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The Dark Side of Albert: Einstein and Mileva Marić, his First Wife
By DAVID TOPPER Albert Einstein was the most photographed scientist of the 20th century. The scope of emotions depicted range from the serious to the silly: from looking like a secular saint with hands folded and deep in contemplation of supposedly solemn thoughts, to the image hanging in front of me on the bulletin board over my computer table, showing him sticking out his tongue at the cameraman. Living during the heyday of the development of the film camera, he and the press surely took advantage of it. The positive persona of the genius was formed out of these visual images. This visual disposition was supplemented with endless quotations on not only science and the universe, but also with homilies on life and how to live it, with much of that which you will find quoted, being things he never said. Overall, the general image of him and his personality has him coming out seemingly squeaky-clean.
Nonetheless, those of us who have looked into the man in more detail are aware of episodes of less than saintly behavior by Albert – the famous scientific idol. If, for example, you read any of the half-dozen or so lengthy biographies about him, you will find scattered therein stories of him speaking inappropriately or behaving, one might say, as a jerk. Having read all those books, and others – and even written three books on him myself – I knew this. So when I started reading a recent long biography of his first wife, Mileva Marić, I had no reason to think I’d be shocked, since I had already read a lot about her, including a book of letters to and from her best friend, which also contained a brief biography. But to my surprise, I was staggered in reading over 400 pages of his nasty behavior concentrated around this one woman – a woman whom he fell in love with as a university student, and who was the only mother of his children.
Here is the sad – and probably surprising to most readers – story of Mileva and Albert.
Mileva Marić was born on December 19, 1875, into a Christian Orthodox Serbian family. With a dislocated left hip, she walked with a limp throughout her life. (Her sister, Zorka, had the same congenital condition.) Forced to wear an orthopedic shoe, she was teased and mocked in school. Nonetheless, this very bright girl filled her lonely childhood with her studies (she was especially good at math) and piano lessons. Encouraged by a very loving father, she excelled in school, and was the first girl to attend high school physics courses in the Austro-Hungarian Empire. After graduating in 1896, she applied to the prestigious Zurich Polytechnic, since in Switzerland women were admitted to all classes. She passed the entrance exam and majored in mathematics. It was a small freshman class of about two-dozen students, she being the only woman. That’s where she met, in the even smaller physics course, fellow student, Albert Einstein.
One of the earliest pictures we have of Mileva is dated 1897. In this portrait, I see a very serious, confident, determined woman with large penetrating eyes, a full crop of dark wavy hair and full lips. I would call her plain but attractive. I say this, because I was shocked at several instances when someone, upon first meeting Mileva, is quoted as describing her as “ugly.”
As a fellow student, Albert Einstein was attracted to her, and they quickly became a couple. He probably was the first male to take a romantic interest in her, overlooking her “handicap.” I suspect he was attracted to her gutsy attitude and her smartness. Plus, being Serbian, Mileva exuded an exotic “otherness” to the “German” in Albert. They spent most of their free time together, studying and falling in love. She did well in her courses, initially passing all of them, as Albert did too (of course). That is, until she was pregnant – a fact she tried to hide until she could not. And so she went home to her parents to inform them of this, and eventfully to have the baby.
Her parents were very supportive, which was unusual for the times. A girl was born early in 1902; they named her Lieserl (probably a Yiddish diminutive of Liese, a shortened Elizabeth). Albert stayed in Zurich and never saw his daughter; she was raised by Mileva’s parents, as Mileva returned to Zurich to continue her studies. No one knows what ultimately happened to Lieserl; she has seemingly vanished from all records. She may have died from Scarlet Fever as a child; or, she may have been adopted and grew up. One thing I do know: Mileva never forgot her. I believe that the loss of Lieserl is the major reason for Mileva’s depression and lingering melancholia throughout her life – as will be seen. As a result, she didn’t take care of her grooming and was a bit overweight – as seen in photos of her later in life. This, I suspect, may be a source of her “ugliness.”
Back to Zurich in the late 1890s and her studies: she passed all her courses over the first three years, and in her fourth year she started her thesis, hoping for a diploma and further work toward a PhD. But in 1900 she failed her final exams, while the other male students all passed. In July 1901 she repeated her final exams and flunked them again. I find it hard to believe that this sudden change in her performance was due to the tests being too tough for this woman, in light of all we know of her up to this time. Look at the last date above: she was pregnant with her child. I’m convinced that she just couldn’t concentrate on her studies. Albert passed, graduated, and started looking for a job – as well as working toward his PhD.
