by a virulent, pitiless cancer, is the same body which brought me into this world?
Seeing her embark on her final journey; being witness to her final hours on this blue planet of ours, was both a privilege and an act of closure.
The past disappeared in one fell swoop. What mattered was the present; the future had neither a role, nor a place. I felt a transformation; peace had descended. My mother was at peace with the world.
I see her still, breathing peacefully, her mouth gaping. I see the morphine working its way into her and, finally, easing her into a deep sleep where her pain disappears at the same time as her consciousness.
This woman, deep in a morphine-induced coma, is my mother.
Dead men walking
"Teach them well," he said.
On January 20th, 2000, my brother, Gil, was admitted to hospital with pneumonia. A week later, on January 26th, on a bitterly cold Sunday evening, surrounded by his family, Gil took his final gasp of breath, aged 36.
Words don’t come easy.
Israel’s stand in Britain has suffered a serious blow since the start of the Al Aqsa intifada. Skewed, biased and misleading reports on Israel have created a hostile environment and fertile ground for antisemitism. But is Israel doing enough to counter this trend? Ori Golan.
On January 27 this year, on Britain’s Holocaust Memorial Day, the British daily, The Independent, published a cartoon of PM Ariel Sharon biting off the head of a Palestinian child as helicopter warships bombard villages and call out "Vote Sharon!"
The drawing deeply offended the Jewish community, not least because of its antisemitic undertones. In response to a high volume of complaints from readers, the newspaper carried out full-page responses from two prominent Jewish public figures: MP Gerald Kaufman and Ned Temko, editor of the Jewish Chronicle. Kaufman insisted that the cartoon was little more than satire and that its time to tell the Israeli government to ‘buzz off’; Temko described the cartoon as not only shocking - but appalling. Finally the cartoonist himself, Dave Brown, had his say. It was all allegory, he explained, inspired by Goya’s painting, Saturn.
Shuli Davidovich, the Israeli press attaché in London, lodged a formal complaint to the press complaints commission which has written to the newspaper asking for its response. She responds to anti-Israel bias in the British media and tirelessly fights Israel’s corner. And in the current climate, there’s much work to be done.
Israel’s stand in Britain has suffered a serious blow since the start of the Al Aqsa intifada. Twisted, biased and misleading reports on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict have created a hostile environment and given rise to fierce criticism of Israel. So why has Israel’s image in the British press taken such a battering?
"Firstly, there’s the issue of morality", says Davidovich. "Israel will only publish photos of terror attack victims after receiving permission from the victim’s family and go-ahead from the photographer. Some of the families are so distressed by the photos that they ask us not to use them. Even though other media outlets publish these horrific scenes without compunction, we will refuse to do so, as a matter of respect to the families. On the other hand Palestinians often invite camera crews to film ‘their massacres’ and what you get is an unbalanced, distorted picture."
"In terms of substance, Israel is not made up of one official body" says Davidovich, "There is the Prime Minister’s office, the Government Press Office, the Police, the Foreign ministry, and the IDF. This multiplicity of spokesmen can slow down the process before an official statement can be made. Before we can comment on any specific issue or incident, it has to be verified and checked by a chain of commands. Unfortunately sometimes, by the time we go through all the channels, the story has done the rounds in the press and we lose the momentum."
This slow response-time can be critical, because news outlets live and die by deadlines.In the absence of an Israeli response, Palestinian commentaries fill the airwaves and the newspapers.
One glaring example was the IDF’s incursion into Jenin, last April. Initially Saeb Erekat, spokesman for the Palestinian Authority, spoke of 3,000 Palestinian dead, then of 500.
Meanwhile Palestinian ‘eyewitnesses’ described it as a ‘massacre of epic proportions’. The British media relayed these unverified figures and soon tales of mass murders, cover-ups, common graves, and war crimes began filling the front pages of the newspapers and dominating television and radio airtime. "We are talking here of massacre, and a cover-up, of genocide" wrote columnist A.N. Wilson, in the Evening Standard, London's main newspaper. By the time a more accurate picture emerged, and it was evident that no massacre had taken place in Jenin, the damage had been done. In the British psyche, Israel had killed, maimed, pillaged and destroyed.
A newspaper reporter who was based in Israel (and asks to remain unnamed) describes the Israeli PR as ‘abysmal’: "More money is spent on promoting Bamba than on promoting Israel’s image. Dover Tzahal’s personnel are young girls who are unable to cope with the work and unable to supply the goods. Basically there’s a non-presence; Israel is disabled by the fact that there are no good people responding to what people want in real time. As a reporter in Israel you learn quickly that a lot of it is about fiefdoms, you can run around all day before you get a comment from an Israeli source. The Palestinians know their stuff. They’d spin us one line and they’d give it immediately."
Some of these sentiments were echoed last October in State Comptroller, retired Supreme Court Justice Eliezer Goldberg’s report, in which he severely criticised the Foreign Ministry and the Israel Defense Forces for the absence of coordination between them and their inability to explain Israel's side in the conflict with the Palestinians.
Director of the Israel Government Press Office Dani Seaman, fails to understand what all the fuss is about. In an interview with French writer Yona Dureau he says: "The term: hasbara" comes from ‘lehasbir’- to explain. Israel has nothing to explain. Why does Israel have to explain itself? Do other countries have to constantly justify themselves? […] There is nothing to explain and if other countries don’t understand, too bad for them. Israel has nothing to explain."
Winston Pickett, head of external relations for the London-based Institute for Jewish Policy Research (JPR) sounds a shrill warning. "Israel needs to understand that hasbara is not a luxury—or an afterthought. It is a strategic necessity. There is a constant need for hasbara to get the message out in good times as well as bad. It also must not be episodic or crisis-oriented. You cannot expect the media to cover ‘your side’ of the story when you haven’t bothered to cultivate it."
Veteran radio commentator Michael Freedland claims that Israel’s image problem is not new, but an issue which has long been overlooked by successive Israeli governments. "In 1973, shortly after the Yom Kippur war, then-Prime Minister Golda Meir came to Britain. I was running a Jewish radio program at the time called You don’t have to be Jewish, which boasted an audience of 150,000 listeners. I asked her for an interview while she was here. ‘Darling’ she said to me, ‘I don’t have time’. She then spent 10 minutes telling me she didn’t have 5 minutes for an interview. The Arabs would appear on British TV and have someone articulate and bright and the Israelis would find a Knesset member who hardly spoke English. There is no doubt that Israel doesn’t consider anything outside the US as very important."
Yoav Biran, former Ambassador to Britain and director-general of the Foreign Ministry, rebuts these claims. "I concede that there is a problem with quantity, but not quality. We take the whole issue of ‘hasbara’ very seriously and have some excellent, eloquent English speakers who are able to put Israel’s stand across. It is a sad fact that much of the reporting about Israel lacks context and there are more and more bastions of unfair and unprofessional reporting."
But if the government is taking ‘hasbara’ seriously, then it is unclear why it is not investing in it. The current budget allocated for this purpose stands at NIS 40M. This covers all Israeli embassies around the world, including the salaries of paid staff specifically employed in promoting Israel’s image. And with this paltry budget about to be cut back, the situation does not look likely to improve.
Despite the pecuniary constraints, Davidovich says that the embassy is making inroads. "We meet as many journalists, presenters and editors as possible. We put them in touch with officials in Israel, academics and individuals who are affected by the situation. We also offer them ideas and facilitate meetings for them. It’s important for us that they get to know us. Whenever there’s a debate or interview on television or the radio, we try and get Israel’s version also represented. If there is no Israeli side, we will lodge a complaint. Sometimes it works – sometimes it doesn’t; it’s Sisyphean work. "
The British Israel Communications and Research Centre (BICOM) was set up by members of Britain’s Jewish community in the wake of the second intifada. Its aim is to bring speakers who can explain Israel’s position, as well as to effect a shift in opinion of Israel among the general public and opinion-formers. So urgent do they perceive the situation, that they have enlisted the help of two senior American political strategists, Stanely Greenberg and Frank Lunz to counter the general anti-Israel atmosphere that pervades the media circles.
But should Israeli policy be financed and undertaken by non-Israelis?
Biran: "The fact that there are organisations, in a number of countries, whose aim is to promote Israel’s stand in the media, is an expression of concern for Israel, alongside the financial constraints on Israel. I view it as a very positive thing. I wish we could say ‘don’t worry about us’, but we can’t and their help is greatly appreciated."
Professor Barry Kosmin, executive director of JPR takes a different view. "I think it is more than a little embarrassing—and in a public relations sense perhaps, ill-advised—to have Israel’s only effective strategic communication coming out of a British Jewish communal organization. If I were an Israeli taxpayer I would be incensed that my government has never put sufficient resources, time, or sophistication into this crucial area.
"Israel," continues Kosmin, "is one of the few states in modern times that has been engaged in a war without establishing a centralized ministry of information or propaganda. Instead it has relied on incoherent messages from various ministries controlled by different—and often rival—political parties. Not being ‘on message’ is bad. Not having a message at all is patently dangerous. Having numerous and contradictory messages only guarantees a public relations disaster."
BICOM recently carried out research on anti-Israel attitude in Britain. Its report highlights that much of Israel’s negative image in the British media is attributed to presentation. It is not getting its message across. Blunt and unequivocally language, concludes the report, particularly with an Israeli accent, is much too confrontational for British audiences.
"Some of the negative images of Israelis", says a foreign editor of one of the broadsheets papers, "must be attributed to mentality: when you meet Israelis often they come across as plain rude: they shoot from the hip. They see themselves as being ‘dugri’ but are perceived as being rude. The Palestinians are more refined; there’s a whole protocol they follow. I think it’s important to bear these things in mind because it causes antagonism."
My own experiences confirm this. On a recent visit to the embassy, after presenting my Israeli passport, a security guard asked me to remove my coat. I was then instructed to remove my trousers belt, then my shoes, and finally to present my keys and wallet for inspection. I was rather surprised at this seemingly incongruous rigorous check on an invited Israeli guest. Standing barefoot at the entrance, with one hand trying to keep my trousers from falling, I asked the guard whether this was the standard welcome all invited journalists were treated to. "If you don’t like it, you can leave", he replied.
Still, accent, age or arrogance cannot fully account for Israel’s negative image. At issue is coverage lacking in truth, fairness and context. Many of the Israel-based correspondents are journalists with a minimal knowledge of the area, its history or geography. Dudevitch agrees: "There are many journalists who’ve never met an Israeli in their lives. Some have no idea how big – or even where – Israel is. I was once asked by an editor of a magazine about the number of Israeli soldiers manning the Suez Canal. He was surprised to hear that the Suez Canal is no longer part of Israel."
Tom Gross worked in Israel for 6 years as a reporter for the London Sunday Telegraph and the New York Daily News, until 2001. In a number of seminal articles on unfair reporting on Israel, Gross charts inaccuracies and misleading coverage of Israel in the international press. Most journalists, he says, follow a pack mentality, assuming similar views as their colleagues. "Many of them are lazy, they don’t speak the language and they pick up their stories from what colleagues tell them. Some know what they are going to write before they even arrive in Israel."
"You have to understand that most BBC staff read the Guardian and the Independent" says Gross, "and they draw their opinions from these sources. I remember one journalist who had no knowledge of the Middle East. He was sent out to Israel to write a human-interest story on dead children. In conversation with him it was clear he did not know that there were Israeli children who have been killed in this conflict. He assumed they were all Palestinian. The guy had no political agenda; he simply picked up this impression from the media."
While some journalists are careless, sloppy, or ignorant, others are on a crusade. Robert Fisk, the Beirut-based correspondent for the Independent, is a prime example. Israel-bashing has become his stock and trade and he is famed for his biased, often malicious dispatches. A colleague of Fisk’s says: "He [Fisk] is just a person whose mind has been closed. He writes very well; his main trouble is the size of his ego. He makes the facts fit his views and mixes up between reporting and campaigning. It is common knowledge that he plays loose and fast with his facts and his 'eyewitness' accounts."
But it’s not just Fisk, or his newspaper.
A BBC reporter, who refuses to be named or identified, recalls reporting from Israel and the territories. "I found a pervasive mindset inside the BBC which dictated that the narrative was that the Israelis were killing the Palestinians.
"There was a failure to give credence to Israeli sources but to believe Palestinian ones. I once filed a story about [a certain incident] which, I found out, was wrong. I immediately called the BBC to tell them that the story wasn’t true, but they decided to run it anyway, a number of times that day. Operation Defensive Shield was a huge failure on their part. It’s not just the BBC of course. Suzanne Goldenberg [former Guardian correspondent in Israel] is a campaigner, not a reporter. Her political opinions were reflected in her reporting. One wonders if the Guardian’s choice of a reporter with a Jewish-sounding name was a coincidence or a fig leaf."
This touches on a prevailing feeling among the Jewish community of Britain that the anti-Israel bias has an anti-Semitic subtext.
"A lot of it", says the BBC reporter, "is about bringing down the Jews a peg or two. Until I started working as a correspondent I did not believe for a minute that anti-Israel attitude in the media were in any way antisemitic. Unfortunately, working closely with foreign journalists in the last few years has made me change my mind in some cases. The post holocaust honeymoon is over for the Jews. No one is suggesting that Israel is perfect, but if you look at the tone of criticism, it is out of all proportion of any rational or objective analysis. I’ve covered a number of conflicts around the world, but the wholesale dehumanisation of Israel makes me very uncomfortable. It also encourages anti-Semitic incidents, which is hardly surprising. If Israel is portrayed as a killer of children how can readers not have negative feelings towards Israel – and by extension towards Jews? The reporting during the intifada has shown that antisemitic attitudes are still ingrained in European societies deeper than many Europeans are themselves aware or prepared to admit."
Leader writer and foreign affairs specialist for The Times, Michael Binyon, rejects the idea of antisemitism as a factor in the anti-Israel reporting. "I don’t think antisemitism has anything to do with it, nor do I think it’s a decisive factor in British life. What does happen is that there’s anti-Israel campaigning, which is then transferred to Jewish lobbyists of Israel: Malanie Philips, Barbra Amiel (wife of Conrad Black) and other commentators who are naturally very sensitive to this. In general, playing the antisemitic card gets people annoyed.
"The anti-Israel shift is related to the Likud government. Barak was criticized for wasting chances, but he wasn’t seen to be doing the wrong thing. There’s tremendous suspicion of Sharon’s and Netanyahu’s motives. The press department can only do so much, it cannot change government policies. The Palestinian leadership is also bad, but Israel has forced Arafat into a martyr role.
Reporting on a conflict, says Binyon, is a question of getting the balance right. "This is true not just in Israel but also in Cyprus or Northern Ireland. However there’s particular scrutiny of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict due to its implication: it has gone right across the Muslim world and is causing all kinds of reactions, a lot more than Kashmir. This is because it’s one of few foreign issues which America takes an active interest in, since it’s a domestic issue there."
But even if Israel is getting bad publicity in the British press, can it have any serious consequences?Antisemitic incidents in Britain are on the rise. At the same time a number of boycotts have been officially announced against Israel within academic and commercial circles as well as the entertainment industry. Calls for the boycotting of Israeli goods have proliferated; anti-war demonstrations are regularly hijacked by pro-Palestinian supporters waving anti-Israel placards and racist banners; and Israel-bashing has become the ‘bon ton’ at dinner parties.
Gross, however, isn’t over duly concerned. "It doesn’t make a great amount of difference. It does effect European diplomatic initiatives because most European diplomats are affected by what they read, but European diplomatic efforts are not that important in the region."
Pickett sees the British media as being of vital importance in the electronic war against Israel. "The global reach of the BBC, for example, must be recognized. Its World Service—in dozens of languages—is transmitted throughout the Muslim and Third World —precisely in those regions where Israel is demonised the most. If Israel wants to counter its negative image there it has to try to find ways to offset the BBC here."
Indeed, Britain - with its integral place in the E.U. and Nato, its historical links with the Middle East, its special relationship with the US, and its veto power in the UN Security Council – is key to redressing the balance. In the war of words, truth, integrity and honesty, are the first casualties. It is in Israel’s interest to insist that these are upheld.
On January 27 this year, on Britain’s Holocaust Memorial Day, the British daily, The Independent, published a cartoon of PM Ariel Sharon biting off the head of a Palestinian child as helicopter warships bombard villages and call out "Vote Sharon!"
The drawing deeply offended the Jewish community, not least because of its antisemitic undertones. In response to a high volume of complaints from readers, the newspaper carried out full-page responses from two prominent Jewish public figures: MP Gerald Kaufman and Ned Temko, editor of the Jewish Chronicle. Kaufman insisted that the cartoon was little more than satire and that its time to tell the Israeli government to ‘buzz off’; Temko described the cartoon as not only shocking - but appalling. Finally the cartoonist himself, Dave Brown, had his say. It was all allegory, he explained, inspired by Goya’s painting, Saturn.
