Albert Cohen wants, very early on, to grasp the mainsprings of History, to situate himself in relation to it, to become one of its actors. An attentive reading will quickly reveal to us a Cohen who is at once an impeccable decipherer and a skillful manipulator of the present, which he will intend to steer so as to bring it into line with his vision of the destinies of the world, and more particularly of the Jewish people. His essential qualities will serve him: an almost infallible judgment, an astonishing tactician’s skill, a relentlessness in pursuing his aims, and finally, a total faith in the victory that will come to crown his efforts.

His relation to History, he is bound to apprehend at once on the basis of his personal history, that of his family, of his ancestors, and of the peoples he learns to know. We shall attempt here to retrace Albert Cohen’s steps while remaining attentive to the adequacy of his discourse to his analyses, to his projects, as well as to the implementation of his strategies, actions, and judgments.

Origins

Born in Corfu, Cohen celebrates the earthly paradise with its miraculous scents and colors, and at its heart the ghetto teeming with chattering, muddled, and warm-hearted life. Heir to his grandfather, the imposing patriarch of the community, Cohen will always speak the language of the ghetto, “Judeo-Venetian,” with his mother. At five years old the child is brutally thrust into Marseille with his parents. Then begins the double life: that of the Mediterranean ghetto, perpetuated intact in the Marseille apartment through the care of his mother, who watches jealously over her little prince, and the life outside, where the child, avid for beauty, will quickly be able to make the French homeland his own—its history and, more than anything, its language and its literature.

The apprenticeship is intoxicating, as is the cult that the child Cohen has devoted to his adoptive homeland. A secret cult, for Marseille, in the midst of the Dreyfus Affair, is certainly no land of welcome for Jews and, still less, for immigrants, as the schoolboy, so avid “to be part of it,” is going to discover. This painful experience will condemn him to live and relive a nightmare never wholly overcome.

At seventeen, the young man leaves for Geneva, where he becomes a student of law, while developing a passion for letters and taking an interest in their Jewish resonances. It is in Geneva, in 1921, that the two decisive encounters took place which were going to make of him a Zionist and, accordingly, to give him the taste and soon the imperious desire to launch himself, pen in hand, into an authentic political activism. His weapon will always remain writing, even when, as a skillful diplomat, he prepares the situations propitious to political activity properly so called.

In 1918, he meets the poet André Spire, and in 1921, Haïm Weizmann, president of the World Zionist Organization, and future president of the State of Israel. André Spire, born in 1868, comes from an old Lorraine Jewish family, at once traditionalist and liberal. Having entered the Conseil d’État at twenty-five, a born poet, he will always remain very independent of mind. A profound shock occurs in 1903–1904. Spire discovers in London, during an inquiry into the “sweat-shops” of the East End, poor, simple Jews, immigrants from Eastern Europe: “true Jews,” possessors of a language and a culture of their own, dignified, “without resignation or brutality.” More than that, Spire recognizes in them his people, his nation. This is a first shock. Shortly afterward, the reading of Israel Zangwill’s Had Gadya provokes in him a “revolution.” Had Gadya is the poignant tale of a young Venetian Jew, torn between his attachment to his people and his love of European culture, who ends by drowning himself in the canal while reciting the Chema Israël (Shema Yisrael, the central Jewish prayer affirming God’s oneness). Spire sees in him a brother, an alter ego. “The Athens-Jerusalem problem dominated me,” he will write later. “I had become a Jew with a capital J.” In 1905 he begins to write “Jewish poems,” “Jewish in feeling,” he specifies, which often express the aspirations of his unsatisfied heart toward an “elsewhere” where the justice of Israel restored to its land will reign.

In 1911, he takes part enthusiastically in the Zionist Congress of Basel. In 1918, he founds the League of the Friends of Zionism. It is at this moment that he meets Cohen, a young student at Geneva. He is nearly thirty years his senior. He received his Frenchness as a birthright, but he conquered his Jewishness already an adult. His younger brother, who knows from childhood the condition of the Jewish exile, struggled to conquer an adored France that was nonetheless foreign and distant. His attachment to Israel is, so to speak, organic. He follows this elder brother, already a committed Zionist, with enthusiasm. They will henceforth be brothers in poetry and brothers in Zionism, if one may say so. Each is going to publish in Geneva, with the same publisher, a collection of verse: Cohen, Paroles juives (Jewish Words), 1920; Spire, Poèmes juifs (Jewish Poems), 1921.