On January 6, 1903, they were married in a small civil ceremony. Mileva became a housewife; no more thinking of going any further in her studies. She then became the mother of two boys: Hans Albert (born in 1904) and Eduard (nicknamed Tete; in 1910).
All that promise came to nothing, not even a university degree. If she had not met Albert, who knows what she would have achieved? But that was not the path taken, and since she married what became the most famous scientist of the 20th century – if not the most famous person, as Time Magazine said at the end of the millennium – that’s why there is a plethora of documentation about her life, terribly sad as it was.
Now briefly fast forward a century or so, to around 1987, and the publication of the early love letters between Albert and Mileva, which had only been known by a few, and purposely suppressed. For example, Hans Albert, who had the letters much earlier, had wanted to publish them. But he was thwarted by Helen Dukas and Otto Nathan, who threatened litigation. Dukas was Albert’s lifelong secretary and Nathan was an economist and close friend, who eventually was the executor of Einstein’s will. And so, the letters never surfaced until Dukas and Nathan were both dead.
Even today, writing about these letters is an ideological minefield. Here’s why. The letters date from 1899 to 1903, when a new theory of physics was brewing in Albert’s mind. The result, in the so-called miracle year of 1905, was the publication of five papers that changed physics forever: two on what became his Theory of Relativity; one on a particle theory (much later called a photon) of light, as part of the emerging Quantum Theory; and two supporting the reality of atoms, which were still only hypothetical entities at this time. Knowing this, how much can we read into the love letters when Albert, in talking about his scientific ideas, uses “we” and “our work”? Well, it seems, a lot; for the initial response from primarily feminist quarters was that Mileva should at least be seen as a co-author of the famous papers, since it seemed that they conceived of the theory together. Given, as we will see, Albert’s shabby treatment of her later in life, then all the more sympathy was directed toward Mileva and her plight by history. Indeed, some went so far (you will still find websites saying this) that Albert stole the theory of relativity from Mileva. Nonetheless, after that initial flurry of debate, the consensus has moved away from this viewpoint, so that today the select scholars looking over the Einstein Papers Project in Pasadena, California assert unabashedly that Mileva made no input to Albert’s theory.
Nonetheless, I am one of the few “Einstein scholars” (if I may call myself such), who gives Mileva some credit in the 1905 marvel. She was good at mathematics, she had patience in her life and work, and she was a thorough researcher – all qualities severely lacking in Albert. Let me put it this way: over his life as a physicist, Einstein hired a series of companions (whom he called “calculators”) to do the tedious and complicated mathematics required for his theory, especially as it developed over the later years with the use of tensor calculus in his General Theory of Relativity. All were men; except, famously, his last calculator was the Israeli-American woman, Buria Kaufmann – about whom you will read in the literature as his “first female calculator.” (Incidentally, there is a website giving her credit for Einstein’s later theory, which is complete fiction.) I, however, would assert that Buria was the second woman; for Mileva was Albert’s first “calculator.” She was also his researcher and proofreader. Since she knew the physics, as we know from the letters, she also was his sounding-board – Albert bouncing ideas off of Mileva, as they say.
So, what about Albert speaking of “we” and “our work”? Let me put this into context by quoting from some of the letters in chronological order. In a letter Mileva wrote to Helene Savić (née Kaufler), her closest and longest friend throughout her life (they roomed together in a boarding house in Zurich when they were students), she speaks of a paper “written” by Albert that will be published soon that is “very significant.” She then says that “we” sent it to an important physicist – revealing how much she was involved with Albert’s work. Later in a letter from Albert to Mileva, let me quote from the opening lines to give you a trace of their intimacy: “Thank you very much for your little letter and all the true love that’s in it. I kiss and hug you for it from all my heart, exactly the way you would want it & are entitled to, love.” He then goes into a discussion of other people, followed by his going back to how much they love each other, and ending with this key sentence. “How happy and proud I will be when the two of us together will have brought our work on the relative motion to a victorious conclusion.” I put in italics the famous (or is it infamous?) phrase: our work. But there’s nothing more on this, although a bit later in the letter he goes on to talk about another physics problem he is working on: specific heats. He discusses the physics problem in detail, with equations and his proposed solution, and he ends the topic with this: “Don’t forget to look up to what extent glass obeys the law of Dulong and Petit.” My guess is that it was this sort of task that was part of their work together. The letter ends where it began. “Tender greetings and kisses, my dear little dumpling, from your … Albert.”