Shuli Davidovich, the Israeli press attaché in London, lodged a formal complaint to the press complaints commission which has written to the newspaper asking for its response. She responds to anti-Israel bias in the British media and tirelessly fights Israel’s corner. And in the current climate, there’s much work to be done.
Israel’s stand in Britain has suffered a serious blow since the start of the Al Aqsa intifada. Twisted, biased and misleading reports on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict have created a hostile environment and given rise to fierce criticism of Israel. So why has Israel’s image in the British press taken such a battering?
"Firstly, there’s the issue of morality", says Davidovich. "Israel will only publish photos of terror attack victims after receiving permission from the victim’s family and go-ahead from the photographer. Some of the families are so distressed by the photos that they ask us not to use them. Even though other media outlets publish these horrific scenes without compunction, we will refuse to do so, as a matter of respect to the families. On the other hand Palestinians often invite camera crews to film ‘their massacres’ and what you get is an unbalanced, distorted picture."
"In terms of substance, Israel is not made up of one official body" says Davidovich, "There is the Prime Minister’s office, the Government Press Office, the Police, the Foreign ministry, and the IDF. This multiplicity of spokesmen can slow down the process before an official statement can be made. Before we can comment on any specific issue or incident, it has to be verified and checked by a chain of commands. Unfortunately sometimes, by the time we go through all the channels, the story has done the rounds in the press and we lose the momentum."
This slow response-time can be critical, because news outlets live and die by deadlines.In the absence of an Israeli response, Palestinian commentaries fill the airwaves and the newspapers.
One glaring example was the IDF’s incursion into Jenin, last April. Initially Saeb Erekat, spokesman for the Palestinian Authority, spoke of 3,000 Palestinian dead, then of 500.
Meanwhile Palestinian ‘eyewitnesses’ described it as a ‘massacre of epic proportions’. The British media relayed these unverified figures and soon tales of mass murders, cover-ups, common graves, and war crimes began filling the front pages of the newspapers and dominating television and radio airtime. "We are talking here of massacre, and a cover-up, of genocide" wrote columnist A.N. Wilson, in the Evening Standard, London's main newspaper. By the time a more accurate picture emerged, and it was evident that no massacre had taken place in Jenin, the damage had been done. In the British psyche, Israel had killed, maimed, pillaged and destroyed.
A newspaper reporter who was based in Israel (and asks to remain unnamed) describes the Israeli PR as ‘abysmal’: "More money is spent on promoting Bamba than on promoting Israel’s image. Dover Tzahal’s personnel are young girls who are unable to cope with the work and unable to supply the goods. Basically there’s a non-presence; Israel is disabled by the fact that there are no good people responding to what people want in real time. As a reporter in Israel you learn quickly that a lot of it is about fiefdoms, you can run around all day before you get a comment from an Israeli source. The Palestinians know their stuff. They’d spin us one line and they’d give it immediately."
Some of these sentiments were echoed last October in State Comptroller, retired Supreme Court Justice Eliezer Goldberg’s report, in which he severely criticised the Foreign Ministry and the Israel Defense Forces for the absence of coordination between them and their inability to explain Israel's side in the conflict with the Palestinians.
Director of the Israel Government Press Office Dani Seaman, fails to understand what all the fuss is about. In an interview with French writer Yona Dureau he says: "The term: hasbara" comes from ‘lehasbir’- to explain. Israel has nothing to explain. Why does Israel have to explain itself? Do other countries have to constantly justify themselves? […] There is nothing to explain and if other countries don’t understand, too bad for them. Israel has nothing to explain."
Winston Pickett, head of external relations for the London-based Institute for Jewish Policy Research (JPR) sounds a shrill warning. "Israel needs to understand that hasbara is not a luxury—or an afterthought. It is a strategic necessity. There is a constant need for hasbara to get the message out in good times as well as bad. It also must not be episodic or crisis-oriented. You cannot expect the media to cover ‘your side’ of the story when you haven’t bothered to cultivate it."
Veteran radio commentator Michael Freedland claims that Israel’s image problem is not new, but an issue which has long been overlooked by successive Israeli governments. "In 1973, shortly after the Yom Kippur war, then-Prime Minister Golda Meir came to Britain. I was running a Jewish radio program at the time called You don’t have to be Jewish, which boasted an audience of 150,000 listeners. I asked her for an interview while she was here. ‘Darling’ she said to me, ‘I don’t have time’. She then spent 10 minutes telling me she didn’t have 5 minutes for an interview. The Arabs would appear on British TV and have someone articulate and bright and the Israelis would find a Knesset member who hardly spoke English. There is no doubt that Israel doesn’t consider anything outside the US as very important."
Yoav Biran, former Ambassador to Britain and director-general of the Foreign Ministry, rebuts these claims. "I concede that there is a problem with quantity, but not quality. We take the whole issue of ‘hasbara’ very seriously and have some excellent, eloquent English speakers who are able to put Israel’s stand across. It is a sad fact that much of the reporting about Israel lacks context and there are more and more bastions of unfair and unprofessional reporting."
But if the government is taking ‘hasbara’ seriously, then it is unclear why it is not investing in it. The current budget allocated for this purpose stands at NIS 40M. This covers all Israeli embassies around the world, including the salaries of paid staff specifically employed in promoting Israel’s image. And with this paltry budget about to be cut back, the situation does not look likely to improve.
Despite the pecuniary constraints, Davidovich says that the embassy is making inroads. "We meet as many journalists, presenters and editors as possible. We put them in touch with officials in Israel, academics and individuals who are affected by the situation. We also offer them ideas and facilitate meetings for them. It’s important for us that they get to know us. Whenever there’s a debate or interview on television or the radio, we try and get Israel’s version also represented. If there is no Israeli side, we will lodge a complaint. Sometimes it works – sometimes it doesn’t; it’s Sisyphean work. "
The British Israel Communications and Research Centre (BICOM) was set up by members of Britain’s Jewish community in the wake of the second intifada. Its aim is to bring speakers who can explain Israel’s position, as well as to effect a shift in opinion of Israel among the general public and opinion-formers. So urgent do they perceive the situation, that they have enlisted the help of two senior American political strategists, Stanely Greenberg and Frank Lunz to counter the general anti-Israel atmosphere that pervades the media circles.
But should Israeli policy be financed and undertaken by non-Israelis?
Biran: "The fact that there are organisations, in a number of countries, whose aim is to promote Israel’s stand in the media, is an expression of concern for Israel, alongside the financial constraints on Israel. I view it as a very positive thing. I wish we could say ‘don’t worry about us’, but we can’t and their help is greatly appreciated."
Professor Barry Kosmin, executive director of JPR takes a different view. "I think it is more than a little embarrassing—and in a public relations sense perhaps, ill-advised—to have Israel’s only effective strategic communication coming out of a British Jewish communal organization. If I were an Israeli taxpayer I would be incensed that my government has never put sufficient resources, time, or sophistication into this crucial area.
"Israel," continues Kosmin, "is one of the few states in modern times that has been engaged in a war without establishing a centralized ministry of information or propaganda. Instead it has relied on incoherent messages from various ministries controlled by different—and often rival—political parties. Not being ‘on message’ is bad. Not having a message at all is patently dangerous. Having numerous and contradictory messages only guarantees a public relations disaster."
BICOM recently carried out research on anti-Israel attitude in Britain. Its report highlights that much of Israel’s negative image in the British media is attributed to presentation. It is not getting its message across. Blunt and unequivocally language, concludes the report, particularly with an Israeli accent, is much too confrontational for British audiences.
"Some of the negative images of Israelis", says a foreign editor of one of the broadsheets papers, "must be attributed to mentality: when you meet Israelis often they come across as plain rude: they shoot from the hip. They see themselves as being ‘dugri’ but are perceived as being rude. The Palestinians are more refined; there’s a whole protocol they follow. I think it’s important to bear these things in mind because it causes antagonism."
My own experiences confirm this. On a recent visit to the embassy, after presenting my Israeli passport, a security guard asked me to remove my coat. I was then instructed to remove my trousers belt, then my shoes, and finally to present my keys and wallet for inspection. I was rather surprised at this seemingly incongruous rigorous check on an invited Israeli guest. Standing barefoot at the entrance, with one hand trying to keep my trousers from falling, I asked the guard whether this was the standard welcome all invited journalists were treated to. "If you don’t like it, you can leave", he replied.
Still, accent, age or arrogance cannot fully account for Israel’s negative image. At issue is coverage lacking in truth, fairness and context. Many of the Israel-based correspondents are journalists with a minimal knowledge of the area, its history or geography. Dudevitch agrees: "There are many journalists who’ve never met an Israeli in their lives. Some have no idea how big – or even where – Israel is. I was once asked by an editor of a magazine about the number of Israeli soldiers manning the Suez Canal. He was surprised to hear that the Suez Canal is no longer part of Israel."
Tom Gross worked in Israel for 6 years as a reporter for the London Sunday Telegraph and the New York Daily News, until 2001. In a number of seminal articles on unfair reporting on Israel, Gross charts inaccuracies and misleading coverage of Israel in the international press. Most journalists, he says, follow a pack mentality, assuming similar views as their colleagues. "Many of them are lazy, they don’t speak the language and they pick up their stories from what colleagues tell them. Some know what they are going to write before they even arrive in Israel."
"You have to understand that most BBC staff read the Guardian and the Independent" says Gross, "and they draw their opinions from these sources. I remember one journalist who had no knowledge of the Middle East. He was sent out to Israel to write a human-interest story on dead children. In conversation with him it was clear he did not know that there were Israeli children who have been killed in this conflict. He assumed they were all Palestinian. The guy had no political agenda; he simply picked up this impression from the media."
While some journalists are careless, sloppy, or ignorant, others are on a crusade. Robert Fisk, the Beirut-based correspondent for the Independent, is a prime example. Israel-bashing has become his stock and trade and he is famed for his biased, often malicious dispatches. A colleague of Fisk’s says: "He [Fisk] is just a person whose mind has been closed. He writes very well; his main trouble is the size of his ego. He makes the facts fit his views and mixes up between reporting and campaigning. It is common knowledge that he plays loose and fast with his facts and his 'eyewitness' accounts."
But it’s not just Fisk, or his newspaper.
A BBC reporter, who refuses to be named or identified, recalls reporting from Israel and the territories. "I found a pervasive mindset inside the BBC which dictated that the narrative was that the Israelis were killing the Palestinians.
"There was a failure to give credence to Israeli sources but to believe Palestinian ones. I once filed a story about [a certain incident] which, I found out, was wrong. I immediately called the BBC to tell them that the story wasn’t true, but they decided to run it anyway, a number of times that day. Operation Defensive Shield was a huge failure on their part. It’s not just the BBC of course. Suzanne Goldenberg [former Guardian correspondent in Israel] is a campaigner, not a reporter. Her political opinions were reflected in her reporting. One wonders if the Guardian’s choice of a reporter with a Jewish-sounding name was a coincidence or a fig leaf."
This touches on a prevailing feeling among the Jewish community of Britain that the anti-Israel bias has an anti-Semitic subtext.
"A lot of it", says the BBC reporter, "is about bringing down the Jews a peg or two. Until I started working as a correspondent I did not believe for a minute that anti-Israel attitude in the media were in any way antisemitic. Unfortunately, working closely with foreign journalists in the last few years has made me change my mind in some cases. The post holocaust honeymoon is over for the Jews. No one is suggesting that Israel is perfect, but if you look at the tone of criticism, it is out of all proportion of any rational or objective analysis. I’ve covered a number of conflicts around the world, but the wholesale dehumanisation of Israel makes me very uncomfortable. It also encourages anti-Semitic incidents, which is hardly surprising. If Israel is portrayed as a killer of children how can readers not have negative feelings towards Israel – and by extension towards Jews? The reporting during the intifada has shown that antisemitic attitudes are still ingrained in European societies deeper than many Europeans are themselves aware or prepared to admit."
Leader writer and foreign affairs specialist for The Times, Michael Binyon, rejects the idea of antisemitism as a factor in the anti-Israel reporting. "I don’t think antisemitism has anything to do with it, nor do I think it’s a decisive factor in British life. What does happen is that there’s anti-Israel campaigning, which is then transferred to Jewish lobbyists of Israel: Malanie Philips, Barbra Amiel (wife of Conrad Black) and other commentators who are naturally very sensitive to this. In general, playing the antisemitic card gets people annoyed.
"The anti-Israel shift is related to the Likud government. Barak was criticized for wasting chances, but he wasn’t seen to be doing the wrong thing. There’s tremendous suspicion of Sharon’s and Netanyahu’s motives. The press department can only do so much, it cannot change government policies. The Palestinian leadership is also bad, but Israel has forced Arafat into a martyr role.
Reporting on a conflict, says Binyon, is a question of getting the balance right. "This is true not just in Israel but also in Cyprus or Northern Ireland. However there’s particular scrutiny of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict due to its implication: it has gone right across the Muslim world and is causing all kinds of reactions, a lot more than Kashmir. This is because it’s one of few foreign issues which America takes an active interest in, since it’s a domestic issue there."
But even if Israel is getting bad publicity in the British press, can it have any serious consequences?Antisemitic incidents in Britain are on the rise. At the same time a number of boycotts have been officially announced against Israel within academic and commercial circles as well as the entertainment industry. Calls for the boycotting of Israeli goods have proliferated; anti-war demonstrations are regularly hijacked by pro-Palestinian supporters waving anti-Israel placards and racist banners; and Israel-bashing has become the ‘bon ton’ at dinner parties.
Gross, however, isn’t over duly concerned. "It doesn’t make a great amount of difference. It does effect European diplomatic initiatives because most European diplomats are affected by what they read, but European diplomatic efforts are not that important in the region."
Pickett sees the British media as being of vital importance in the electronic war against Israel. "The global reach of the BBC, for example, must be recognized. Its World Service—in dozens of languages—is transmitted throughout the Muslim and Third World —precisely in those regions where Israel is demonised the most. If Israel wants to counter its negative image there it has to try to find ways to offset the BBC here."
Indeed, Britain - with its integral place in the E.U. and Nato, its historical links with the Middle East, its special relationship with the US, and its veto power in the UN Security Council – is key to redressing the balance. In the war of words, truth, integrity and honesty, are the first casualties. It is in Israel’s interest to insist that these are upheld.
Yom Hazikaron - francais
Ilan,
Je m’assieds ici en face d’une pierre blanche sur laquelle ton nom est gravé. Treize ans ont passé. Les aiguilles de l’horloge tournent, imperturbablement. On dit que le temps n’attend personne. Et pourtant, chaque année, quand je reviens ici, à ce jardin de pierre et de noms où le silence reigne, le temps a l’air s’être arrêtté. Les souvenirs me reviennent, clairs, aigus, vivants.
J’ai rencontré tes parents en ville. Ils ont visiblement vielli, leurs regards morns et tristes; leurs visages ravagés par le temps et le chagrin. Ton père m’a raconte qu’à l’école où nous étudions on a construit une bibliothèque dediée à ta memoire. D’ici, si on fait attention, on peut réperer l’école, au fond de la rue. Tout d’un coup je nous vois en uniforme scolaire en classe. J’entends les bruits d’un group d’adolescents riant. Je te vois de nouveau courir pendant le cours de sport. Vite, legerement, toujours en tête. Vers où courrais-tu?
Je regarde autour de moi; des rangs de pierre tombales. Blanches, froides, silencieuses. Dernier témoignage d’une vie vecue. Il y a tant de sérénité dans ce jardin où les arbres fleurissent auprés des morts en une ironique harmonie. A côté de ta tombe repose Daniel Müller qui, comme toi, n’a pas atteint son vingtième anniversaire. A côté de lui repose Roy’i Domb qui n’a même pas fini sa première année de service militaire avant d’être victime d’une embuscade à la frontière libanaise. Et près de lui de nouvelles pierre, de nouveaux noms.
1987 fut une mauvaise année. Il y avait peu de pluie. C’était un an après que nous avions été conscrit à l’armée. Deux ans auparavant, le gouvernement avait declaré que l’armée israélienne a quitté le Liban. C’était la fin ‘du marécage libanais’. Pour quoi donc en étions nous trempés après que nous ayons censé être parti de ce pays maudit?
Nos vies sont dominées par la politique. Nos destins placés dans les mains d’hommes politiques avides et sans remords qui saisissent l’occasion de jouer à la guerre en nous utilisant comme leurs soldats de plombe. Des pions sur leur échiquier. Et puis, quand tombe la nuit, quand arrive l’heure de compter les tués, les blessés et les disparus, ils parlent d’Abraham et du sacrifice d’Isaac; des héros de la nation et de l’histoire écrite en lettres de sang. Et puis, pour réconforter les parents déspérées, et afin de soulager leur peine, ils parlent d’un temps où le loup habitera avec l’agneau et où nous forgerons des hoyaux de nos glaives et des serpes de nos lances. Et cependant, la liste des morts, des parents qui pleurent tout au long de la nuit, des jeunes gens qui cherchent leurs camarades d’école dans des cimetières, s’allonge de plus en plus. 1987 fut une triste année; une année de perte; une année qui a marqué la fin de notre innocence.