From writing to action

In a letter to Weizmann of 26 October 1921, Cohen announces that he wants to be active within the Zionist movement. He declares himself certain that “the creation of a national home will be able to resolve the Jewish problem in the entire world.” Cohen, from the outset, sees big and far. All his views will be of this order. Weizmann entrusts him with a few modest missions, and there is Cohen confirmed and encouraged in his projects.

On 30 October 1923, he thanks Weizmann for having allowed him “to see, at the beginning of his career, Jewish acts succeed Jewish words.” He offers to contribute, with the help of the I.L.O. (International Labour Office), where he has obtained a post, to solutions for the problems of Jewish emigration. In 1924, he proposes “to create or gather a Jewish aristocracy.” These ideas call for a place that would make it possible to give body to a vast program, that of working for the cause of the whole Jewish people. It would be a matter at once of illustrating the spiritual and intellectual renaissance of the Jewish people and of working toward the creation of a Jewish national home in Zionist Palestine. “There is a ready-made program to feed a Jewish review,” Weizmann replies.

Cohen at once forms a committee that includes S. Freud, A. Einstein, H. Weizmann, G. Brandès (the well-known Danish critic), Charles Gide, Dr. Zadoc-Kahn and his wife (both convinced Zionists). The committee will have the task of gathering the Jewish and non-Jewish intellectual elite, and of launching the review. By 1924 everything is ready. The project is delayed by the illness and death of Cohen’s young wife (letter to Weizmann of 29 April 1924). The first issue nonetheless comes out in January 1925. La Revue juive (The Jewish Review) (such is its name) will be not only a literary publication, but a great social and political review.

In an admirable eight-page Opening Declaration, Cohen defines the principal task of the review: “To have respected by the Jews…, to have loved by men of good faith, a people long misjudged.” These objectives cover several dimensions: intellectual, literary, socio-political, humanist. Our destiny, writes Cohen, is to be “travelers in Humanity,” creating bonds among men of all races and all religions:

“Feeling ourselves decidedly incapable of separating thought from action, of even comprehending this separation, do we need to say that we shall take care not to ignore the daily and eternal aspects of the Jewish event […], and likewise of the human event? […] An organ of Jewish activity, this review will not cease to look upon Europe and the Orient in their mighty labor of gestation […]”

Critics and essayists have their place, such as E. Berl, A. Crémieux, J. Benda, D. Halévy, and many others. Novelists and poets are present: H. Franck, H. Hertz, J.-R. Bloch, and many others. Among them, one must note Jean de Menasce, descended from an old aristocratic Jewish family of Egyptian origin, who takes up various aspects of Judaism and is interested in Hasidism, in literature, and in philosophy, even though he has become a Jesuit… Hans Kohn, historian and political scientist, is the author of several articles on Judaism, in particular La Réforme (The Reform). Léon Blum takes part as a literary critic and as a politician, finding Zionism compatible with French patriotism: a land is needed for the unfortunate stateless. For M. Buber, the Austrian storyteller and philosopher settled in Jerusalem, Zionism will be able to restore the unity of the Jewish people. He actively supports the creation of the Hebrew University, inaugurated in 1925, the perfect place where free expression will be able to flourish for every Jew and every man. Einstein’s engagement is above all pacifist and humanist. Peace between Jews and Arabs is a primordial requirement. V. Jacobson takes part in the same spirit. The engagement of G. Scholem, scholar of Jewish studies, is of the same type. The Hebrew University must become the center of radiance of the Jewish forces in the service of the Jewish people and of humanity as a whole.

La Revue juive also contains regular columns concerning Jewish life throughout the world, whether agriculture, technology, medicine, education, etc. But the burden of the direction, the editing, the writing rests entirely on Cohen’s shoulders. Besides the texts signed by his hand, all the anonymous texts and reports are his. He is the architect, the animator, the artisan of the six volumes that appear during the year 1925. The worries of financing being added to it, an exhausted Cohen gives up continuing. La Revue juive nonetheless marks a decisive moment in Cohen’s intellectual, literary, philosophical, and political trajectory.