I’ll leave the topic there, nonetheless aware of the possibility that Mileva did help Albert in even more significant ways, and that hence she’s been slighted by history.
Back to Zurich in 1903. Initially, their life together was harmonious, a reflection of the camaraderie in the love letters, as she kept house and raised her boys. But by around 1909, when Albert was being seen as an important physicist, there clearly was a severe strain on the marriage. For example, in a letter that year to Helene, she says that Albert “lives only for his work” and the family is “unimportant to him.” By 1914, when they moved to Berlin for Albert’s prestigious position at the Kaiser Wilhelm Institute of Physics, their marriage entered a new phase. In fact, Albert had been having relations with a divorced cousin, Elsa Löwenthal, who lived in Berlin. Moreover, Albert made it clear to Mileva that their previous relationship was over. He went so far as to give her a list of demands: that she do the laundry, prepare him three meals a day, and keep his office clean – all without any personal relations. No intimacy in the house, and no being together in public. It was degradingly cruel: Mileva’s role was reduced to being a maid and cook. She tried to accept it, but quickly found that she couldn’t endure the humiliation; and so she took her two boys back to Zurich, where she remained for the rest of her life.
They officially divorced in 1919, and Albert immediately married Elsa – all in the same year that he became the world-famous scientist, because of the solar eclipse experiment that proved that light from a star is bent around the sun, as predicted by his theory. He got the Nobel Prize for Physics in 1921 and transferred the money to a bank in Zurich for the support of their boys, where Mileva had access to the interest in the account.
What happened after all that infatuation seen in the love letters and in their early life together? In retrospect, Mileva surely realized that she had ignored or overlooked what we might call the dark side of Albert. As a student he was overly sarcastic, often mocking and even degrading people whom he saw as inadequate or not too smart. He even teased her in ways that revealed an underlying hostility. When she pointed this out, he would laugh it off – and she’d forgive him. In a letter to Helena in 1900 she writes of Albert’s “wicked words with deeds! What an insolent boy he is, and yet I love him so much!” Telling words. Even after the acrimonious divorce, she still, as will be seen, was under Albert’s spell. I believe that she never got over that initial infatuation when they were students. It became a pattern: she was always trying to get on his good side.
Overall, Albert was very much a 19th century male chauvinist in his attitude and communications with women. Here are some of his words about women that reveal his overt misogyny: they are “passive, insecure, needy, and wanting to be dominated.” I knew that he liked to flirt with women throughout his life. But seeing him do so with other wives, with Mileva present, made it less frivolous and more malicious. In short, he was a cad and a rake, rolled into one.
The turnaround in their relationship seemed to bring out the worst in him. He was petty and vindictive, and especially very cruel towards her. There is no direct evidence of any real physical abuse. However, there was an incident in the spring of 1913 when a friend reported seeing Mileva with a badly swollen face, which was attributed to a “toothache” – and hence she and Albert missed some social events. Possibly the swollen face was a sign of something more malevolent, but we will never know the truth. Nonetheless, pondering this, I wish to quote something Albert wrote in a letter in 1925: “Not only children need a bit of thrashing, but also grownups and especially women.” And I’ll leave it there.
After the divorce, he accused her of poisoning his relationship with the boys – a common trope between divorcing couples. But it got more vicious as her financial situation became grave, and she asked for more money. She made some extra money tutoring students in math and giving piano lessons. But it wasn’t enough. Albert’s letters to her contain nasty personal attacks: saying she is “abnormal,” a “nonentity,” and that her pleading is “rubbish.” I can only imagine how Mileva felt being called this. At the time, she was in severe physical pain with chronic back problems, often forcing her into bed for long periods, even stays in hospital, when she was trying to raise two boys alone. Moreover, all this was exacerbated by problems in her Serbian family. Her sister Zorka was diagnosed as schizophrenic and was in and out of asylums; her only living brother disappeared into Russia after World War I; and her parents had serious financial problems.