Je m’assieds ici en face d’une pierre blanche sur laquelle ton nom est gravé, et soudain, les evenements de ce jour d’avril me reviennet de loin. Ce jour printanier qui fut ton dernier jour. Dieu, selon le poète Yehuda Amichaï, se souci des petits enfants de l’école maternelle, et un peu moin des écoliers. Mais en ce jour d’avril, nous n’étions plus des enfants. Ni des écoliers. Nous étions déjà des soldats. Il ne s’est pas souci de nous. Il nous a laissé nous défendre tous seuls. Et en ce jour fatidique d’avril, le coup dont nous avons tous eu peur et dont nous n’avons jamais osé parler, t’a été porté. Le coup contre lequel tu n’as su te défendre. Et maintenant tout ce qu’il reste de tes rêves, de tes espoirs et de tes craintes, est un nom sur une pierre blanche.
Le lendemain nous nous sommes tous rencontrés ici, en ce lieu où l’esprit se sépare du corps; ta famille, tes amis de l’armée et tes camarades d’école. Je me rappelle vivement le terrible silence qui a orchestré le cortège funebre qui a suivi ton cercuil couvert d’un drapeau du pays. Je me souviens de la façon dont nous regardions fixement ce lopin de terre où tu es maintenant, cloués d’incrédulité. Refusant d’y croire. Tamy s’est souvenue que quand nous étions petits notre professeur à l’école nous a expliqué que dans la bible ‘Ilan’ signifie ‘arbre’ et que l’arbre symbolise la vie parce qu’il est fort, donne des fruits et vit longtemps. "Pourquoi, donc, n’as-tu pas reçu les qualités d’un arbre?"
Treize ans ont passé depuis. La plupart d’entre nous a quitté l’armée il y a longtemps. Nous poursuivons nos rêves, courrons après notre avenir, battissons nos destins. Seul toi, qui courait toujours en tête, tu ne bouge plus. En m’eloignant de ce triste jardin qui a déjà connu tant de larmes, je pense à toi: Ilan avec les rêves dans les yeux; le garçon avec le sourire incorrigible; le jeune homme qui avait toute la vie devant lui. Je te vois, le beau soldat, sur les pentes du Liban où tu restes seule.
Je m’assieds ici en face d’une pierre blanche sur laquelle ton nom est gravé. Treize ans ont passé. Les aiguilles de l’horloge tournent, imperturbablement. On dit que le temps n’attend personne. Et pourtant, chaque année, quand je reviens ici, à ce jardin de pierre et de noms où le silence reigne, le temps a l’air s’être arrêtté. Les souvenirs me reviennent, clairs, aigus, vivants.
J’ai rencontré tes parents en ville. Ils ont visiblement vielli, leurs regards morns et tristes; leurs visages ravagés par le temps et le chagrin. Ton père m’a raconte qu’à l’école où nous étudions on a construit une bibliothèque dediée à ta memoire. D’ici, si on fait attention, on peut réperer l’école, au fond de la rue. Tout d’un coup je nous vois en uniforme scolaire en classe. J’entends les bruits d’un group d’adolescents riant. Je te vois de nouveau courir pendant le cours de sport. Vite, legerement, toujours en tête. Vers où courrais-tu?
Je regarde autour de moi; des rangs de pierre tombales. Blanches, froides, silencieuses. Dernier témoignage d’une vie vecue. Il y a tant de sérénité dans ce jardin où les arbres fleurissent auprés des morts en une ironique harmonie. A côté de ta tombe repose Daniel Müller qui, comme toi, n’a pas atteint son vingtième anniversaire. A côté de lui repose Roy’i Domb qui n’a même pas fini sa première année de service militaire avant d’être victime d’une embuscade à la frontière libanaise. Et près de lui de nouvelles pierre, de nouveaux noms.
1987 fut une mauvaise année. Il y avait peu de pluie. C’était un an après que nous avions été conscrit à l’armée. Deux ans auparavant, le gouvernement avait declaré que l’armée israélienne a quitté le Liban. C’était la fin ‘du marécage libanais’. Pour quoi donc en étions nous trempés après que nous ayons censé être parti de ce pays maudit?
Nos vies sont dominées par la politique. Nos destins placés dans les mains d’hommes politiques avides et sans remords qui saisissent l’occasion de jouer à la guerre en nous utilisant comme leurs soldats de plombe. Des pions sur leur échiquier. Et puis, quand tombe la nuit, quand arrive l’heure de compter les tués, les blessés et les disparus, ils parlent d’Abraham et du sacrifice d’Isaac; des héros de la nation et de l’histoire écrite en lettres de sang. Et puis, pour réconforter les parents déspérées, et afin de soulager leur peine, ils parlent d’un temps où le loup habitera avec l’agneau et où nous forgerons des hoyaux de nos glaives et des serpes de nos lances. Et cependant, la liste des morts, des parents qui pleurent tout au long de la nuit, des jeunes gens qui cherchent leurs camarades d’école dans des cimetières, s’allonge de plus en plus. 1987 fut une triste année; une année de perte; une année qui a marqué la fin de notre innocence.
Je m’assieds ici en face d’une pierre blanche sur laquelle ton nom est gravé, et soudain, les evenements de ce jour d’avril me reviennet de loin. Ce jour printanier qui fut ton dernier jour. Dieu, selon le poète Yehuda Amichaï, se souci des petits enfants de l’école maternelle, et un peu moin des écoliers. Mais en ce jour d’avril, nous n’étions plus des enfants. Ni des écoliers. Nous étions déjà des soldats. Il ne s’est pas souci de nous. Il nous a laissé nous défendre tous seuls. Et en ce jour fatidique d’avril, le coup dont nous avons tous eu peur et dont nous n’avons jamais osé parler, t’a été porté. Le coup contre lequel tu n’as su te défendre. Et maintenant tout ce qu’il reste de tes rêves, de tes espoirs et de tes craintes, est un nom sur une pierre blanche.
Le lendemain nous nous sommes tous rencontrés ici, en ce lieu où l’esprit se sépare du corps; ta famille, tes amis de l’armée et tes camarades d’école. Je me rappelle vivement le terrible silence qui a orchestré le cortège funebre qui a suivi ton cercuil couvert d’un drapeau du pays. Je me souviens de la façon dont nous regardions fixement ce lopin de terre où tu es maintenant, cloués d’incrédulité. Refusant d’y croire. Tamy s’est souvenue que quand nous étions petits notre professeur à l’école nous a expliqué que dans la bible ‘Ilan’ signifie ‘arbre’ et que l’arbre symbolise la vie parce qu’il est fort, donne des fruits et vit longtemps. "Pourquoi, donc, n’as-tu pas reçu les qualités d’un arbre?"
Treize ans ont passé depuis. La plupart d’entre nous a quitté l’armée il y a longtemps. Nous poursuivons nos rêves, courrons après notre avenir, battissons nos destins. Seul toi, qui courait toujours en tête, tu ne bouge plus. En m’eloignant de ce triste jardin qui a déjà connu tant de larmes, je pense à toi: Ilan avec les rêves dans les yeux; le garçon avec le sourire incorrigible; le jeune homme qui avait toute la vie devant lui. Je te vois, le beau soldat, sur les pentes du Liban où tu restes seule.
An open letter to a national hero
Ilan,It is the spring season again. Migrating birds return and the seasonal flowers are in full bloom. Every year it happens. It was like this sixteen years ago too. You saw this season in Lebanon. Who could have foretold that it would be your last spring; that it would be the last time you’d be looking at the return of the migrating birds, and taking in the scented air of the seasonal flowers?
Sixteen years is a long time. But this garden remains unchanged. Time has not altered it. It is the one place I visit each time I return to Ra’anana and feel a sense of familiarity.
I look onto rows and rows of names; young men and women whose name is now neatly engraved on a stone and whose life is neatly summed in five lines. I look around and the memories return;. I see Royi’s name. He was killed in Har Dov, in an ambush. Daniel was a victim of the "Night of Hang-gliders" which, some say, sparked the first intifada. Shlomit was killed in a helicopter crash when we were still in the army. And as I sit here, I see your name in front of me.
It all comes back to me now, fresh, vivid, and raw; the radio news flash announcing an incident in the Lebanese border; then the list of fatalities and your name among them. The following day we met here, your family, army colleagues and school friends. I remember the coffin draped in the national flag. I remember you being lowered into the patch of land where you’re now. Your mother whispered that you mustn’t bury flowers. Your parents’ faces have returned to haunt me many times since. We stood there dazed and embarrassed, not sure what to say to them. We had no training or practice to deal with the situation. Yael finally went up to your father and told him that we were your school friends. He smiled at her and she hugged him. Then they both broke down crying.
Tali, who had been with you in the same class since elementary school suddenly recalled how the teacher explained to the class that Ilan means ‘tree’ and that it symbolised life because trees were strong, bore fruit and lived for a long time. There were even special laws in the bible protecting trees during times of war. "So why weren’t you blessed with the qualities of a tree? Why were you not protected?" she asked wistfully. Ronen recalled how we used to sprint around the perimeter of this cemetery during our sports lessons and how you always came first. Now you are on the other side of the wall, no longer running.
There it was: our first class reunion, in a cemetery, not even a year after we left school. It was an abrupt end to our childhood; a rude awakening to a stark reality. And we weren’t yet 20 years old.
Ra’anana, the small provincial village where we grew up is no longer small or provincial. And yet anyone who grew up in Ra’anana still thinks of it as a moshava. I wonder what you’d make of it if you saw it now, with its traffic lights, McDonald’s and high-rise buildings.
Often, unexpectedly, I think of you. I think of all the things you could have been. I hear your pop music blaring from your ghetto blaster and your contagious laughter. Then, in a familiar sequence of thoughts, I am returned to that terrible day in April 1989 when the RPG pierced your tank and shattered your plans; your hopes and dreams. Then there’s that surge of guilt. Who decides the names on this mortal lottery? Who decides whose journey ends mid-way?
Meanwhile, the violence continues unabated and the rows here grow longer. Blood, hate and tears make it impossible to look into the distance. Will we forever live by the sword? Will we live to see the end of these murderous times?
We, your school friends, are now scattered around the globe. We have taken up different professions, embraced different life styles in different places. Who would have thought that one day you’d appear in my writing? That I’d write about you in the past tense?
And now, each time we get together we mention your name and there’s a moment of silence as we remember you, the school kid with the incorrigible smile, the sprinter who would not stop running and the young soldier who went to Lebanon and did not return.
Ilan Haziza fell in Lebanon on April 8, 1987. He was 19.
In the shame of the father.
Who betrayed Anne Frank and her family? Ori Golan meets someone who knows.
On a warm summer’s day on August 4, 1944, four Gestapo policemen raided a canal warehouse at 263 Prinsengracht, Amsterdam. Minutes later, the eight Jewish people hiding in the back house, were arrested: Otto Frank, his wife and two children; the van Pels family of three; and Fritz Pfeffer, a dentist. They were taken to Westerbork Kamp and from there herded into cattle wagons bound for Auschwitz. Of the eight inhabitants of the annex, only Otto returned.
During the raid, a policeman emptied Otto’s briefcase to fill it with the fugitives’ valuables. In his haste, he dropped a batch of papers and a small diary belonging to Otto’s daughter. This diary, the diary of Anne Frank, was to become the most widely read document to emerge from the Holocaust; a poignant testimony of innocence, suffering and hope.
In March this year, a Dutch biography of Otto Frank was published in the Netherlands, generating renewed interest in the diary and reviving the unanswered question: who betrayed the Frank family to the Gestapo? In a television interview, the day before the book was released, its author, Carol Ann Lee, pinned Tonny Ahlers as the person who betrayed the Frank family. Less than 48 hours after the publication of the book, Lee received an astonishing telephone call from her editor. "Someone rang just now. He has information about the betrayal the Frank family. He left his number". Lee dialled the number. The man at the other end introduced himself as Anton Ahlers. Tonny Ahlers’s son.
"I could never have told people voluntarily that my father betrayed Otto Frank, but now that it has been made public, I feel it’s my duty to tell what I know and to prevent any lies and half-truths going into the papers" he explained to her.
Anton agreed to meet me, accompanied by Lee, at a hotel on the outskirts of Amsterdam. He had never given an interview to a journalist and was initially rather wary. By the end of the evening, after almost three hours, he seemed decidedly more relaxed.
Ahler was a violent, unstable anti-Semite. He was involved in numerous brawls in Jewish-owned cafés soon after the Nazis invaded
the Netherlands. During the war he threatened anyone who annoyed him with a spell in the cells of the Gestapo Headquarters. After the war, in the summer of 1945, Ahlers was tried for his wartime activities and sent to jail.
Anton is not a chip off the old block, neither in character nor in looks. He is an honest, hard working individual; a reserved man who is not looking for fame or notoriety. His wife is a Dutchwoman whose five uncles were executed by the Nazis for their underground resistance activity. "I have never been to the Anne Frank’s house" he admits, "I feel ashamed. I am ashamed that my father created this situation".
Anton does not remember when he became aware of his father’s chequered past. "It was a process, not an incident." he recalls. "My family was ostracised by the rest of the family and at school my brother and I never played with the other children. We were not allowed to invite anyone home. My parents would never sign any letters from school, out of fear that someone might recognise the family name."
"One day, one of the kids at school taunted me, calling me the son of a Nazi. Then, when I was sixteen, I had a young girlfriend. I was very keen on her, but when her father found out my identity, he said ‘not with a Nazi’ and forbade her to see me again." He reaches out for his cigarette packet. His face disappears behind a puff of smoke.
"My mother was 19 when she met my father. A couple of months later she fell pregnant with my elder brother. Her family threw her out and so, out of lack of choice, she married my father. They had very little money. She worked as a dressmaker and rented out two rooms in our house to make ends meet. My father was away for long periods. He never brought in money to support us."
Anton’s mother still lives in Amsterdam. When Lee approached her in connection with her research on Otto Frank, she found a hostile woman. "It was a strong-willed woman who answered the door" recalls Lee. "I asked her about her ex-husband’s relationship with Otto. At first she told me that they were friends and had business relations. But when I confronted her with letters that Ahlers had written about Otto Frank where it was clear that he hated him, she became aggressive and threatened to call the police. She screamed: ‘If you come any closer to this door I will attack you. The war was bad for everyone not just the Jews. Otto Frank was my best friend. My husband did nothing wrong during the war. You have no idea what it was like for ordinary Dutch people. Everyone talks about the Jews, but it was bad for us too. Anyway, I had Jewish girls working for me during the war, all the time. My husband did not betray anyone. Don’t you dare write anything bad about him. If you do, I have family who will come and get you.’ With that she slammed the door".
Anton is not surprised. "My mother lives in lies. She claims she had Jewish maids working for her during the war but I can categorically say that it’s untrue. Lies, lies, lies," he sighs. "She once accused me of stealing her cotton bobbins to pay for my motorbike," he smiles ironically, then pulls on his cigarette. "My father was a violent man. I remember plates smashing and fists flying." He pauses and looks pensively. "My mother saw what was going on but never defended us. She never interfered."
Anton has no doubt that that the man who was his father, is the same person who denounced the Frank family to the Nazis. "I am certain he did it," he reiterates. His evidence is largely circumstantial and difficult to corroborate. But through painstaking research, poring over letters, listening to testimonies and uncovering wartime documents, Lee has managed to give substance to many of Anton’s claims.
In her biography, The hidden Life of Otto Frank, recently published in English, Lee describes Ahlers as an unpleasant and dishonest man. His son concurs:
"He was always snitching on people, picking arguments and causing trouble." There is a long silence, before he picks up again. "I remember one time, when I was working in a radio store, finding an empty salary envelope at the end of the month. There was a note inside telling me that my father had purchased goods from the store without paying, so the bill was deducted from my salary. I later found in the living room cupboard taper recorders which my father had bought with my salary."
When Anton was sixteen, his father fixed a lock in the living room door. He would lock himself inside and hack on his typewriter for hours on end. Ahlers wrote vitriolic letters to all and sundry. He once wrote to a supermarket store to complain that their peanut butter was disgusting, and demanding payment to keep quiet about it. "Nothing was beyond him," confirms Anton.
In 1985, the relationship between Ahlers and his wife reached a new nadir. In one incident, she later claimed that Ahlers had tried to run her over with his car. Following a particularly violent incident Ahlers’s wife left him. The following year she filed for a divorce.