1926–1938—Cohen, diplomat and writer

During this period Cohen alternates between his diplomatic responsibilities at the I.L.O. (International Labour Office) and an abundant literary creation (Solal, Ézéchiel (Ezekiel), Mangeclous (Nailbiter)). The interaction is constant, even when Cohen seems to abandon the one in favor of the other. His post at the I.L.O. places him in a privileged position for the observation of political and legal circles and of international organizations. Cohen will draw on this for his political activities in France from 1938 to 1940, then in England during the war years. He forges lasting relationships with various prominent figures, among them P. H. Spaak, L. Blum, E. Herriot, G. Mandel, P. Mendès France. As need requires, he resides now in Paris, now in Geneva.

1939–1940 — Political and Zionist activity in France

At the beginning of 1939, Cohen becomes Weizmann’s personal representative in Paris. He is appointed adviser to the political department of the Jewish Agency for Palestine, whose seat is in London. In this capacity, Cohen is seconded to Paris and charged with a mission to the French government. Armed with this title, he acts on three fronts:

1. The creation of a Jewish legion

When, in August 1939, it becomes clear that war with Germany is inevitable and imminent, Cohen acts with a stubborn persistence, a perspicacity, and a diplomatic tact that are remarkable in order to succeed in the creation of such a legion, demanded by many foreign Jews, as is attested by Robert Gamzon, head of the Éclaireurs Israélites (Jewish Scouts) movement, who would a little later become one of the great figures of the Jewish Resistance. Cohen acts with speed and efficiency, prepares detailed projects to submit to the Ministry of War, establishes contacts with senior French military personnel, and even drafts the letter that would have to be addressed to the President of the Council.

L. Blum and G. Mandel bring him precious help in reaching those in charge. The commentary of the historian Catherine Nicault is most illuminating.1 She notes first of all that Cohen “sees big and far.” He is dreaming, she says, of the postwar period (!) when a Jewish Legion of two to three hundred thousand men—four divisions—made up of stateless Jews exiled in France and the United States, bearing “a flag of their own,” might tip the scales and help secure the independence of Jewish Palestine. Another element already noted and confirmed by the historian: even taking into account the assured support of socialist circles (L. Blum, G. Mandel), it took a “power of persuasion, charm, savoir-faire, and tenacity” on Cohen’s part that were altogether remarkable to have obtained the agreement of every minister, up to the key figure of Daladier (who held the combined offices of President of the Council and Minister of National Defense). What is more, his request is favorably received by the military authorities: the Chief of the General Staff of the Armies and his two immediate deputies, specially charged with foreign volunteers.

According to C. Nicault, the blockage came from the Quai d’Orsay, known for its anti-Zionist and (we add) antisemitic positions at that period. In any case, one must indeed salute here Cohen’s remarkable “negotiating capacity.”

2. Helping refugees reach Palestine

During the winter of 1939–1940 Cohen deploys an intense activity to channel through France emigrants holding immigration certificates for Palestine, blocked in various countries: Belgium, Luxembourg, the Netherlands, England, Denmark, Sweden, Lithuania. His efforts succeed on the whole despite enormous obstacles, on the part both of the Central Military Bureau of Movement and of the consular authorities in those various countries with which Cohen, through sheer obstinacy, manages to make contact. The success is, it seems, total.

3. The creation of a committee of intellectuals in favor of the Zionist cause

What is remarkable is that Cohen undertakes this project in May 1940. It is a movement entitled “Pro causa Judaica,” in which F. Joliot-Curie, G. Duhamel, P. Claudel, F. Mauriac, and J. Romains take part, and which was to have the task of acting on French opinion in favor of the Jewish National Home and of its political future.2 The project was, of course, stillborn, but Cohen would take up this idea again in a purely political form, very elaborate and far vaster, within the framework of his London activities.

Cohen’s choice is significant of his broad and profound vision of the humanity of tomorrow, in which all will have their share. Jerusalem, nourished by the light that the Hebrew University represents, made fruitful by a people restored to its universal role, will be ready to enrich a reconciled world.

On 20 June 1940, on the advice of G. Mandel’s chief of staff, Cohen flees to England, where he will pursue his efforts, this time of a truly political nature, for the future State of Israel and for his people as a whole.

