By David K. Shipler
As if the
Palestinians hadn’t done enough to Israelis, Prime Minister Netanyahu now
blames them for the Holocaust by fabricating a tale that Hitler had not planned
to exterminate the Jews of Europe until the grand mufti of Jerusalem, Haj Amin al-Husseini, suggested it
in 1941. Netanyahu thus lends his office to the sordid practice of manipulating
and distorting the Holocaust, a timeworn occupation in the Middle East.
When
Israeli Prime Minister Menachem Begin signed a peace treaty with Egypt in 1979,
posters appeared in Jerusalem depicting the Egyptian president, Anwar Sadat,
wearing a tie covered with swastikas, doctored from the backwards swastika
pattern on the tie he inexplicably wore when he addressed Israel’s parliament
in 1977. Begin was shown as the obsequious Jew with a yellow Star of David on
his lapel, the label the Nazis had required. Pedestrians walked past the
posters unfazed, accustomed as they were to such smears.
If Begin
ever saw those caricatures, he must have been stung. He himself had survived
the Holocaust by fleeing Warsaw for Lithuania, where he was arrested by the
Russians, spent a year in Soviet prisons, and was released to join the Polish army.
In 1982, I happened to interview him in his office soon after he had been
called by President Ronald Reagan, who had likened the carnage during Israeli’s
bombardment of West Beirut during the war in Lebanon to “a holocaust.”
“He hurt me
very deeply,” Begin told me, “and I said to him, ‘Mr. President, I know what is
a holocaust.’”
Begin turned to his press secretary, Uri Porat, and asked, “Will you please bring me the picture?” Porat knew which one. He took it from the Prime Minister’s desk, and Begin held it in front of him. It was the famous photograph of Jews being rounded up in the Warsaw Ghetto. “This is holocaust,” Begin declared. “Look at this child. Look at the fear in his eyes, how he tries to raise his hands, and look at his mother, looking at the other Nazi soldier lest he open fire at the child. Such children were killed—one and a half million for six years, brought to Auschwitz, Treblinka, Majdanek, etc. This is holocaust. And I later wrote to the president that he hurt me deeply and personally by using that word.”
Begin turned to his press secretary, Uri Porat, and asked, “Will you please bring me the picture?” Porat knew which one. He took it from the Prime Minister’s desk, and Begin held it in front of him. It was the famous photograph of Jews being rounded up in the Warsaw Ghetto. “This is holocaust,” Begin declared. “Look at this child. Look at the fear in his eyes, how he tries to raise his hands, and look at his mother, looking at the other Nazi soldier lest he open fire at the child. Such children were killed—one and a half million for six years, brought to Auschwitz, Treblinka, Majdanek, etc. This is holocaust. And I later wrote to the president that he hurt me deeply and personally by using that word.”
But Begin
also used it to capture the magnitude of Israel’s fight for survival. In 1981,
when he ordered the air strike to destroy Iraq’s nuclear reactor, he cited the Arabs’
attempt to annihilate the Jews and summoned up the vow, “Never again.” His
invasion of Lebanon was driven in part by his conviction that the Palestine
Liberation Organization was bent on exterminating the Jews, and the Christians
of Lebanon as well.
The mufti,
a Nazi collaborator, was mentioned in testimony at the Nuremberg trials as advocating
the extermination of the Jews over their expulsion to Palestine, although he
was never prosecuted. “He flew to Berlin,” Netanyahu told the 37th Zionist Congress on October 20. “Hitler didn’t want to exterminate the Jews at
the time, he wanted to expel the Jews. And Haj Amin al-Husseini went to Hitler
and said, ‘If you expel them, they'll all come here.’ ‘So what should I do with
them?’ he asked. He said, ‘Burn them.’”
No such quotes appear in the record
of the conversation, and historians immediately denounced Netanyahu for
distorting history and inflaming tensions. Two years earlier, Hitler had spoken
of annihilating the Jews, and one million had already been killed before the
visit. Decades later, the mufti’s cousin and highly regarded Palestinian leader, the late Faisal al-Husseini, gradually
became a moderate supporter of Israeli-Palestinian coexistence. Contrary to
Netanyahu’s assumption, the sins of the fathers are not always passed to the
sons.
If Israel’s prime minister blames
the Holocaust on the Palestinians, many Palestinians blame Israel on the
Holocaust, so to speak—that is, they wonder why they had to suffer the loss of their
lands because of the Germans, whose systematic genocide accelerated the flight
of Jews to Palestine.
Yet Palestinians are taught practically
nothing about the Holocaust. A professor at al-Quds University in Jerusalem—Muhammad
S. Dajani Daoudi, a former Fatah leader—used to include the Holocaust in a
course on genocide, and took some of his students to the Yad Vashem Holocaust memorial
in Jerusalem. He did so for years without major incident, but after he led a group
to Auschwitz in March 2014, he was excoriated by follow Palestinians,
sanctioned by the faculty, and felt compelled to resign from the university.
In Palestinian secondary schools, the
Holocaust is largely ignored. Textbooks don’t discuss it, and high-school
students I’ve interviewed seem to know little about it. So they grow up in an
historical vacuum, lacking any compassion or insight into the trauma that is
central to understanding their neighbors, their adversaries.
Yet some
Palestinians delight in expropriating the Holocaust as a propaganda weapon,
turning it around to describe their own suffering at Israeli hands. In 1982, as
a colleague and I visited Ansar, an Israeli prison camp built to house Palestinian
combatants during the Lebanon war, prisoners lined up inside the fence and
chanted in heavily accented English, “Ansar is Auschwitz! Ansar is Auschwitz!
You are Nazis!”
I looked at my colleague, Cordelia
Edvardson, a Swedish correspondent who had a tattoo on her arm, covered by her
sleeve. At age 15, she had been transferred to Auschwitz from Theresienstadt,
six months before the German retreat. Now she stared through the barbed wire,
into the mass of chanting men clothed in brown. She seemed in pain but said
nothing.
Later, sitting across a table with
the prisoners’ spokesman, Salah Tamari, she asked whether he agreed with the
chants. “I can’t agree and I can’t disagree,” he answered smoothly. Then he
polished the analogy. “To someone whose family got killed, the whole world is a
holocaust,” he said. “We have a headmaster of a school who lost 82 members of
his family in one air strike. For him, that was a holocaust. Should anything be
special because you are Jewish?”
I was bursting to tell him who was
sitting in front of him, but that was Cordelia’s prerogative, and she never
used it. She did say, “Auschwitz was an extermination camp. Children and
elderly people did not come out alive.” But she never said that she had been there
and never rolled up her sleeve to show him her tattoo. On the drive home I
asked her why. “It would have been unfair,” she said. “He was behind bars, and
I was free.”
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