At about the same time Anton’s business took a serious blow and he was forced to declare bankruptcy. In the course of the legal proceedings, his lawyer asked him whether he had dealings in the West Indies. "I was rather surprised at this question" recalls Anton, "since I had never been to the West Indies and had no business connections there." His lawyer produced a letter which had been sent anonymously to the receivers. The writer claimed that Anton and his wife were involved in drug trafficking in the West Indies. "This letter caused us a lot of problems," he says nodding his head.
"Shortly after this incident, we accompanied my mother to parents’ home, to collect some personal belongings as well as paperwork for the divorce proceeding. Lying on my father’s desk we found a carbon copy of the ‘anonymous letter’ sent to the receivers. So you see: nothing was beyond him."
"When my daughter was in primary school they learnt about Anne Frank and read from her diary. One day", recollects Anton, "my daughter mentioned that her grandfather had told her that he was involved in the Frank family going into hiding. Then she added that he told her that he was also there when they got out."
Assuming that this verbal exchange took place, it is not clear exactly what Ahlers meant, since he was not present at the time the Franks’ hiding place was raided. Nonetheless, there is written evidence which indicates that Ahlers knew that Otto had gone into hiding and was fully aware of his hiding place.
In a testimony given to Lee by Ahlers’s 82-year-old brother, Cas, he asserts that Ahlers told him that he himself had betrayed the Franks during the war. This evidence cannot stand in its own right since it is based on hearsay and, according to Lee, Cas was inaccurate in his account of other events. The crux of incriminating evidence against Ahlers is found by piecing together his wartime activities and contact with Otto Frank.
In the course of her investigation into Otto’s life story, Lee found an astonishing testimony written by Otto, after the war, to the Bureau Nationale Veilingheid - the Bureau for National Security:
In 1941, Tonny Ahlers, already a known Nazi activist, a bully and agent provocateur, visited Otto in his office. Ahlers showed him a letter which he had intercepted on its way to the SS. The writer of the letter accuses Otto of making ‘anti-German’ remarks – an accusation which, at the time, could have cost Otto his life. Otto paid Ahlers in return for the letter, and for keeping silent about it. Otto believed that Ahlers had saved his life, a fact that may account for the fact that Otto testified in Ahler’s favour after the war. But in letters written by Ahlers during the war, he refers to Otto Frank as ‘the Jew Frank’ and it is clear that he hated all Jews.
In 1944 Ahlers fell out with a Nazi spy called Herman Rouwendaal, over an issue concerning rent. Rouwendaal threatened to kill Ahlers and, according to testimonies given after the war, Ahlers feared for his life and turned to the Nazi authorities, seeking protection. Ahlers and Otto were in the same line of business. According to Anton, his father sold Otto special paper that could contain pectin – a conserve product, which had a number of uses, both in food and in the steel industry. This business interaction must have begun before the Franks went into hiding, but it is not clear how long it lasted. What is clear, is that after his own company slid into insolvency Ahlers no longer needed Otto’s for business purposes. Lee asserts that it was probably then – at the point where Otto was no longer useful to him and when he needed to endear himself to the Nazis – that Ahlers decided to alert the authorities to Otto’s hiding place.
"He may also have received money for it," she speculates. "The Germans were paying a bounty of 40 guilders per head which was a large amount in those days and Ahlers certainly needed the money." The evidence piles on:
Speaking to a Ducth journalist, Cas recalled seeing a brass menorah (Jewish candelabra) in Ahlers’s possession which Ahlers told him had come from the secret annex where the Franks were hiding. Otto mentioned a brass menorah as one of the items which the Gestapo confiscated at the time of their arrest during an interview to a French television channel.
"From the existing evidence available on Ahlers," Lee concludes, "I managed to form a profile of the man and it has left me in little doubt: he was behind the betrayal of the Frank family."
"Things are coming back to me now; things are resurfacing" says Anton. "If you put all the pieces together, it all adds up." After a pensive pause, he offers another astonishing twist to this tale. "I believe that my father blackmailed Otto Frank after the war."
"My father was receiving money every month. He bragged about it" says Anton. "He would buy lots of presents and go on expensive holidays. He told us it was a government disability allowance, because he had polio as a child. But this could not be: the monthly payments were comparable with the salary of a board manager. Then, suddenly, in 1980 his financial situation changed and the spendthrift lifestyle ended." 1980 was the year that Otto Frank died.
It is unclear what Otto had to hide and why he would let himself be blackmailed. Lee concedes that so far the evidence for this theory is merely circumstantial, but offers a possible motive:
"Otto sold products to the Wehrmacht, the German army, in 1940, after the German invasion of the Netherlands. Miep Gies, one of Otto’s employees - who also helped him go into hiding - confirmed this in interview after the war. Ahlers knew about these dealings: in a 1996 letter, he writes that Otto was ‘selling Pectin to the Wehrmacht. When he returned from Auschwitz in 1945, having lost his wife and two daughters, Otto may have feared his company would be confiscated if his pre-war business with Germany became known, although eighty percent of Dutch firms did business with the Germans during the war, mostly out of fear. You must also take into account" she stresses, "that when he returned to the Netherlands after the war, Otto was considered ‘enemy national’ and his situation was very precarious."
In 1955, in an unrelated matter, in a letter to his lawyer, Otto wrote: ‘no good comes from giving way to blackamail’. Eva Schloss, whose mother married Otto Frank in 1953, dismisses the ‘blackmail hypothesis’ out of hand. "Otto was extremely careful with money. I don’t believe for a second that he would allow anyone to blackmail him. My mother and Otto did everything together and there is no way my mother would not know about such a thing."
Historian and researcher David Barnouw, from the Netherlands Institute for War Documentation, also does not support the blackmail supposition. "There’s no smoking gun, and the theory has too many loose ends," he said in a recent radio interview.
Ahlers died in 2000, aged 82 and there are now no living witnesses who might be able to unlock the mystery. Dutch banks do not keep records of accounts going back more than three years, so it is impossible, at present, to check Ahlers’s monthly income, but his son is currently making investigations of his own and following new leads.
The Netherlands Institute for War Documentation recently stated that, as a result of the findings published in Lee’s book, The Hidden Life of Otto Frank, they are officially re-opening the investigation into the betrayal, and probing the possibility that Otto was blackmailed after the war. They will review old files and testimony for new revelations. They hope to reach some sort of conclusion by the end of the year.
After more than 50 years of silence, Anton Ahlers is keen to shed light on his father’s past and expose the truth. "I have kept silent all these years", he reflects, "There were some occasions in my life I said that my father was a Dutch Nazi, but I would never say more. It’s now time to tell the truth. Enough of lies. No more lies."
It is clear that, Anton, too, is a victim of his father’s crimes.
Anton asks to guard his privacy and does not seek any further publicity.
On a warm summer’s day on August 4, 1944, four Gestapo policemen raided a canal warehouse at 263 Prinsengracht, Amsterdam. Minutes later, the eight Jewish people hiding in the back house, were arrested: Otto Frank, his wife and two children; the van Pels family of three; and Fritz Pfeffer, a dentist. They were taken to Westerbork Kamp and from there herded into cattle wagons bound for Auschwitz. Of the eight inhabitants of the annex, only Otto returned.During the raid, a policeman emptied Otto’s briefcase to fill it with the fugitives’ valuables. In his haste, he dropped a batch of papers and a small diary belonging to Otto’s daughter. This diary, the diary of Anne Frank, was to become the most widely read document to emerge from the Holocaust; a poignant testimony of innocence, suffering and hope.
In March this year, a Dutch biography of Otto Frank was published in the Netherlands, generating renewed interest in the diary and reviving the unanswered question: who betrayed the Frank family to the Gestapo? In a television interview, the day before the book was released, its author, Carol Ann Lee, pinned Tonny Ahlers as the person who betrayed the Frank family. Less than 48 hours after the publication of the book, Lee received an astonishing telephone call from her editor. "Someone rang just now. He has information about the betrayal the Frank family. He left his number". Lee dialled the number. The man at the other end introduced himself as Anton Ahlers. Tonny Ahlers’s son.
"I could never have told people voluntarily that my father betrayed Otto Frank, but now that it has been made public, I feel it’s my duty to tell what I know and to prevent any lies and half-truths going into the papers" he explained to her.
Anton agreed to meet me, accompanied by Lee, at a hotel on the outskirts of Amsterdam. He had never given an interview to a journalist and was initially rather wary. By the end of the evening, after almost three hours, he seemed decidedly more relaxed.
Ahler was a violent, unstable anti-Semite. He was involved in numerous brawls in Jewish-owned cafés soon after the Nazis invaded
the Netherlands. During the war he threatened anyone who annoyed him with a spell in the cells of the Gestapo Headquarters. After the war, in the summer of 1945, Ahlers was tried for his wartime activities and sent to jail.Anton is not a chip off the old block, neither in character nor in looks. He is an honest, hard working individual; a reserved man who is not looking for fame or notoriety. His wife is a Dutchwoman whose five uncles were executed by the Nazis for their underground resistance activity. "I have never been to the Anne Frank’s house" he admits, "I feel ashamed. I am ashamed that my father created this situation".
Anton does not remember when he became aware of his father’s chequered past. "It was a process, not an incident." he recalls. "My family was ostracised by the rest of the family and at school my brother and I never played with the other children. We were not allowed to invite anyone home. My parents would never sign any letters from school, out of fear that someone might recognise the family name."
"One day, one of the kids at school taunted me, calling me the son of a Nazi. Then, when I was sixteen, I had a young girlfriend. I was very keen on her, but when her father found out my identity, he said ‘not with a Nazi’ and forbade her to see me again." He reaches out for his cigarette packet. His face disappears behind a puff of smoke.
"My mother was 19 when she met my father. A couple of months later she fell pregnant with my elder brother. Her family threw her out and so, out of lack of choice, she married my father. They had very little money. She worked as a dressmaker and rented out two rooms in our house to make ends meet. My father was away for long periods. He never brought in money to support us."
Anton’s mother still lives in Amsterdam. When Lee approached her in connection with her research on Otto Frank, she found a hostile woman. "It was a strong-willed woman who answered the door" recalls Lee. "I asked her about her ex-husband’s relationship with Otto. At first she told me that they were friends and had business relations. But when I confronted her with letters that Ahlers had written about Otto Frank where it was clear that he hated him, she became aggressive and threatened to call the police. She screamed: ‘If you come any closer to this door I will attack you. The war was bad for everyone not just the Jews. Otto Frank was my best friend. My husband did nothing wrong during the war. You have no idea what it was like for ordinary Dutch people. Everyone talks about the Jews, but it was bad for us too. Anyway, I had Jewish girls working for me during the war, all the time. My husband did not betray anyone. Don’t you dare write anything bad about him. If you do, I have family who will come and get you.’ With that she slammed the door".
Anton is not surprised. "My mother lives in lies. She claims she had Jewish maids working for her during the war but I can categorically say that it’s untrue. Lies, lies, lies," he sighs. "She once accused me of stealing her cotton bobbins to pay for my motorbike," he smiles ironically, then pulls on his cigarette. "My father was a violent man. I remember plates smashing and fists flying." He pauses and looks pensively. "My mother saw what was going on but never defended us. She never interfered."
Anton has no doubt that that the man who was his father, is the same person who denounced the Frank family to the Nazis. "I am certain he did it," he reiterates. His evidence is largely circumstantial and difficult to corroborate. But through painstaking research, poring over letters, listening to testimonies and uncovering wartime documents, Lee has managed to give substance to many of Anton’s claims.
In her biography, The hidden Life of Otto Frank, recently published in English, Lee describes Ahlers as an unpleasant and dishonest man. His son concurs:
"He was always snitching on people, picking arguments and causing trouble." There is a long silence, before he picks up again. "I remember one time, when I was working in a radio store, finding an empty salary envelope at the end of the month. There was a note inside telling me that my father had purchased goods from the store without paying, so the bill was deducted from my salary. I later found in the living room cupboard taper recorders which my father had bought with my salary."
When Anton was sixteen, his father fixed a lock in the living room door. He would lock himself inside and hack on his typewriter for hours on end. Ahlers wrote vitriolic letters to all and sundry. He once wrote to a supermarket store to complain that their peanut butter was disgusting, and demanding payment to keep quiet about it. "Nothing was beyond him," confirms Anton.
In 1985, the relationship between Ahlers and his wife reached a new nadir. In one incident, she later claimed that Ahlers had tried to run her over with his car. Following a particularly violent incident Ahlers’s wife left him. The following year she filed for a divorce.
At about the same time Anton’s business took a serious blow and he was forced to declare bankruptcy. In the course of the legal proceedings, his lawyer asked him whether he had dealings in the West Indies. "I was rather surprised at this question" recalls Anton, "since I had never been to the West Indies and had no business connections there." His lawyer produced a letter which had been sent anonymously to the receivers. The writer claimed that Anton and his wife were involved in drug trafficking in the West Indies. "This letter caused us a lot of problems," he says nodding his head.
"Shortly after this incident, we accompanied my mother to parents’ home, to collect some personal belongings as well as paperwork for the divorce proceeding. Lying on my father’s desk we found a carbon copy of the ‘anonymous letter’ sent to the receivers. So you see: nothing was beyond him."
"When my daughter was in primary school they learnt about Anne Frank and read from her diary. One day", recollects Anton, "my daughter mentioned that her grandfather had told her that he was involved in the Frank family going into hiding. Then she added that he told her that he was also there when they got out."
Assuming that this verbal exchange took place, it is not clear exactly what Ahlers meant, since he was not present at the time the Franks’ hiding place was raided. Nonetheless, there is written evidence which indicates that Ahlers knew that Otto had gone into hiding and was fully aware of his hiding place.
In a testimony given to Lee by Ahlers’s 82-year-old brother, Cas, he asserts that Ahlers told him that he himself had betrayed the Franks during the war. This evidence cannot stand in its own right since it is based on hearsay and, according to Lee, Cas was inaccurate in his account of other events. The crux of incriminating evidence against Ahlers is found by piecing together his wartime activities and contact with Otto Frank.
In the course of her investigation into Otto’s life story, Lee found an astonishing testimony written by Otto, after the war, to the Bureau Nationale Veilingheid - the Bureau for National Security:
In 1941, Tonny Ahlers, already a known Nazi activist, a bully and agent provocateur, visited Otto in his office. Ahlers showed him a letter which he had intercepted on its way to the SS. The writer of the letter accuses Otto of making ‘anti-German’ remarks – an accusation which, at the time, could have cost Otto his life. Otto paid Ahlers in return for the letter, and for keeping silent about it. Otto believed that Ahlers had saved his life, a fact that may account for the fact that Otto testified in Ahler’s favour after the war. But in letters written by Ahlers during the war, he refers to Otto Frank as ‘the Jew Frank’ and it is clear that he hated all Jews.
In 1944 Ahlers fell out with a Nazi spy called Herman Rouwendaal, over an issue concerning rent. Rouwendaal threatened to kill Ahlers and, according to testimonies given after the war, Ahlers feared for his life and turned to the Nazi authorities, seeking protection. Ahlers and Otto were in the same line of business. According to Anton, his father sold Otto special paper that could contain pectin – a conserve product, which had a number of uses, both in food and in the steel industry. This business interaction must have begun before the Franks went into hiding, but it is not clear how long it lasted. What is clear, is that after his own company slid into insolvency Ahlers no longer needed Otto’s for business purposes. Lee asserts that it was probably then – at the point where Otto was no longer useful to him and when he needed to endear himself to the Nazis – that Ahlers decided to alert the authorities to Otto’s hiding place.
"He may also have received money for it," she speculates. "The Germans were paying a bounty of 40 guilders per head which was a large amount in those days and Ahlers certainly needed the money." The evidence piles on:
Speaking to a Ducth journalist, Cas recalled seeing a brass menorah (Jewish candelabra) in Ahlers’s possession which Ahlers told him had come from the secret annex where the Franks were hiding. Otto mentioned a brass menorah as one of the items which the Gestapo confiscated at the time of their arrest during an interview to a French television channel.
"From the existing evidence available on Ahlers," Lee concludes, "I managed to form a profile of the man and it has left me in little doubt: he was behind the betrayal of the Frank family."
"Things are coming back to me now; things are resurfacing" says Anton. "If you put all the pieces together, it all adds up." After a pensive pause, he offers another astonishing twist to this tale. "I believe that my father blackmailed Otto Frank after the war."
"My father was receiving money every month. He bragged about it" says Anton. "He would buy lots of presents and go on expensive holidays. He told us it was a government disability allowance, because he had polio as a child. But this could not be: the monthly payments were comparable with the salary of a board manager. Then, suddenly, in 1980 his financial situation changed and the spendthrift lifestyle ended." 1980 was the year that Otto Frank died.