1940–1944 — Cohen, politician and diplomat in the service of the Zionist cause

While still in Paris, Cohen had been appointed “adviser to the political department of the Jewish Agency.” After a period of uncertainty as to the status of Free France, he is officially “charged with a liaison mission to Free France,” on 18 September 1940. But the slowness in confirming his functions had in no way slowed his political activity. As soon as he arrived in London, he had not lost a minute in examining the situation and putting a strategy in place.

While no one knows exactly what the fate of this embryo of Free France will be (officially it is still only the “de Gaulle Committee” when Cohen lands on 20 June in England), he made his first contacts, as early as 16 July, with the headquarters of the Free French Forces. The task is arduous, for one must at once convince the Gaullists that they have an advantage in working with the Zionists and convince the Zionists that the support of the Gaullists could be beneficial for the Jews. On both sides hesitation, not to say mistrust, reigns in their hearts. Cohen is going to apply himself to arousing, in the one camp as in the other, a desire, an interest, and finally the awareness of a need that had until then been absent. It is to a rhetoric of persuasion that Cohen will have recourse, as emerges clearly from an attentive reading of his “confidential reports” to the executive of the Jewish Agency.

This rhetoric is at once that of the visionary vibrant with faith—capable of growing impassioned over the problematic and distant future of Zionism, even as, literally, the house is burning—and that of a believer sustained by a stupefying political lucidity that allows him to see with clarity the future of the free world and of its most prominent figures. These gifts are manifest in the confidential reports addressed to the Jewish Agency.

The centerpiece is indisputably the report of 11 August 1940, an account of the Cohen–de Gaulle meeting that took place on 9 August 1940.

Cohen had skillfully prepared the ground so that this meeting could take place. He had had, on 16 and 18 July, long conversations with the three men who made up the modest “de Gaulle committee.” In his reports to the Jewish Agency of 18 and 19 July, he gives an account of these contacts, with repeated formulas of prudence, addressed both to the Gaullists and to the Zionists. By the modesty of his words, he puts his interlocutors at ease. Cohen’s suggestions are quickly accepted by the Gaullists, who entrust to him without reticence important information of a political and military order—immediately transmitted to the Zionists. Cohen is thus informed of the very modest dimensions of the Gaullist movement and of its military strength. The estimate Cohen quickly makes of the importance of the political future promised to de Gaulle is all the more remarkable—and this on the strength of the single conversation he would have with the general three weeks later.

Cohen suggests an action of propaganda in Vichy-controlled Syria: Syria might be encouraged to resist an eventual attack by the Axis forces. The proposal is transmitted to de Gaulle by the French interlocutors. It is Pleven who conveys de Gaulle’s agreement (Cohen had seen from the outset that Pleven was one of the general’s most valuable collaborators. He is, moreover, the only one of the three who would later have a genuine political career). The Gaullist side then officially requests the help of the Zionists to carry out the propaganda action among the Army of the Levant stationed in Syria.

Cohen then sketches the project he judges likely to please de Gaulle (whom he has still not met): to make known the “true face of de Gaulle.” He takes the opportunity to draw in his report a political portrait of de Gaulle apt to dispel the Zionists’ mistrust: “a moderate republican, a military man who concerns himself, it is said, very little with politics.” He adds at once that he is relying on facts and on “wholly personal” impressions. Then he applies himself to demonstrating that the Gaullists “strengthen the spirit of resistance in Syria.” Modestly he asks for an “attitude of favorable principle” on the part of the Zionists. Effacing himself further, he suggests a Weizmann–de Gaulle meeting. Result: the Zionists suggest a Cohen–de Gaulle meeting. Cohen has attained his ends by a skillful tactic blending modesty and audacity, insinuations and affirmations.

Cohen is to meet de Gaulle on 9 August. The report differs from the previous ones. The techniques are the same, but the stakes are of a wholly different importance. Cohen now invokes the agreement in principle of the Jewish Agency for a genuine collaboration with the Gaullists. Cohen’s tone, while remaining “diplomatic,” becomes assertive and clear. Cohen opens the report proper with a rapid portrait of de Gaulle—a “subjective impression,” of course. The adjectives parade past: likable, young, loyal, energetic. Then comes the political orientation of Free France. According to de Gaulle’s own wish, it will have a “national character.” One situates oneself above the parties. This is fundamental and will be taken up again at regular intervals. The report is cleverly constructed, skillfully blending personal impressions and observations with the general’s quotations, given as objective points of support to buttress judgments that then appear well-founded and beyond appeal.

