A conversation with Elie Wiesel

How could it have been prevented?

By intervening immediately. It's the same in Sarajevo. Bosnia we could have prevented. Kosovo we could have prevented. I believe that preventing intervention of massive violations of human rights is a humiliation completely. It is a very small world today. We know what is happening in other places. It's no more an excuse to say we don't know.

Why is there so little intervention?

Usually it's for political reasons, not for moral reasons. Morally the reasons are to intervene. Politically, there are other considerations -- polls, votes.

In 1969, after 20 years of news reporting, you started moving away from journalism. What made you leave?

The language did not encourage me. I realized that I spent my entire life using maybe 400 or 500 words. All I had to do was change the names. Sometimes this person said, sometimes another person said. But the word "said" remained. And I said I don't want to live like that. I worked then for such a small paper, Yedioth Ahronoth, then a poor paper and my highest salary was $400, including all the expenses. The good thing about it? The New York Times. We always used to go to the New York Times, pick up the paper in the evening and then steal a few stories.

You would report some of those stories, ones that would be appearing in the Times the next day?

Yes. [Laughs.]

Tell me a little bit about the role of the Talmud in memory -- and what it gives you.

Talmud I study every day. It gives me, first, my childhood. I go back to the lessons in childhood. And also it gives me the possibility of entering the different geography and different history of 2,000 years ago, which is marvelous. You cannot study a page on Talmud and not feel the impact of all those who have studied during 2,000 years. The teachers and the disciples become your friends. You are surrounded by friends. It helps you overcome solitude.

Are the passages about your father in "And the Sea is Never Full" about dreams that you've had?

They are all dreams. I have dreamt a lot about my father. In the last 10 years more than before. Much more. They change, but that's why I always take notes.

So much of your life's work revolves around him. How do you feel about that relationship being so public?

I'm 71. It's the end of the century. We're coming to the end of something. Who knows if this is the last opportunity I have to say publicly how I feel about him? I was there when he died and the conversation has been interrupted and I try to continue it. I have to release things which I usually kept secret, but it's only the tip of the iceberg. I want to continue. I want to share these experiences as much as possible with those who want to know.

You were close with Primo Levi?

Pretty close. I wrote about him. We were together on the same block in the same barracks in Auschwitz. I miss him. We had a common language. I spoke with him a few days before he died. I didn't share his guilt. I don't think survivors should feel guilty. Some do. Some don't. Even those who do shouldn't, in my opinion. The guilty should feel guilty. Not the victims. The irony is that the guilty don't feel guilty and the survivors do.

There's still so much hatred, even on the Web. We've got white supremacists, anti-Semites, Farrakhan ...

Hatred is always dangerous. It's contagious. It's out of control, but there's nothing you can do about this Web. I don't know how to use the computer, but I hear. Those who deny the Holocaust [took place], they're always there. Nobody can stop them. In some places, you know, in France, if they say so publicly, it's a felony and one goes to jail. But not here -- First Amendment. And I am for the First Amendment.

Are people more humane now?

This century, which has seen so much evil, has not changed human nature. I describe it to one person and hope they will do the same to another person. You cannot save the whole world at one time.

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