It is unclear what Otto had to hide and why he would let himself be blackmailed. Lee concedes that so far the evidence for this theory is merely circumstantial, but offers a possible motive:
"Otto sold products to the Wehrmacht, the German army, in 1940, after the German invasion of the Netherlands. Miep Gies, one of Otto’s employees - who also helped him go into hiding - confirmed this in interview after the war. Ahlers knew about these dealings: in a 1996 letter, he writes that Otto was ‘selling Pectin to the Wehrmacht. When he returned from Auschwitz in 1945, having lost his wife and two daughters, Otto may have feared his company would be confiscated if his pre-war business with Germany became known, although eighty percent of Dutch firms did business with the Germans during the war, mostly out of fear. You must also take into account" she stresses, "that when he returned to the Netherlands after the war, Otto was considered ‘enemy national’ and his situation was very precarious."
In 1955, in an unrelated matter, in a letter to his lawyer, Otto wrote: ‘no good comes from giving way to blackamail’. Eva Schloss, whose mother married Otto Frank in 1953, dismisses the ‘blackmail hypothesis’ out of hand. "Otto was extremely careful with money. I don’t believe for a second that he would allow anyone to blackmail him. My mother and Otto did everything together and there is no way my mother would not know about such a thing."
Historian and researcher David Barnouw, from the Netherlands Institute for War Documentation, also does not support the blackmail supposition. "There’s no smoking gun, and the theory has too many loose ends," he said in a recent radio interview.
Ahlers died in 2000, aged 82 and there are now no living witnesses who might be able to unlock the mystery. Dutch banks do not keep records of accounts going back more than three years, so it is impossible, at present, to check Ahlers’s monthly income, but his son is currently making investigations of his own and following new leads.
The Netherlands Institute for War Documentation recently stated that, as a result of the findings published in Lee’s book, The Hidden Life of Otto Frank, they are officially re-opening the investigation into the betrayal, and probing the possibility that Otto was blackmailed after the war. They will review old files and testimony for new revelations. They hope to reach some sort of conclusion by the end of the year.
After more than 50 years of silence, Anton Ahlers is keen to shed light on his father’s past and expose the truth. "I have kept silent all these years", he reflects, "There were some occasions in my life I said that my father was a Dutch Nazi, but I would never say more. It’s now time to tell the truth. Enough of lies. No more lies."
It is clear that, Anton, too, is a victim of his father’s crimes.
Anton asks to guard his privacy and does not seek any further publicity.
שמות ואבנים
הנה שוב האביב בפתח.שוב הימים מתארכים והשמש חמה. פרחים לבנים וצהובים מקשטים את מדשאות אוקספורד וליד הנהר, כמדי שנה , רואים ארנבונים מקפצים ממקום מחבואם. והנה שוב אותם געגועים ואותם שירים. שירי יום הזיכרון.
כשאני שומע את נורית גלרון שרה שעצוב למות באמצע התמוז, אני רוצה לומר לה: את יודעת, תמיד עצוב למות. גם בתחילת חשון או בסוף אלול. אמנם זו לא העונה בה האפרסקים בשפע, אבל אולי זו עונת הפריחה בגליל, או עונת הקרמבו בסופרמרקט. או סתם עונה יפה. אילן חזיזה נהרג באמצע ניסן. גם באמצע ניסן עצוב למות. ועוד בגיל 19.
את אילן היכרתי בכיתה ח' בביה"ס אוסטרובסקי, ברעננה. היינו שנינו בכיתה ט3 של נירה מנדלסון. לא היינו שנינו מאותו הכפר, אבל גדלנו באותה מושבה. לא היתה לנו אותה בלורית שיער וגם לא אותו חיתוך דיבור כי לי היה מבטא זר. החיים לא תמיד מתחרזים כמו שיריה של נעמי שמר. אבל, כמו בשיר, אילן נמצא מעבר לגדר ־ מעבר לגדר בית העלמין של רעננה. כבר 17 שנה שהוא מעבר לגדר.
חזרתי לפני כמה שבועות אל אותה מושבה בה גדלנו. היא כבר לא מושבה אלא עיר גדולה, עם רמזורים וקניונים, אבל למי שגדל ברעננה של שנות ה80־ היא תמיד תצטייר בעיניו כמושבה עם בתים פרטיים,שבילי עפר, לולים ופרדסים.
הלכתי לי לאורך רחוב קלאוזנר,ושם, בסוף הרחוב, נכנסתי דרך השער הראשי, אל בית העלמין הישן. אל עבר לגדר.
אבנים אבנים. שורות שורות. ושקט.
פסעתי לכיוון החלקה הצבאית, ושם נעמדתי מול האבן הנושאת את שמו, ונזכרתי.
ממקומות רחוקים הזכרונות שבו. אירועים מן העבר, קולות וצבעים, שמות ופרצופים. פרטים קטנים חזרו מנבכי השיכחה. הנה אנחנו שוב בתלבושת אחידה, שוב מעבירים פתקים באמצע שיעור, שוב יושבים על הברזלים מחוץ לבית הספר. והמנהל, קורנגרין, שוב מאיים על מי שנתפס מעשן.
אלוהים, אומר יהודה עמיחי, מרחם על ילדי הגן. אבל ב 1987 כבר לא היינו ילדי הגן. גם לא ילדי בית הספר. היינו חיילים בצה"ל. ועל הגדולים לא ירחם. ואכן, חייו של אילן נגמרו באש אר.פי.ג'י, בלבנון ,באמצע חודש ניסן, ללא רחמים. הוא נהרג בלבנון, בשדות זרים, שנה לאחר שראש הממשלה הכריז שצ"הל יצא מלבנון.
מי מאיתנו יכול לשכוח את היום ההוא?
הייתי בשמירה באותו לילה. לאחד החיילים היה טרנזיסטור דלוק. באמצע שיר, מבזק. תקרית בלבנון. הקריין מקריא את שמות ההרוגים. ופתאום אני שומע: אילן חזיזה מרעננה. קשה היה לקלוט את זה. שבוע לפני־כן פגשתי אותו במרכז העיר. פיטפטנו והוא סיכם: החיים על הקנטים. צחקנו שנינו..
עכשיו לא צוחקים.
למחרת הגענו לכאן הישר מהיחידות.טירן, ורדית, שי־לי, רונן...כמעט כל השכבה. הכומתות האדומות, החומות והירוקות התערבבו אחת עם השנייה. חיילים צעירים ונבוכים, התקבצנו, המומים. פגשת מחזור עצובה.
טלי טיומקין נזכרה איך יום אחד הגננת הסבירה לילדים ש'אילן' משמע עץ ושהעץ מסמל חיים, כי הוא חזק, נושא פרי וחי לאורך זמן רב.
רונן שאל:"בשביל מה למד כל כך קשה לבגרויות. הרי לא צריך בגרות בשביל למות."
הוריו הלכו מאחורי הארון. כפופים. אביו קרא בקול שבור "אל מלא רחמים" ואני לחשתי לעופר "איזה אל? איזה רחמים?"
הזמן עובר. שבע עשרה שנה. יצאנו מלבנון, נכנסנו לשטחים, בנינו חומה, תלינו תקוות.
ולאורך אותה תקופה, השורות כאן התארכו. התרבו. והשמות מוכרים. הנה ממול, קברו של דניאל מילר, שנהרג 'בליל הגילשונים' אשר, יש אומרים, היה לאות פתיחת האינתיפאדה הראשונה בשטחים. רועי דומב נמצא ליד־ נהרג בהר דב. על קבר אחר רשום שמה של שלומית בן־יאיר, אשר, יותר מביתו של יא־יא היא היתה עבורינו אחותו של דידי, שנהרגה בתאונת מסוק.שורות שורות. נערים ונערות. וכעת חייהם מסוכמים באותיות דפוס על אבן שיש. שמות ואבנים.
שבע עשרה שנה חלפו מאז אותו אביב, יום לוהט של אמצע ניסן ־ יום מותו של אילן.
כמו שכתבה לאה גולדברג, ב"חמסין של ניסן", כאן ,"לאבן קול של לב פועם, ולדממה עיניים של ילדה" ואני נזכר באיריס, אחותו, העומדת מול הקבר הטרי, מסרבת להאמין שלא תראה עוד את אחיה.
החשבון הוא קשה, המחשבות מפותלות. מה למדנו? אילו מסקנות היסקנו? מה היו אומרים אותם ילדים שלא זכו לגדול? הלנצח נוכל חרב?
הנה שוב האביב בפתח.שוב הימים מתארכים והשמש חמה...הכל חוזר. וכמדי שנה אני נזכר באותו אילן אשר את צילו לא פרש, ואת פיריו לא נתן.
כשאני שומע את נורית גלרון שרה שעצוב למות באמצע התמוז, אני רוצה לומר לה: את יודעת, תמיד עצוב למות. גם בתחילת חשון או בסוף אלול. אמנם זו לא העונה בה האפרסקים בשפע, אבל אולי זו עונת הפריחה בגליל, או עונת הקרמבו בסופרמרקט. או סתם עונה יפה. אילן חזיזה נהרג באמצע ניסן. גם באמצע ניסן עצוב למות. ועוד בגיל 19.
את אילן היכרתי בכיתה ח' בביה"ס אוסטרובסקי, ברעננה. היינו שנינו בכיתה ט3 של נירה מנדלסון. לא היינו שנינו מאותו הכפר, אבל גדלנו באותה מושבה. לא היתה לנו אותה בלורית שיער וגם לא אותו חיתוך דיבור כי לי היה מבטא זר. החיים לא תמיד מתחרזים כמו שיריה של נעמי שמר. אבל, כמו בשיר, אילן נמצא מעבר לגדר ־ מעבר לגדר בית העלמין של רעננה. כבר 17 שנה שהוא מעבר לגדר.
חזרתי לפני כמה שבועות אל אותה מושבה בה גדלנו. היא כבר לא מושבה אלא עיר גדולה, עם רמזורים וקניונים, אבל למי שגדל ברעננה של שנות ה80־ היא תמיד תצטייר בעיניו כמושבה עם בתים פרטיים,שבילי עפר, לולים ופרדסים.
הלכתי לי לאורך רחוב קלאוזנר,ושם, בסוף הרחוב, נכנסתי דרך השער הראשי, אל בית העלמין הישן. אל עבר לגדר.
אבנים אבנים. שורות שורות. ושקט.
פסעתי לכיוון החלקה הצבאית, ושם נעמדתי מול האבן הנושאת את שמו, ונזכרתי.
ממקומות רחוקים הזכרונות שבו. אירועים מן העבר, קולות וצבעים, שמות ופרצופים. פרטים קטנים חזרו מנבכי השיכחה. הנה אנחנו שוב בתלבושת אחידה, שוב מעבירים פתקים באמצע שיעור, שוב יושבים על הברזלים מחוץ לבית הספר. והמנהל, קורנגרין, שוב מאיים על מי שנתפס מעשן.
אלוהים, אומר יהודה עמיחי, מרחם על ילדי הגן. אבל ב 1987 כבר לא היינו ילדי הגן. גם לא ילדי בית הספר. היינו חיילים בצה"ל. ועל הגדולים לא ירחם. ואכן, חייו של אילן נגמרו באש אר.פי.ג'י, בלבנון ,באמצע חודש ניסן, ללא רחמים. הוא נהרג בלבנון, בשדות זרים, שנה לאחר שראש הממשלה הכריז שצ"הל יצא מלבנון.
מי מאיתנו יכול לשכוח את היום ההוא?
הייתי בשמירה באותו לילה. לאחד החיילים היה טרנזיסטור דלוק. באמצע שיר, מבזק. תקרית בלבנון. הקריין מקריא את שמות ההרוגים. ופתאום אני שומע: אילן חזיזה מרעננה. קשה היה לקלוט את זה. שבוע לפני־כן פגשתי אותו במרכז העיר. פיטפטנו והוא סיכם: החיים על הקנטים. צחקנו שנינו..
עכשיו לא צוחקים.
למחרת הגענו לכאן הישר מהיחידות.טירן, ורדית, שי־לי, רונן...כמעט כל השכבה. הכומתות האדומות, החומות והירוקות התערבבו אחת עם השנייה. חיילים צעירים ונבוכים, התקבצנו, המומים. פגשת מחזור עצובה.
טלי טיומקין נזכרה איך יום אחד הגננת הסבירה לילדים ש'אילן' משמע עץ ושהעץ מסמל חיים, כי הוא חזק, נושא פרי וחי לאורך זמן רב.
רונן שאל:"בשביל מה למד כל כך קשה לבגרויות. הרי לא צריך בגרות בשביל למות."
הוריו הלכו מאחורי הארון. כפופים. אביו קרא בקול שבור "אל מלא רחמים" ואני לחשתי לעופר "איזה אל? איזה רחמים?"
הזמן עובר. שבע עשרה שנה. יצאנו מלבנון, נכנסנו לשטחים, בנינו חומה, תלינו תקוות.
ולאורך אותה תקופה, השורות כאן התארכו. התרבו. והשמות מוכרים. הנה ממול, קברו של דניאל מילר, שנהרג 'בליל הגילשונים' אשר, יש אומרים, היה לאות פתיחת האינתיפאדה הראשונה בשטחים. רועי דומב נמצא ליד־ נהרג בהר דב. על קבר אחר רשום שמה של שלומית בן־יאיר, אשר, יותר מביתו של יא־יא היא היתה עבורינו אחותו של דידי, שנהרגה בתאונת מסוק.שורות שורות. נערים ונערות. וכעת חייהם מסוכמים באותיות דפוס על אבן שיש. שמות ואבנים.
שבע עשרה שנה חלפו מאז אותו אביב, יום לוהט של אמצע ניסן ־ יום מותו של אילן.
כמו שכתבה לאה גולדברג, ב"חמסין של ניסן", כאן ,"לאבן קול של לב פועם, ולדממה עיניים של ילדה" ואני נזכר באיריס, אחותו, העומדת מול הקבר הטרי, מסרבת להאמין שלא תראה עוד את אחיה.
החשבון הוא קשה, המחשבות מפותלות. מה למדנו? אילו מסקנות היסקנו? מה היו אומרים אותם ילדים שלא זכו לגדול? הלנצח נוכל חרב?
הנה שוב האביב בפתח.שוב הימים מתארכים והשמש חמה...הכל חוזר. וכמדי שנה אני נזכר באותו אילן אשר את צילו לא פרש, ואת פיריו לא נתן.
הכותב חי באוקספורד, אנגליה.
Yom Hazikaron - Francais
Ilan,
Je m’assieds ici en face d’une pierre blanche sur laquelle ton nom est gravé. Treize ans ont passé. Les aiguilles de l’horloge tournent, imperturbablement. On dit que le temps n’attend personne. Et pourtant, chaque année, quand je reviens ici, à ce jardin de pierre et de noms où le silence reigne, le temps a l’air s’être arrêtté. Les souvenirs me reviennent, clairs, aigus, vivants.
J’ai rencontré tes parents en ville. Ils ont visiblement vielli, leurs regards morns et tristes; leurs visages ravagés par le temps et le chagrin. Ton père m’a raconte qu’à l’école où nous étudions on a construit une bibliothèque dediée à ta memoire. D’ici, si on fait attention, on peut réperer l’école, au fond de la rue. Tout d’un coup nous vois en uniforme scolaire en classe. J’entends les bruits d’un group d’adolescents riant. Je te vois de nouveau courir pendant le cours de sport. Vite, legerement, toujours en tête. Vers où courrais-tu?
Je regarde autour de moi; des rangs de pierre tombales. Blanches, froides, silencieuses. Dernier témoignage d’une vie vecue. Il y a tant de sérénité dans ce jardin où les arbres fleurissent auprés des morts en une ironique harmonie. A côté de ta tombe repose Daniel Müller qui, comme toi, n’a pas atteint son vingtième anniversaire. A côté de lui repose Roy’i Domb qui n’a même pas fini sa première année de service militaire avant d’être victime d’une embuscade à la frontière libanaise. Et près de lui de nouvelles pierre, de nouveaux noms.
1987 fut une mauvaise année. Il y avait peu de plui. C’était un an après que nous avions été conscrit à l’armée. Deux ans auparavant, le gouvernement avait declaré que l’armée israélienne a quitté le Liban. C’était la fin ‘du marécage libanais’. Pour quoi donc en étions nous trempés après que nous ayons censé être parti de ce pays maudit?
Nos vies sont dominées par la politique. Nos destins placés dans les mains d’hommes politiques avides et sans remords qui saisissent l’occasion de jouer à la guerre en nous utilisant comme leurs soldats de plombe. Des pions sur leur échiquier. Et puis, quand tombe la nuit, quand arrive l’heure de compter les tués, les blessés et les disparus, ils parlent d’Abraham et du sacrifice d’Isaac; des héros de la nation et de l’histoire écrite en lettres de sang. Et puis, pour réconforter les parents déspérées, et afin de soulager leur peine, ils parlent d’un temps où le loup habitera avec l’agneau et où nous forgerons des hoyaux de nos glaives et des serpes de nos lances. Et cependant, la liste des morts, des parents qui pleurent tout au long de la nuit, des jeunes gens qui cherchent leurs camarades d’école dans des cimetières, s’allonge de plus en plus. 1987 fut une triste année; une année de perte; une année qui a marqué la fin de notre innocence.