By way of summary, Cohen gives the floor to de Gaulle who, having visited Palestine in 1931, delivers a most favorable judgment on Zionism, which he deems capable of building a “complete” society, for it is “fundamentally creative”—remarks that Cohen judges “unconventional” (read “sincere”). And de Gaulle concludes with a solemn declaration recognizing the legitimacy of future reparations owed to the Jews for the wrongs they suffer. These reparations will be, according to de Gaulle, an integral part of the renewed mission of a France freed from the Nazi yoke.

Cohen is reserved in his analysis, at once prudent and audacious. The audacity rests above all on the personal impression that de Gaulle makes on him: “a serious man who weighs his words and knows their value.” It is evident that de Gaulle is seeking allies. There is nothing left but to obtain the agreement of the parties and to forge ahead.

One must underscore the finesse of judgment, the political lucidity of Cohen, the skill of his discourse, the clarity with which he accounts both for the great role promised to de Gaulle and for the uncertain but promising situation of Gaullism. Cohen is indeed at once the lucid witness of a very dark reality and the prophet of a distant but luminous future. It is in the duality of his vision that one must doubtless find the source of his astonishing prescience.

The solemn but oral commitment made by de Gaulle concerning the reparations owed to the Jews once victory and liberation were assured is confirmed in a letter from the general to Cohen, addressed to the “political adviser of the World Jewish Congress,” dated 22 August 1940 (even before the publication of the statute on the Jews by Vichy in October 1940). This letter to Cohen is the first official version of the numerous, nearly identical declarations addressed to the highest Jewish and international authorities.

The seriousness of the intentions declared on this point is attested by the establishment, on 30 September 1941, of a genuine network of organizations, entrusted to Jewish and non-Jewish officials, charged with preparing a complete documentation on the situation of the Jews in France under Vichy and with gathering “all the antisemitic legislative texts of Vichy.” Cohen’s help is solicited as early as August 1941 (as the report of 13 October 1941 attests). A tangible proof of the importance de Gaulle attaches to this question is the official information, transmitted to Cohen, of the abolition of the antisemitic measures in force in Syria, recently passed under the control of Free France. If Cohen displays a rightness of judgment that is almost prophetic, de Gaulle is its splendid counterpart through the vision he has from the outset of a France restored to its truth.

From the autumn of 1940, Cohen had, so to speak, kept a watchful eye on the spirit that reigned within Free France since the arrival of new adherents around de Gaulle. After the summer of 1940, the ranks of Free France swell. And rumors circulate about the presence of antisemites in the Gaullist ranks. Once again, Cohen’s flair will serve him. Besides two journalists, Comert and Labarthe, who are very sure friends, Cohen turns to the jurist René Cassin, recently arrived in London, having understood that the latter would be called upon to play a considerable role alongside de Gaulle. Cohen turns to him to shed light on the painful question: are there antisemites in de Gaulle’s entourage? On 4 November, Cohen questions him and receives a frank and measured reply:

“There are at headquarters a certain number of young officers more or less fascist. The influence of these ‘Pétainists without Pétain’ is, however, negligible, owing to the fact that they are few in number and that they are not liable to influence the general’s liberalism.”

Three days later, a spontaneous declaration is made to Cohen (see the report of 9 November 1940) by Lieutenant Manuel, deputy to Passy, chief of staff of the F.F.L. (Free French Forces). This declaration is sufficiently insistent to attest to the reality of the problem. Cohen’s report of 14 November 1940 reports the concern of the F.F.L. to “follow a line of conduct that is non-political and without racial or religious prejudice.” Manuel’s declarations are transmitted to Cohen as emanating directly from the general staff.

Cohen, already convinced of the goodwill of the Gaullist leadership toward the Jews, will nonetheless continue to “keep a watchful eye” on the reliability of the officials recently arrived in London. A good example is Commander Hackin, whom he meets on 9 November 1940. The latter, a renowned orientalist, former curator of the Guimet Museum, specialist of the Near East at the headquarters of the F.F.L., presents to Cohen a series of requests concerning precise intelligence on all sorts of figures operating in Syria—all these requests manifestly pertaining to the secret services—attesting to a total confidence in the means at the Jews’ disposal. For his part, Commander Hackin furnishes Cohen with precious political intelligence on his relations with the F.F.L. and the British authorities.

In the end, he confides to Cohen that the F.F.L. consider it an urgent necessity to mount a military intervention in Syria, and that he would be glad if Dr. Weizmann deemed it opportune, from the standpoint of the security of Palestine, to support, with those who had the say, the idea of a military action in Syria.

On 6 November 1940 Cohen had had a conversation with M. Massip, director of Information, to the same effect. Having become the confidant of the F.F.L. increased the confidence Cohen could place in men such as Commander Hackin. He nonetheless continued to remain on his guard with regard to the “new Gaullists.” He fairly quickly built up a genuine private intelligence network.

To complete this summary of Cohen’s political action in London, one should mention the creation of the Inter-Allied Committee of the Friends of Zionism, set out in a text addressed to Weizmann on 20 January 1941. This committee recalls the Pro causa Judaica of May 1940. But it is distinguished from it by its markedly political and international character. Cohen thinks that this committee may prove useful, when the day of victory and peace comes, in supporting the Zionist cause. Let us recall, once again, that peace seems quite distant on this 20 January 1941. England is still alone in holding out against the Nazi armies.

Writing of combat — 1941–1942

If Cohen’s weapon at this period is contained essentially in the reports sent to the executive of the Jewish Agency on the diplomatic action conducted with the representatives of Free France, one cannot ignore what may be called the literature of combat that appears in London in the French or Belgian newspapers, born in the wake of the political events and the fortunes of the war. Cohen publishes in the monthly La France libre, directed by André Labarthe and of which Raymond Aron is the editor-in-chief, and in Message: Belgian Review.

On 20 June 1941 there appears in La France libre, Vol. II, no. 8, a text entitled “Angleterre” (“England”).

On 15 June 1942 there appears in La France libre, Vol. IV, no. 20, “Salut à la Russie (I)” (“Hail to Russia”), signed with the pseudonym Jean Mahan (a pseudonym intended to protect Cohen’s relatives who had remained in Marseille).

On 15 July 1942 there appears in La France libre, “Salut à la Russie II.”

On 15 September 1942 there appears in La France libre, Vol. IV, no. 23, “Combat de l’homme” (“Man’s Combat”).

In February 1943 there appears in Message: Belgian Review, pages 2 to 11, “Churchill d’Angleterre” (“Churchill of England”), still under the pseudonym of Jean Mahan.

We set aside works such as “Chant de mort” (“Song of Death”) in four parts: a first version of Le Livre de ma mère (Book of My Mother) (1943–1944).

We shall retain here only “Salut à la Russie” and “Churchill d’Angleterre.” The reader will doubtless be surprised and shocked by this juxtaposition. For if the ode to Churchill seems legitimate, great, and noble, one is today scandalized by “Salut à la Russie,” which is also a hymn to Stalin.

What can one say of the ode to Churchill, except that it is one of the writer’s finest texts—not only moving by its simplicity, its wholly human emotion, its total absence of grandiloquence. It makes us experience that simple and grandiose symbiosis which exists between the English people and, one might say, their creator and nurturer, who knows how at once to tell them the hard truth and to speak to them like a mother who reassures and protects and, ultimately, shares with them that absurd faith in victory. It is the very soul of England that Churchill unveils to the English in order to “raise them to what they are.” In reading “Churchill d’Angleterre,” one cannot but think of another French voice: that of Victor Hugo.

The reader has, moreover, the good fortune of being able to read “Churchill d’Angleterre” marvelously edited and annotated in “the Pléiade” at the end of the volume entitled: A. Cohen, Œuvres (Works), pp. 1203–1219, notes: pp. 1410–1423.