Je m’assieds ici en face d’une pierre blanche sur laquelle ton nom est gravé, et soudain, les evenements de ce jour d’avril me reviennet de loin. Ce jour printanier qui fut ton dernier jour. Dieu, selon le poète Yehuda Amichaï, se souci des petits enfants de l’école maternelle, et un peu moin des écoliers. Mais en ce jour d’avril, nous n’étions plus des enfants. Ni des écoliers. Nous étions déjà des soldats. Il ne s’est pas souci de nous. Il nous a laissé nous défendre tous seuls. Et en ce jour fatidique d’avril, le coup dont nous avons tous eu peur et dont nous n’avons jamais osé parler, t’a été porté. Le coup contre lequel tu n’as su te défendre. Et maintenant tout ce qu’il reste de tes rêves, de tes espoirs et de tes craintes, est un nom sur une pierre blanche.
Le lendemain nous nous sommes tous rencontrés ici, en ce lieu où l’esprit se sépare du corps; ta famille, tes amis de l’armée et de camarades d’école. Je me rappelle vivement le terrible silence qui a orchestré le cortège funebre qui a suivi ton cercuil couvert d’un drapeau du pays. Je me souviens de la façon dont nous regardions fixement ce lopin de terre où tu es maintenant, cloués d’incrédulité. Refusant d’y croire. Tamy s’est souvenue que quand nous étions petits notre professeur à l’école nous a expliqué que dans la bible ‘Ilan’ signifie ‘arbre’ et que l’arbre symbolise la vie parce qu’il est fort, donne des fruits et vit longtemps. "Pourquoi, donc, n’as-tu pas reçu les qualités d’un arbre?"
Treize ans ont passé depuis. La plupart d’entre nous a quitté l’armée il y a longtemps. Nous poursuivons nos rêves, courrons après notre avenir, battissons nos destins. Seul toi, qui courait toujours en tête, tu ne bouge plus. En m’eloignant de ce triste jardin qui a déjà connu tant de larmes, je pense à toi: Ilan avec les rêves dans les yeux; le garçon avec le sourire incorrigible; le jeune homme qui avait toute la vie devant lui. Je te vois, le beau soldat, sur les pentes du Liban où tu restes seule.
Je m’assieds ici en face d’une pierre blanche sur laquelle ton nom est gravé. Treize ans ont passé. Les aiguilles de l’horloge tournent, imperturbablement. On dit que le temps n’attend personne. Et pourtant, chaque année, quand je reviens ici, à ce jardin de pierre et de noms où le silence reigne, le temps a l’air s’être arrêtté. Les souvenirs me reviennent, clairs, aigus, vivants.
J’ai rencontré tes parents en ville. Ils ont visiblement vielli, leurs regards morns et tristes; leurs visages ravagés par le temps et le chagrin. Ton père m’a raconte qu’à l’école où nous étudions on a construit une bibliothèque dediée à ta memoire. D’ici, si on fait attention, on peut réperer l’école, au fond de la rue. Tout d’un coup nous vois en uniforme scolaire en classe. J’entends les bruits d’un group d’adolescents riant. Je te vois de nouveau courir pendant le cours de sport. Vite, legerement, toujours en tête. Vers où courrais-tu?
Je regarde autour de moi; des rangs de pierre tombales. Blanches, froides, silencieuses. Dernier témoignage d’une vie vecue. Il y a tant de sérénité dans ce jardin où les arbres fleurissent auprés des morts en une ironique harmonie. A côté de ta tombe repose Daniel Müller qui, comme toi, n’a pas atteint son vingtième anniversaire. A côté de lui repose Roy’i Domb qui n’a même pas fini sa première année de service militaire avant d’être victime d’une embuscade à la frontière libanaise. Et près de lui de nouvelles pierre, de nouveaux noms.
1987 fut une mauvaise année. Il y avait peu de plui. C’était un an après que nous avions été conscrit à l’armée. Deux ans auparavant, le gouvernement avait declaré que l’armée israélienne a quitté le Liban. C’était la fin ‘du marécage libanais’. Pour quoi donc en étions nous trempés après que nous ayons censé être parti de ce pays maudit?
Nos vies sont dominées par la politique. Nos destins placés dans les mains d’hommes politiques avides et sans remords qui saisissent l’occasion de jouer à la guerre en nous utilisant comme leurs soldats de plombe. Des pions sur leur échiquier. Et puis, quand tombe la nuit, quand arrive l’heure de compter les tués, les blessés et les disparus, ils parlent d’Abraham et du sacrifice d’Isaac; des héros de la nation et de l’histoire écrite en lettres de sang. Et puis, pour réconforter les parents déspérées, et afin de soulager leur peine, ils parlent d’un temps où le loup habitera avec l’agneau et où nous forgerons des hoyaux de nos glaives et des serpes de nos lances. Et cependant, la liste des morts, des parents qui pleurent tout au long de la nuit, des jeunes gens qui cherchent leurs camarades d’école dans des cimetières, s’allonge de plus en plus. 1987 fut une triste année; une année de perte; une année qui a marqué la fin de notre innocence.
Je m’assieds ici en face d’une pierre blanche sur laquelle ton nom est gravé, et soudain, les evenements de ce jour d’avril me reviennet de loin. Ce jour printanier qui fut ton dernier jour. Dieu, selon le poète Yehuda Amichaï, se souci des petits enfants de l’école maternelle, et un peu moin des écoliers. Mais en ce jour d’avril, nous n’étions plus des enfants. Ni des écoliers. Nous étions déjà des soldats. Il ne s’est pas souci de nous. Il nous a laissé nous défendre tous seuls. Et en ce jour fatidique d’avril, le coup dont nous avons tous eu peur et dont nous n’avons jamais osé parler, t’a été porté. Le coup contre lequel tu n’as su te défendre. Et maintenant tout ce qu’il reste de tes rêves, de tes espoirs et de tes craintes, est un nom sur une pierre blanche.
Le lendemain nous nous sommes tous rencontrés ici, en ce lieu où l’esprit se sépare du corps; ta famille, tes amis de l’armée et de camarades d’école. Je me rappelle vivement le terrible silence qui a orchestré le cortège funebre qui a suivi ton cercuil couvert d’un drapeau du pays. Je me souviens de la façon dont nous regardions fixement ce lopin de terre où tu es maintenant, cloués d’incrédulité. Refusant d’y croire. Tamy s’est souvenue que quand nous étions petits notre professeur à l’école nous a expliqué que dans la bible ‘Ilan’ signifie ‘arbre’ et que l’arbre symbolise la vie parce qu’il est fort, donne des fruits et vit longtemps. "Pourquoi, donc, n’as-tu pas reçu les qualités d’un arbre?"
Treize ans ont passé depuis. La plupart d’entre nous a quitté l’armée il y a longtemps. Nous poursuivons nos rêves, courrons après notre avenir, battissons nos destins. Seul toi, qui courait toujours en tête, tu ne bouge plus. En m’eloignant de ce triste jardin qui a déjà connu tant de larmes, je pense à toi: Ilan avec les rêves dans les yeux; le garçon avec le sourire incorrigible; le jeune homme qui avait toute la vie devant lui. Je te vois, le beau soldat, sur les pentes du Liban où tu restes seule.
Eva’s Story
Tomorrow marks Anne Frank’s 75th birthday. Ori Golan talks to Eva Geiringer, the girl who, posthumously, became her step sister.
Eva Geiringer was nine years old when her childhood came to an abrupt end. "I had had a very safe, shielded upbringing" she recalls, her strong Austrian accent giving away her mother tongue. "My parents were young assimilated Jews, as were their friends and family who lived in Vienna, and they never saw themselves as anything other than Austrians. Then came March 1938." Her voice trails off.
That was when the German army marched into Austria. For Austria’s Jewish population this marked the end of an era. Jews were excluded from public life; they were banned from outdoor activities and obliged to wear the yellow star. Attacks on Jewish businesses became commonplace and physical attacks followed soon after. "I remember my brother, Heinz, returning home from school one day with a cut eye. He had been severely beaten by the other boys in his class, because he was Jewish."
Fearing the worst, Eva’s father, "Pappy", decided to flee Austria with his family. After a number of relocations, he moved his shoe-making industry to Amsterdam, in the Netherlands, where the family settled. It was there that Eva first encountered the Frank family and their daughter Anne, author of the most famous diary ever to be published.
"The Franks’ apartment was opposite ours. We were both 11 at the time, but Anne was more ‘stylish’ and grown up than the rest of us. She always seemed to know what she wanted - and she got it. I remember once going with my mother to a local dressmaker in Amsterdam. The dressmaker was inside the fitting room with another customer. I could hear her taking detailed instructions from a picky client with a very authoritative tone. When she finally drew back the curtain, I was amazed to see that it was Anne Frank.
"Heinz and Margot – Anne’s elder sister – were in the same class. Often they would do their homework together in each other’s apartment. I also remember Anne’s father, Otto, from those days. My Dutch was very bad at the time and he would speak to me in German. He had a very kind manner, always calm and composed."
On May 10, 1942, Germany invaded the Netherlands, Luxembourg and Belgium. That same day, Eva’s family hurried to the port, in an attempt to board a ship bound for England. By the time they arrived at the port, the last ship had set sail and they were turned back.
Soon after, the Nazi regime took hold of the Netherlands and anti-Semitic legislation was enforced. The entire community began to feel increasingly fearful for their safety.
"One day, Heinz came home terribly shaken," recalls Eva. "Whilst out in the street, his friend had removed his jacket which had the yellow star. They were stopped by SS soldiers and his friend was arrested for not having a yellow star on his clothing."
Deportation of Dutch Jewry had begun, with call-up papers being sent to Jewish families, giving them three days’ notice. The Dutch authorities’ meticulous record keeping was legion. Each town hall had a full name list of the city’s residents, along with their addresses, which accounts for the fact that over 80 percent of Dutch Jewry was deported during the war.
"Adults met to discuss the situation. But no one talked about their plans to escape or go into hiding. This was kept strictly within the family and was not something that was aired in the open. We had no idea that the Frank family had already resolved to go into hiding and that they had made such elaborate preparations."
As fate would have it, both the Franks and the Geiringers went into hiding on the same day.
On July 6, 1942 an official call-up letter from the Nazi authorities in Amsterdam arrived by post for Eva’s brother, Heinz. That same day, Margot Frank was also handed a formal card ordering her to report to the SS the following morning.
"My father contacted the Dutch underground and within 24 hours we went into hiding; my mother and myself in one place; Heinz and my father in another. Overnight, our lives were placed at the mercy of total strangers" says Eva, as the flow of words and memories picks pace.
"One of our hiding places was in an attic belonging to a very kind lady, Mrs Reitzman. A member of the Dutch resistance advised her that it would be prudent to build a secret partition in the toilet which would have a tiled trapdoor so that it looked like a solid wall from the outside but have an empty cavity in it. He called on a builder, also a member of the Dutch underground, who came to our hiding place to build the partition. He worked on it solidly and the partition was finished by the late afternoon." During the night, heavy knocking on the door shattered the silence. The Gestapo were at the door.
"We could hear them asking Mrs Reitzman if she was hiding any ‘filthy Jews’. My mother sprung to her feet, quickly smoothed the bed covers, grabbed me by the hand and we squeezed into the cavity in the fake wall that had just been built. We managed to shut the heavy trapdoor behind us seconds before the soldiers barged into the attic. We sat in silence, petrified. The soldiers inspected our beds, upturned furniture and then went into the toilet. My heart pounded so loudly, I was convinced that they could hear it too. Finally we heard them close the door and leave."
Hiding Jews became extremely dangerous and those who assisted Jews did so at enormous risk. Collaborators and denouncers were rewarded handsomely, while non-Jews caught hiding Jews were themselves deported to concentration camps.
There had been quite a bit of tension building up between Pappy, Heinz and the landlady of the apartment where they were hiding. The strain of shielding them was taking its toll on her. She began blackmailing them into giving her more of their money and parting with their possessions. A few days later, under cover of darkness, Pappy and Heinz climbed out of the window and left for a new secret location, with the help of a Dutch nurse.
On May 11, 1944 Eva woke up early. It was her birthday. "We had been in hiding for two years and I had just turned fifteen" she recalls. "I was unwrapping a birthday present when a knock at the door shattered the jovial atmosphere."
Within seconds two Gestapo officers stormed their way in. Eva and her mother had been denounced.
Given no time to pack or prepare, they were marched into the street and taken to the Gestapo Headquarter. Heinz and Pappy were already there.
"Pappy and Heinz had been taken to their new hiding place by a nurse working for the Dutch underground. Unbeknown to anyone, the nurse was a double agent working for the Gestapo. Following a clandestine visit my mother and I made to Pappy and Heinz at their new safe house, the nurse followed us back to our own hiding place," explains Eva. "She then denounced all of us."
After the war the nurse was brought to trial for this act of treachery. However, testimonies by other Jewish survivors who she had helped, eclipsed the Geiringer’s personal tragedy and she walked out of court a free woman.
"Years later", says Eva animatedly, "my mother said she wanted to gauge the woman’s eyes out with her own hands. She never could forgive her."
Four days after their capture, Eva and her family were herded onto a cattle wagon. She describes the moment the train doors were slammed shut, as her ‘descent into hell’.
Three days later, the train ground to a halt and the doors grated open. They had arrived at their destination: Auschwitz-Birkenau.
"As soon as we arrived we were told that if we were too ill or tired to walk we could go on a lorry that would take us to the camp. Many jumped at the opportunity and made plans to see their family later on in the camp. None of them ever did: they were all transported directly to the gas chambers."
Evas’ experiences in Auschwitz-Birkenau is an odyssey to hell and back. It is a story of courage, tragedy, good fortune, resourcefulness, despair and hope. It is an account of resignation and hope; death and survival. Her mother was selected by the notorious Dr Mengele and Eva found herself in line for the gas chambers. It was a combination of initiative and good fortune which changed the course of their seemingly sealed fate.
On the 27th of January 1945, Auschwitz-Birkenau was liberated by the Russians. Both Eva and her mother had survived. Upon liberation, the two women – a shadow of their former selves – walked from Birkenau to Auschwitz where the men were kept. There they met Otto Frank who asked if they had any news from his wife and daughters.
"We recognised another person who we had known from Holland. He who told us that Pappy and Heinz perished during in the forced march from Auschwitz.
"A number of months later", Eva continues, "Otto Frank learnt of the fate of his wife and two daughters by a survivor who was with them in Bergen-Belsen. Both Anne and Margot died from typhoid. His wife, Edith, died of exhaustion and starvation, in Auschwitz.
"Otto was devastated by the loss of his family and fell into deep melancholy", remembers Eva. "At the same time my mother and I were inconsolable over Heinz’s and Pappy’s death. It was a very difficult time for us all."
Eva’s mother, Fritzy, and Otto met regularly. On one of his visits, Otto mentioned a diary which Anne had kept while they were in hiding and which Miep Gies, his secretary, found after the secret annex – the Frank’s hiding place – was raided by the Gestapo.
Upon publication, in 1947, Anne Frank’s diary became the most publicised piece of writing to emerge from the holocaust. It was translated into 55 languages and spawned a variety of plays and films. "The diary saved Otto's life" Eva declares unhesitatingly. "It gave him a purpose - a cause and a reason to go on."
After the war, Eva moved to Britain where she met her future husband, Zvi Schloss, an Israeli student who had come to London to study economics. They set up home and family in North London where they live today.
In 1953 Otto Frank and Fritzi Geiringer, were married in Basle, Switzerland. "My mother and Otto had a wonderful marriage. They adored each other and became one. He was also a wonderful grandfather to my three daughters who were very attached to him. The way they looked at each other, the way they were always together… they were perfectly suited. It was a marriage of true love, there can be no doubt about that".
"Otto was a very private and dignified person" explains Eva. "To his last day he never talked about his experiences in Auschwitz to anyone. We shall never know how he survived or what he went through. What struck me most was that he had no feelings of retribution or revenge. He was a true humanist. He would get hundreds of letters each week, from around the world, and he and my mother would answer them, each one."
Asked about her own relationship with Otto Frank, Eva becomes subdued. "At times it was painful for me to see Otto and my mother in love: on the one hand, I was happy for them to have found each other, but on the other hand it was painful for me because Otto was not my father. I imagine he felt the same: that I was not his daughter and it should have been Anne who was with him."
Otto and Fritzi lived together for 27 years, until Otto’s death in 1980. Fritzi Frank, Eva’s mother, died in 1998. Otto and Fritiz’s ashes are both buried in Basle, next to each other.