And what, then, shall we say of “Salut à la Russie”? How do we dare to associate it with “Churchill d’Angleterre”? One must, in the very first place, underscore the historical parallel. If England is spiritually and morally nourished and sustained by Churchill in the ordeal, so it is for the Russian people during the siege of Leningrad, which begins in June 1941. It will live nine hundred days under the bombs. It will cost six hundred thousand dead and a million missing. It was an absolute distress, physical and moral. But one knew oneself sustained by the entire nation and the constant presence of the “father of the people” who was always at their side. Even when the German troops—an immense army, supported by four thousand tanks and three thousand aircraft—after having encircled Leningrad and brought down Kiev, arrived at the gates of the capital, Stalin remained at his post and did not leave Moscow. The Russian people never felt itself orphaned. At the price of enormous losses (eighteen million dead, of whom seven million were civilians), they got the better of the Nazi troops.

America knew what it owed to the Russians, who gave it the time to equip itself and to prepare to enter the war. One saw in New York in 1941 spontaneous campaigns to organize spectacles of Russian folk dances, to sell tens of thousands of albums of songs of the Red Army, and other gestures of aid and friendship toward those who, with their leader (just as the English sustained by Churchill), had allowed them to wait and to prepare.

All this explains what, in those ardently lived moments, even if they were brief in the regard of History, legitimized a double celebration of the great and noble Churchill and of the one who was going to be one of the bloodiest tyrants that ever were and the mortal enemy of the West.

Why did Cohen decide to cease his political activities within the framework of the Jewish Agency? To answer this question, we must go quite far back. As Catherine Nicault has clearly shown,3 the great era of collaboration between Zionists and Gaullists lies in 1940–1941 on the plane of the policy to be conducted in the Levant, in particular concerning Syria—that is to say, up to the Anglo-Gaullist intervention in Syria (July 1941). Cohen had hoped to create a lasting complicity with the French that might lead to a generally favorable attitude toward Zionism in the postwar period. But this was not the business of the Zionist executive. What is more, one witnesses a rebalancing of Gaullist policy in the Near East. The French, hoping to win for themselves the preponderant place in Syria, are led to adopt a pro-Arab policy. The Zionists, in this context, become an encumbrance.

Cohen sees his hopes disappointed on all sides. What is more, he is haunted by the nightmare that the catastrophe which has fallen upon European Jewry represents. The “final solution” has become a terrible reality.

All this explains his resignation from the staff of the Jewish Agency and his entry, in September 1944, into the Intergovernmental Committee for Refugees as Legal Adviser. There, at least, he will be able to act so as to bring concrete aid to the persecuted wanderers, the weakest among the weak, who are counted by the hundreds of thousands of stateless Jews surviving the Shoah.

On 15 October 1946, in the framework of a conference bringing together the members of the Intergovernmental Committee for Refugees, an agreement is concluded relating to the issuance of a travel document to refugees. It is a genuine “international passport” assuring the stateless an official status, recognized as is any legally issued passport. This thirty-two-page passport—Cohen is its author. “My finest book,” he would often say, “more luxurious than the Swiss passport.” Sometimes too: “I am prouder of it than of Belle du Seigneur (Her Lover).” One still encounters today a few holders of this passport who readily proclaim that the “Cohen passport,” as they call it, allowed them to rebuild a new life. The finest tribute that could be paid to the wholly human work of the writer.

In July 1947, Cohen leaves England and settles in Geneva, where he takes up the functions of director of the protection division at the International Refugee Organization. The provisions of the agreement of 15 October 1946 will be taken up in the Convention relating to the Status of Refugees of 28 July 1951.

That said, Cohen remained faithful to the Zionist ideal and was a fervent admirer of Israel and of its creations in many domains. But as for himself, a task awaited him: the continuation of his great Jewish saga. And the time of solitary reflection had also to be respected and preserved.

Notes

  1. See the Nouveaux Cahiers, no. 123, 1995–1996, p. 32.↩︎

  2. In a letter to Weizmann of 20 January 1941, he says he had deliberately restricted the committee to five persons “of the very first rank.”↩︎

  3. See her article “Albert Cohen diplomate et politique” in “L’Hommage à Cohen,” published in the Nouveaux Cahiers, no. 123. See also “de Gaulle et l’Agence juive pour la Palestine, 1940-1944” in L’Espoir, March 1991, pp. 25–44.↩︎

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