Eva Geiringer was nine years old when her childhood came to an abrupt end. "I had had a very safe, shielded upbringing" she recalls, her strong Austrian accent giving away her mother tongue. "My parents were young assimilated Jews, as were their friends and family who lived in Vienna, and they never saw themselves as anything other than Austrians. Then came March 1938." Her voice trails off.That was when the German army marched into Austria. For Austria’s Jewish population this marked the end of an era. Jews were excluded from public life; they were banned from outdoor activities and obliged to wear the yellow star. Attacks on Jewish businesses became commonplace and physical attacks followed soon after. "I remember my brother, Heinz, returning home from school one day with a cut eye. He had been severely beaten by the other boys in his class, because he was Jewish."
Fearing the worst, Eva’s father, "Pappy", decided to flee Austria with his family. After a number of relocations, he moved his shoe-making industry to Amsterdam, in the Netherlands, where the family settled. It was there that Eva first encountered the Frank family and their daughter Anne, author of the most famous diary ever to be published.
"The Franks’ apartment was opposite ours. We were both 11 at the time, but Anne was more ‘stylish’ and grown up than the rest of us. She always seemed to know what she wanted - and she got it. I remember once going with my mother to a local dressmaker in Amsterdam. The dressmaker was inside the fitting room with another customer. I could hear her taking detailed instructions from a picky client with a very authoritative tone. When she finally drew back the curtain, I was amazed to see that it was Anne Frank.
"Heinz and Margot – Anne’s elder sister – were in the same class. Often they would do their homework together in each other’s apartment. I also remember Anne’s father, Otto, from those days. My Dutch was very bad at the time and he would speak to me in German. He had a very kind manner, always calm and composed."
On May 10, 1942, Germany invaded the Netherlands, Luxembourg and Belgium. That same day, Eva’s family hurried to the port, in an attempt to board a ship bound for England. By the time they arrived at the port, the last ship had set sail and they were turned back.
Soon after, the Nazi regime took hold of the Netherlands and anti-Semitic legislation was enforced. The entire community began to feel increasingly fearful for their safety.
"One day, Heinz came home terribly shaken," recalls Eva. "Whilst out in the street, his friend had removed his jacket which had the yellow star. They were stopped by SS soldiers and his friend was arrested for not having a yellow star on his clothing."
Deportation of Dutch Jewry had begun, with call-up papers being sent to Jewish families, giving them three days’ notice. The Dutch authorities’ meticulous record keeping was legion. Each town hall had a full name list of the city’s residents, along with their addresses, which accounts for the fact that over 80 percent of Dutch Jewry was deported during the war.
"Adults met to discuss the situation. But no one talked about their plans to escape or go into hiding. This was kept strictly within the family and was not something that was aired in the open. We had no idea that the Frank family had already resolved to go into hiding and that they had made such elaborate preparations."
As fate would have it, both the Franks and the Geiringers went into hiding on the same day.
On July 6, 1942 an official call-up letter from the Nazi authorities in Amsterdam arrived by post for Eva’s brother, Heinz. That same day, Margot Frank was also handed a formal card ordering her to report to the SS the following morning.
"My father contacted the Dutch underground and within 24 hours we went into hiding; my mother and myself in one place; Heinz and my father in another. Overnight, our lives were placed at the mercy of total strangers" says Eva, as the flow of words and memories picks pace.
"One of our hiding places was in an attic belonging to a very kind lady, Mrs Reitzman. A member of the Dutch resistance advised her that it would be prudent to build a secret partition in the toilet which would have a tiled trapdoor so that it looked like a solid wall from the outside but have an empty cavity in it. He called on a builder, also a member of the Dutch underground, who came to our hiding place to build the partition. He worked on it solidly and the partition was finished by the late afternoon." During the night, heavy knocking on the door shattered the silence. The Gestapo were at the door.
"We could hear them asking Mrs Reitzman if she was hiding any ‘filthy Jews’. My mother sprung to her feet, quickly smoothed the bed covers, grabbed me by the hand and we squeezed into the cavity in the fake wall that had just been built. We managed to shut the heavy trapdoor behind us seconds before the soldiers barged into the attic. We sat in silence, petrified. The soldiers inspected our beds, upturned furniture and then went into the toilet. My heart pounded so loudly, I was convinced that they could hear it too. Finally we heard them close the door and leave."
Hiding Jews became extremely dangerous and those who assisted Jews did so at enormous risk. Collaborators and denouncers were rewarded handsomely, while non-Jews caught hiding Jews were themselves deported to concentration camps.
There had been quite a bit of tension building up between Pappy, Heinz and the landlady of the apartment where they were hiding. The strain of shielding them was taking its toll on her. She began blackmailing them into giving her more of their money and parting with their possessions. A few days later, under cover of darkness, Pappy and Heinz climbed out of the window and left for a new secret location, with the help of a Dutch nurse.
On May 11, 1944 Eva woke up early. It was her birthday. "We had been in hiding for two years and I had just turned fifteen" she recalls. "I was unwrapping a birthday present when a knock at the door shattered the jovial atmosphere."
Within seconds two Gestapo officers stormed their way in. Eva and her mother had been denounced.
Given no time to pack or prepare, they were marched into the street and taken to the Gestapo Headquarter. Heinz and Pappy were already there.
"Pappy and Heinz had been taken to their new hiding place by a nurse working for the Dutch underground. Unbeknown to anyone, the nurse was a double agent working for the Gestapo. Following a clandestine visit my mother and I made to Pappy and Heinz at their new safe house, the nurse followed us back to our own hiding place," explains Eva. "She then denounced all of us."
After the war the nurse was brought to trial for this act of treachery. However, testimonies by other Jewish survivors who she had helped, eclipsed the Geiringer’s personal tragedy and she walked out of court a free woman.
"Years later", says Eva animatedly, "my mother said she wanted to gauge the woman’s eyes out with her own hands. She never could forgive her."
Four days after their capture, Eva and her family were herded onto a cattle wagon. She describes the moment the train doors were slammed shut, as her ‘descent into hell’.
Three days later, the train ground to a halt and the doors grated open. They had arrived at their destination: Auschwitz-Birkenau.
"As soon as we arrived we were told that if we were too ill or tired to walk we could go on a lorry that would take us to the camp. Many jumped at the opportunity and made plans to see their family later on in the camp. None of them ever did: they were all transported directly to the gas chambers."
Evas’ experiences in Auschwitz-Birkenau is an odyssey to hell and back. It is a story of courage, tragedy, good fortune, resourcefulness, despair and hope. It is an account of resignation and hope; death and survival. Her mother was selected by the notorious Dr Mengele and Eva found herself in line for the gas chambers. It was a combination of initiative and good fortune which changed the course of their seemingly sealed fate.
On the 27th of January 1945, Auschwitz-Birkenau was liberated by the Russians. Both Eva and her mother had survived. Upon liberation, the two women – a shadow of their former selves – walked from Birkenau to Auschwitz where the men were kept. There they met Otto Frank who asked if they had any news from his wife and daughters.
"We recognised another person who we had known from Holland. He who told us that Pappy and Heinz perished during in the forced march from Auschwitz.
"A number of months later", Eva continues, "Otto Frank learnt of the fate of his wife and two daughters by a survivor who was with them in Bergen-Belsen. Both Anne and Margot died from typhoid. His wife, Edith, died of exhaustion and starvation, in Auschwitz.
"Otto was devastated by the loss of his family and fell into deep melancholy", remembers Eva. "At the same time my mother and I were inconsolable over Heinz’s and Pappy’s death. It was a very difficult time for us all."
Eva’s mother, Fritzy, and Otto met regularly. On one of his visits, Otto mentioned a diary which Anne had kept while they were in hiding and which Miep Gies, his secretary, found after the secret annex – the Frank’s hiding place – was raided by the Gestapo.
Upon publication, in 1947, Anne Frank’s diary became the most publicised piece of writing to emerge from the holocaust. It was translated into 55 languages and spawned a variety of plays and films. "The diary saved Otto's life" Eva declares unhesitatingly. "It gave him a purpose - a cause and a reason to go on."
After the war, Eva moved to Britain where she met her future husband, Zvi Schloss, an Israeli student who had come to London to study economics. They set up home and family in North London where they live today.
In 1953 Otto Frank and Fritzi Geiringer, were married in Basle, Switzerland. "My mother and Otto had a wonderful marriage. They adored each other and became one. He was also a wonderful grandfather to my three daughters who were very attached to him. The way they looked at each other, the way they were always together… they were perfectly suited. It was a marriage of true love, there can be no doubt about that".
"Otto was a very private and dignified person" explains Eva. "To his last day he never talked about his experiences in Auschwitz to anyone. We shall never know how he survived or what he went through. What struck me most was that he had no feelings of retribution or revenge. He was a true humanist. He would get hundreds of letters each week, from around the world, and he and my mother would answer them, each one."
Asked about her own relationship with Otto Frank, Eva becomes subdued. "At times it was painful for me to see Otto and my mother in love: on the one hand, I was happy for them to have found each other, but on the other hand it was painful for me because Otto was not my father. I imagine he felt the same: that I was not his daughter and it should have been Anne who was with him."
Otto and Fritzi lived together for 27 years, until Otto’s death in 1980. Fritzi Frank, Eva’s mother, died in 1998. Otto and Fritiz’s ashes are both buried in Basle, next to each other.
Facing ourselves
Uri Geller: A Mind field
"From Reading Station ask any taxi driver to take you to Geller’s home." That was the advice that Uri Geller dispensed when we arranged to meet. In the event, my taxi driver, an elderly man, did not know where Geller lives (nor, I suspect, who Geller is). When I gave him the address, he had to look it up in his road map. Eventually we made it to Geller’s home, standing at a distance behind a tall iron gate on the bank of the Thames.Uri Geller looks significantly younger than his 55 years. A strict vegan, he is in trim shape and in good health. He greets me with a firm handshake and ushers me into his living room. The glass coffee table is teeming with objects of curiosity: figurines, stones, vases, crystal balls and statuettes. The walls are adorned with paintings, portraits and photographs. He points to a hanging bike on the wall. It is a bike that belonged to the late cyclist Bruce Beresford, who asked Geller to help him break the world record'.
We talk about the book, Uri Geller: Magician or Mystic, by Jonathan Margolis. The book traces Geller’s life from the time he received his powers by a flash of light from aliens, continues with his first bent spoon while eating mushroom soup at home in Tel Aviv, and follows his career right up to his current life in England, many spoons later. Exactly why the readers need know about Geller’s first sexual experience (with a prostitute, in Cyprus) is unclear. The book, at some point, transforms from a biography to a hagiography. Geller recommends it warmly.
But Geller isn’t just written about. He himself writes. Quite a bit, in fact. "I am a great writer", he assures me. He writes a weekly column for the Jewish Telegraph and for The Face. "I also write fiction," he reminds me, lest I forget. "My books are excellent. ‘Ella’ for example is being turned into a film."
Critics, however, have failed to discover Geller’s writing genius. He still anguishes over a scathing review he received in the Jerusalem Post for his novel ‘Ella’. "I am not accepted by the intelligentsia," he explains. "They think Uri Geller shouldn’t write books. The publishing world is working against me." The thought that the journalist - Dennis Eisenberg - could genuinely have not liked ‘Ella", does not cross his mind.
This is not the first time Geller sees himself as a victim of a character assassination. He still recalls that famous article in Ha’olam Haze. "It came out with a huge headline ‘Uri Geller is a fraud’. It really gets you here" - he points to his heart. "I left Israel out of disappointment. Because I am not a magician, I couldn’t change my repertoire and my act was limited. In 1971 I noticed that the crowds were dwindling. Suddenly I found myself performing in sleazy nightclubs in Ramle, or Lod. People didn’t even notice me." In other words he left because he couldn’t make more money.
Geller’s wealth is a source of speculation. He likes to recall how he eked out a living as a construction- site worker in what is today the Beit El Al building in Tel Aviv. Fortunately, he can look back on these times now.
"I am not a particularly wealthy man" he says in all seriousness. He refuses to disclose any figures, yet his palatial home has been estimated at £12M and the opulent lifestyle he leads suggest that he will not be asking for state hand-outs in the foreseeable future.
But his wealth is just one manifestation of his megalomaniac character. The zeal in which he pursues his detractors in the courts bears testimony to a litigious character which, after so many years, is still plagued by insecurity. The list of lawsuits Geller has initiated is staggering. He sued magician James Randi for claiming he is a fraud; he pursued Times magazine in the courts for featuring a metal bending performer in an advertisement, claiming this effect was his trademark. Last year, he launched a libel action against Prometheus Books for allegations that he was dishonourably discharged from the Israeli Army. The company Menintendo was also sued by Geller for creating a toy character which, he claims, bears resemblance to him and undermines his reputation.
In defense of his endless legal wrangling, Geller says he is simply protecting his good name and reputation. "It’s not what they think about me, it’s what they say about me. Let me put it to you this way: would you not sue anyone who wrote libelous things about you?" He does not wait for an answer, so I assume it’s a rhetoric question.
A large chunk of his day is taken up with answering emails. He receives hundreds each day. They come from all over the planet, and he loves getting them. You can send him one. His address is: urigeller@compuserve.com. He shows me a stack of print-outs of e-mails which he ‘personally reads’. They are from fans, lost souls and eccentrics. "I recently got an e-mail from a guy in the US who was diagnosed HIV+, so I called him up and told him: always be optimistic; believe in yourself. He was amazed to find himself talking directly to Uri Geller!"
"My website is non-commercial; it’s educational," he declares. I later surf his site and wonder whether he was being ironic. It is nothing less than an on-line Geller shopping mall. You can buy his Mindpower Kit (‘affordable to everyone and also available in Portuguese’); or his book Mind Medicine (also available in Slovenian, Hungarian, Greek, and Japanese). You may prefer to purchase crystals which Geller himself has touched. In fact you can spend the best part of the day either buying Geller products or admire the wonderful things he can do. Read how ‘Uri changes the colour of a flower; Uri stops the Olympic flame; Uri’s ten steps to happiness; Uri’s beautiful paintings…’ and the list isn’t exhausted - only exhausting. According to estimates – that is, Geller’s estimates - the site receives more than 400,000 hits a day.
One of the many peculiar aspects about Geller is that he doesn't handle money. He claims not to have used credit cards or written a cheque for over 30 years. Shipi, his brother-in-law, does these mundane things, while Geller gets on with the more spiritual and creative aspects of life.
Recently Geller urged British television viewers to place their hands on a flashing image of English footballer David Beckham's broken foot to speed up his recovery, in time for the World Cup. It worked, of course.
Painting is now his passion. He designs plates for Poole Pottery and one of his designs is included in the booklet for the new Michael Jackson CD. His friendship with Michael Jackson, is by now one of the most famous friendships. It started when Geller was visiting another friend, Mohammed Al Fayed (better known as Princess Dianna’s would-be-father-in-law- maybe). Jackson called Fayed for a chitchat when Fayed said: 'Guess who I've got with me? Uri Geller!'. Legend now has it enshrined that Jackson screamed, 'Oh, Uri Geller!'. Fayed handed over the phone, and the two are now best friends. Such good friends that Jackson appeared – two hours late – as best man at Geller’s wedding in March, when Geller reaffirmed his vows to his wife Hannah in a star-studded Jewish ceremony.
Indeed, Geller thrives on celebrity. In the course of our interview he mentions that he has starred in countless TV specials, was a friend of Jacky Kennedy, met with English football manager Glenn Hoddle, talked to John Lennon; had a chinwag with Elton John, was invited to fly with Richard Branson … and the inventory continues.
Geller has never shied from politics. Recently he has expressed his gripe over the boycotting of the Israeli academics by Prof. Mona Baker. He has also expressed an interest in partaking in Israeli politics. "It’s a very compelling idea. There’s no doubt in my mind that if I go back to Israel that I would do well." Geller still holds on to his Israeli passport. "I am Israeli and am proud of it. I don’t go to synagogue, but at the end of the day I am a religious man. The fact that I don’t wear a Kippa, doesn’t mean anything."
At the end of the interview I hand him a spoon and a ladle. He gets a bit irate over the ladle but obliges with the spoon. He strokes the spoon, and…yes, dear reader, the spoon bends. And it keeps bending well after he lets go of it and lays it on the table. He autographs the spoon. But, by this time, the question whether he can bend spoons without trickery appears trivial. Uri Geller the person, is much more interesting.
It is not his intellect, or his books, not even his business acumen which have made him rich. For all his self-adulation, Geller has made his millions by bending spoons and stopping watches. No other career has ever taken off. He is a grown man with child-like qualities; a Peter Pan on an ego trip; a psychic whose extraordinary powers must be universally acknowledged. And nothing else, or less, will do. To this end, he will blow his own trumpet, extol his own virtues and sing his own praises. Because he knows Uri Geller best.
Une alliance peu probable
Elle est avocate juive. Il est l'homme accusé d'avoir orchestré les attentats suicides palestiniens. Ori Golan explique ce qui a amené Gisèle Halimi et Marwan Barghouti à se rencontrer.
Un jour, alors qu'elle avait 16 ans, Gisèle Halimi a décidé de tester Dieu. Élevée au sein d'une famille juive religieuse en Tunisie, où son grand-père était rabbin, on lui avait fait croire qu'elle ne pouvait réussir à l'école que si elle demandait à Dieu sa bénédiction et qu'elle observait ses lois. Ce matin là, en quittant la maison pour passer un examen de français, elle a fait exprès de ne pas embrasser la mezouza (le parchemin qui se trouve à l'entrée des maisons juives) comme tout juif traditionnel devait le faire. Est-ce que Dieu la punirait pour son défi? Allait-elle rater son examen? Le lendemain, son professeur a annoncé les résultats. «La note la plus élevée est pour Gisèle - comme d'habitude.» Et voilà. Elle a conclu que Dieu avait perdu. Elle pouvait donc s'en passer.
Soixante années plus tard, elle se débrouille toujours sans lui. Élégante, posée et défiante, cette avocate reconnue, écrivaine prolifique et championne des causes féminines, reste une iconoclaste incorrigible qui continue à défier l'autorité avec la conviction et la ténacité d'une rebelle.
Dans son bureau parisien, Halimi explique pourquoi elle représente actuellement Marwan Barghouti, le dirigeant des Brigades Al-Aqsa, le groupe militant palestinien qui serait responsable de la mort et de la mutilation d'environ 200 soldats et civils. Barghouti (43 ans) est le Palestinien le plus important qu'Israël fait passer en jugement. Envisagé un moment comme le successeur potentiel d'Arafat, il était considéré comme un Palestinien modéré et un défenseur du processus de paix. Il parle couramment l'hébreu, et a été engagé dans plusieurs initiatives entre Palestiniens et Israéliens suite à l'accord de paix d'Oslo. C'est la raison pour laquelle beaucoup d'Israéliens ont été surpris par sa conversion en quelqu'un de radical.
Pendant 19 mois, Barghouti a réussi à éviter l'arrestation et les tentatives d'assassinat par les services de sécurité israéliens. Puis, en avril de l'année dernière, il a été pris lors d'un raid dans une maison à Ramallah,et a été accusé de diriger et de conduire des attaques suicides sur des cibles israéliennes, d'assassinat prémédité, de complicité de meurtre, d'exhortation au meurtre, de tentative de meurtre, de conspiration en vue de commettre des crimes, d'activité dans une organisation terroriste et d'appartenance à une organisation terroriste.
Halimi, qui l'a rencontré deux fois en Israël, dit: «C'est un intellectuel, un leader politique et un humaniste. C'est quelqu'un qui souffre de la situation dans son pays. Il condamnera tout acte de terrorisme envers Israël le jour où Israël arrêtera d'occuper la Palestine.»
Les personnes qui sont familières avec le trajectoire d'Halimi ne seront pas surprises de cette alliance entre la petite-fille d'un rabbin et un militant palestinien. Dans les années 60, elle était la conseillère pour le Front de Libération Nationale algérien et a représenté des militants algériens qui essayaient de libérer leur pays du joug français; en Espagne, elle a plaidé pour les séparatistes basques; et elle s'est battue pour quatre militants de gauche qui avaient essayé de renverser le gouvernement du président Marien N'Gouabi au Congo en 1967. Elle a présidé le Tribunal Russell qui a enquêté sur les crimes américains au Vietnam et, deux ans plus tard, avec Simone de Beauvoir, elle a fondé «Choisir», une organisation qui défendait les 343 femmes françaises qui avaient admis publiquement avoir eu recours à des avortements illégaux.
«Je condamne le terrorisme quand il touche des personnes innocentes», dit-elle. «Mais il y a des victimes innocentes dans les meilleures causes du monde. À Alger, à Dresde... en Israël aussi, avant sa création, il y avait du terrorisme. C'est important de se poser les bonnes questions. Vous dites "Pourquoi le terrorisme?" Je réponds "Pourquoi l'occupation?" Tant qu'il y aura une occupation, ce qui est contraire à la loi internationale, on peut s'attendre à du terrorisme. Quand il n'y aura plus d'occupation, alors je le condamnerai, mais alors, il n'y aura plus de terrorisme.»
Dans de nombreuses déclarations publiques, Barghouti a dit que son procès avait été organisé pour des raisons politiques.
Halimi est d'accord. «Je pense qu'en règle générale, le système interne d'Israël est démocratique. Mais d'un point de vue international, Israël est hors-la-loi. La question principale est: la cour israélienne a-t-elle le droit de juger Barghouti? Je dis que non, que le tribunal civil israélien n'a pas les compétences pour le juger. D'abord, la Convention de Genève interdit le kidnapping d'une personne dans un pays occupé. Cela constitue un crime de guerre. Deuxièmement, en tant que membre du Conseil National Palestinien, il bénéficie de l'immunité parlementaire qui ne permet pas de le poursuivre. Ces procédés judiciaires enfreignent la loi internationale, les accords signés bilatéralement entre Israël et les Palestiniens, et la jurisprudence israélienne.»
Une source militaire israélienne qualifie ces arguments de «sélectifs et cyniques». «Les accords entre Israël et l'Autorité Palestinienne ont été régulièrement rompus par le côté palestinien. L'Autorité Palestinienne, en particulier, a fait fi de ses obligations selon l'accord provisoire de septembre 1995, à son engagement d'«agir immédiatement» avec efficience et efficacité contre les actes ou les menaces de terrorisme, violence ou incitation à la violence. Barghouti est un terroriste avec du sang - beaucoup de sang - sur les mains.»
La question de la légitimité du procès de Barghouti a été prise en compte par la procureur de l'État, Dvora Chen, qui a déclaré que les accords provisoires signés entre l'OLP et Israël n'empêchent en aucune façon Israël d'arrêter et de poursuivre en justice des personnes qui vivent sous autorité palestinienne et qui ont commis des crimes exécutés en Israël ou envers des Israéliens.
Halimi insiste sur le fait que Barghouti est un homme qui recherche la paix. «L'accusation dit qu'elle a des témoignages de Palestiniens qui l'impliquent dans une série d'attaques terroristes mais, en avril, ces témoins ont révélé que ces témoignages leur ont été soutiré par la force. Je ne crois pas que Barghouti ait planifié ni qu'il ait été l'instigateur d'attaques terroristes ni qu'il ait financé des crimes - Je ne le crois pas. Il n'a pas de sang sur les mains.»
Malgré le fait que la France soit le pays avec le plus d'incidents ciblés contre les juifs en Europe, Halimi ne croit pas qu'il y ait une montée d'antisémitisme dans ce pays. C'est du racisme, dit-elle, qui peut être imputé aux événements en Israël. «Le problème est que la plupart des gens pensent que les juifs sont des inconditionnels d'Israël et qu'ils aident une cause injuste. S'il y avait une solution au problème du Proche-Orient, alors le problème d'antisémitisme disparaîtrait.»
«En tant qu'avocate, Halimi a le droit de défendre ce qu'elle estime être une juste cause», dit Marc Knobel, du Conseil Représentatif des Institutions Juives de France, l'institut juif officiel le plus important de France. «Mais nous pensons qu'elle a tendance à exonérer l'Autorité Palestinienne de ses propres responsabilités et de ses fautes et, dans le même temps, à incriminer trop facilement Israël.»
En effet, pendant la conversation qui a duré plus d'une heure, Halimi n'a pas mentionné le terrorisme palestinien, ni passé de jugement sur la corruption, l'incitation ou la duplicité palestinienne.
«Sa défense de Barghouti n'est pas surprenante», dit le Docteur Liliane Kandel, une féministe et une sociologue de l'Université de Paris. «Comme beaucoup d'intellectuels français de gauche, Halimi a signé beaucoup de pétitions condamnant Israël. Beaucoup de personnes de la communauté juive - et même de l'extérieur - refusent un point de vue à sens unique et regrettent de voir quelqu'un comme Gisèle Halimi impliquée dans ces campagnes.»
Halimi ne cache pas sa relation vis-à-vis d'Israël. «Je n'ai pas de solidarité particulière avec Israël», dit-elle. «Israël est un État comme n'importe quel autre État. Je ne pense pas que l'aspect religieux soit une bonne chose: c'est très dangereux pour la démocratie.»
Alors qu'elle expose ses convictions athéees, on peut se demander quelle aurait été sa trajectoire dans la vie si elle n'avait pas réussi son examen de français ce jour-là, à l'école.
The Guardian 15 August 2003
Un jour, alors qu'elle avait 16 ans, Gisèle Halimi a décidé de tester Dieu. Élevée au sein d'une famille juive religieuse en Tunisie, où son grand-père était rabbin, on lui avait fait croire qu'elle ne pouvait réussir à l'école que si elle demandait à Dieu sa bénédiction et qu'elle observait ses lois. Ce matin là, en quittant la maison pour passer un examen de français, elle a fait exprès de ne pas embrasser la mezouza (le parchemin qui se trouve à l'entrée des maisons juives) comme tout juif traditionnel devait le faire. Est-ce que Dieu la punirait pour son défi? Allait-elle rater son examen? Le lendemain, son professeur a annoncé les résultats. «La note la plus élevée est pour Gisèle - comme d'habitude.» Et voilà. Elle a conclu que Dieu avait perdu. Elle pouvait donc s'en passer.
Soixante années plus tard, elle se débrouille toujours sans lui. Élégante, posée et défiante, cette avocate reconnue, écrivaine prolifique et championne des causes féminines, reste une iconoclaste incorrigible qui continue à défier l'autorité avec la conviction et la ténacité d'une rebelle.
Dans son bureau parisien, Halimi explique pourquoi elle représente actuellement Marwan Barghouti, le dirigeant des Brigades Al-Aqsa, le groupe militant palestinien qui serait responsable de la mort et de la mutilation d'environ 200 soldats et civils. Barghouti (43 ans) est le Palestinien le plus important qu'Israël fait passer en jugement. Envisagé un moment comme le successeur potentiel d'Arafat, il était considéré comme un Palestinien modéré et un défenseur du processus de paix. Il parle couramment l'hébreu, et a été engagé dans plusieurs initiatives entre Palestiniens et Israéliens suite à l'accord de paix d'Oslo. C'est la raison pour laquelle beaucoup d'Israéliens ont été surpris par sa conversion en quelqu'un de radical.
Pendant 19 mois, Barghouti a réussi à éviter l'arrestation et les tentatives d'assassinat par les services de sécurité israéliens. Puis, en avril de l'année dernière, il a été pris lors d'un raid dans une maison à Ramallah,et a été accusé de diriger et de conduire des attaques suicides sur des cibles israéliennes, d'assassinat prémédité, de complicité de meurtre, d'exhortation au meurtre, de tentative de meurtre, de conspiration en vue de commettre des crimes, d'activité dans une organisation terroriste et d'appartenance à une organisation terroriste.
Halimi, qui l'a rencontré deux fois en Israël, dit: «C'est un intellectuel, un leader politique et un humaniste. C'est quelqu'un qui souffre de la situation dans son pays. Il condamnera tout acte de terrorisme envers Israël le jour où Israël arrêtera d'occuper la Palestine.»
Les personnes qui sont familières avec le trajectoire d'Halimi ne seront pas surprises de cette alliance entre la petite-fille d'un rabbin et un militant palestinien. Dans les années 60, elle était la conseillère pour le Front de Libération Nationale algérien et a représenté des militants algériens qui essayaient de libérer leur pays du joug français; en Espagne, elle a plaidé pour les séparatistes basques; et elle s'est battue pour quatre militants de gauche qui avaient essayé de renverser le gouvernement du président Marien N'Gouabi au Congo en 1967. Elle a présidé le Tribunal Russell qui a enquêté sur les crimes américains au Vietnam et, deux ans plus tard, avec Simone de Beauvoir, elle a fondé «Choisir», une organisation qui défendait les 343 femmes françaises qui avaient admis publiquement avoir eu recours à des avortements illégaux.
«Je condamne le terrorisme quand il touche des personnes innocentes», dit-elle. «Mais il y a des victimes innocentes dans les meilleures causes du monde. À Alger, à Dresde... en Israël aussi, avant sa création, il y avait du terrorisme. C'est important de se poser les bonnes questions. Vous dites "Pourquoi le terrorisme?" Je réponds "Pourquoi l'occupation?" Tant qu'il y aura une occupation, ce qui est contraire à la loi internationale, on peut s'attendre à du terrorisme. Quand il n'y aura plus d'occupation, alors je le condamnerai, mais alors, il n'y aura plus de terrorisme.»
Dans de nombreuses déclarations publiques, Barghouti a dit que son procès avait été organisé pour des raisons politiques.
Halimi est d'accord. «Je pense qu'en règle générale, le système interne d'Israël est démocratique. Mais d'un point de vue international, Israël est hors-la-loi. La question principale est: la cour israélienne a-t-elle le droit de juger Barghouti? Je dis que non, que le tribunal civil israélien n'a pas les compétences pour le juger. D'abord, la Convention de Genève interdit le kidnapping d'une personne dans un pays occupé. Cela constitue un crime de guerre. Deuxièmement, en tant que membre du Conseil National Palestinien, il bénéficie de l'immunité parlementaire qui ne permet pas de le poursuivre. Ces procédés judiciaires enfreignent la loi internationale, les accords signés bilatéralement entre Israël et les Palestiniens, et la jurisprudence israélienne.»
Une source militaire israélienne qualifie ces arguments de «sélectifs et cyniques». «Les accords entre Israël et l'Autorité Palestinienne ont été régulièrement rompus par le côté palestinien. L'Autorité Palestinienne, en particulier, a fait fi de ses obligations selon l'accord provisoire de septembre 1995, à son engagement d'«agir immédiatement» avec efficience et efficacité contre les actes ou les menaces de terrorisme, violence ou incitation à la violence. Barghouti est un terroriste avec du sang - beaucoup de sang - sur les mains.»
La question de la légitimité du procès de Barghouti a été prise en compte par la procureur de l'État, Dvora Chen, qui a déclaré que les accords provisoires signés entre l'OLP et Israël n'empêchent en aucune façon Israël d'arrêter et de poursuivre en justice des personnes qui vivent sous autorité palestinienne et qui ont commis des crimes exécutés en Israël ou envers des Israéliens.
Halimi insiste sur le fait que Barghouti est un homme qui recherche la paix. «L'accusation dit qu'elle a des témoignages de Palestiniens qui l'impliquent dans une série d'attaques terroristes mais, en avril, ces témoins ont révélé que ces témoignages leur ont été soutiré par la force. Je ne crois pas que Barghouti ait planifié ni qu'il ait été l'instigateur d'attaques terroristes ni qu'il ait financé des crimes - Je ne le crois pas. Il n'a pas de sang sur les mains.»
Malgré le fait que la France soit le pays avec le plus d'incidents ciblés contre les juifs en Europe, Halimi ne croit pas qu'il y ait une montée d'antisémitisme dans ce pays. C'est du racisme, dit-elle, qui peut être imputé aux événements en Israël. «Le problème est que la plupart des gens pensent que les juifs sont des inconditionnels d'Israël et qu'ils aident une cause injuste. S'il y avait une solution au problème du Proche-Orient, alors le problème d'antisémitisme disparaîtrait.»
«En tant qu'avocate, Halimi a le droit de défendre ce qu'elle estime être une juste cause», dit Marc Knobel, du Conseil Représentatif des Institutions Juives de France, l'institut juif officiel le plus important de France. «Mais nous pensons qu'elle a tendance à exonérer l'Autorité Palestinienne de ses propres responsabilités et de ses fautes et, dans le même temps, à incriminer trop facilement Israël.»
En effet, pendant la conversation qui a duré plus d'une heure, Halimi n'a pas mentionné le terrorisme palestinien, ni passé de jugement sur la corruption, l'incitation ou la duplicité palestinienne.
«Sa défense de Barghouti n'est pas surprenante», dit le Docteur Liliane Kandel, une féministe et une sociologue de l'Université de Paris. «Comme beaucoup d'intellectuels français de gauche, Halimi a signé beaucoup de pétitions condamnant Israël. Beaucoup de personnes de la communauté juive - et même de l'extérieur - refusent un point de vue à sens unique et regrettent de voir quelqu'un comme Gisèle Halimi impliquée dans ces campagnes.»
Halimi ne cache pas sa relation vis-à-vis d'Israël. «Je n'ai pas de solidarité particulière avec Israël», dit-elle. «Israël est un État comme n'importe quel autre État. Je ne pense pas que l'aspect religieux soit une bonne chose: c'est très dangereux pour la démocratie.»
Alors qu'elle expose ses convictions athéees, on peut se demander quelle aurait été sa trajectoire dans la vie si elle n'avait pas réussi son examen de français ce jour-là, à l'école.
The Guardian 15 August 2003
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