Could it get any worse? It could. And it did. Tete became a handful. He was very bright and creative; he had musical talent on the piano, and he wrote promising poems and stories. But he was also prone to falling into depressive episodes, for apparently no reason – anger fits, throwing things, being out of control. I suppose Mileva saw this coming: Tete, like her sister, eventually was diagnosed as schizophrenic.
Albert, of course, knew all this, but being in Berlin, he didn’t have to deal with it. He did make occasional visits and took summer trips with the boys (giving Mileva short breaks), all while he was still living in Europe. But when he moved to Princeton, N.J., in 1933, with Hitler in power in Germany and Einstein’s name being high on a hit list, their meetings were over; until 1938, when Hans Albert (now with a wife and two children) moved to the USA. The last meeting between Albert and Tete is recorded in a 1933 photograph that bears a close look. Both are seated in a room, with Tete looking over a large, open portfolio – perhaps reading it. Albert is facing in a different direction (about 90-degrees away), holding a violin and bow, and staring off into space. It may be that Tete is reading to him, but more likely they are inhabiting two different worlds.
In the years during World War II, living in Zurich, Switzerland (a country surrounded by a Nazi-occupied Europe), Mileva was terrified that the Nazis would swoop up this last free space. Moreover, she knew that they were rounding up Jews by the trainloads and moving them to Concentration Camps. She was somewhat safe as an Orthodox Christian, but Tete was “Jewish,” being a child of Einstein. She wrote pleading letters to Albert, asking him to take Tete to the USA. She even contacted the Red Cross, and they agreed that the best bet was to get Albert to sponsor him. “Bring us to safety,” she wrote. But being Mileva – ever still the dutiful wife, even though they had been divorced for two decades – she added (and I assert that she was not being sarcastic in saying this), “[I am] not intending to disturb your peace and freedom.” Petrified that “Tete is in danger because he is your son,” she concluded: “you can’t just leave him in the lurch.”
In fact, Einstein, Dukas, and Nathan were diligently rescuing Jews from Europe by using Einstein’s name to get emigration papers and such. Albert once spoke of this, saying that they were running a little refugee office over his cluttered “lawyer’s desk.” And they did save lives. Relevant here is a 1939 letter from Albert to Helena on this very topic. Helena’s father was Jewish, and she had numerous relatives whose lives were in peril, and so apparently, she was asking Albert for help. He wrote in response. “How gladly would I help! But I am desperately trying to at least get younger people out. Relocation of old people must under present horrible conditions be set aside.” In the end, we know of two aunts of Helena who died in gas chambers. Interestingly, in this same letter, Albert mentions that Hans is now in America, but that Tete is with Mileva in Zurich, saying that Tete is “incurably mentally ill.”
So, what about Tete? And Mileva’s pleading letters? As far as we know, these pleading requests were never answered. Albert, it seems, did leave his son “in the lurch.” My guess is that he just couldn’t fathom the chaos in his life of dealing with someone with such a severe mental illness. Listen to what he later wrote to Hans about Tete after learning of Mileva’s death. “If I had been fully informed [apparently referring here to what he saw as a genetic mental illness in Mileva’s family], he [Tete] would never have come into the world.” I can only imagine how Hans must have felt after reading these appalling words from his father about his beloved brother. Sometimes Albert’s behavior is plainly pathetic. Fortunately, the Nazis never invaded Switzerland.
Much of Mileva’s adult life was centred on Tete, as she watched him descend into the depths of mental illness. Overweight and chain-smoking, he was in and out of mental institutions. For Mileva, he was a full-time job. She, being the caring mother, was obsessed with making sure he would be safe after she died. And she succeeded; for seven years after his mother died, he lived in the renowned Burghölzli psychiatric clinic in Zurich. He was 55 when he died.
I believe Mileva never got over two things: the loss of Lieserl and her infatuation with Albert. We don’t know what happened to Lieserl; but Mileva surely did, and it haunted her all of her life; as seen, she flunked her final chance for a university degree because of it. Lieserl was a source of her constant despondent behaviour and possibly her so-called “ugliness.” In a letter to Helena in 1925 she wrote of “my unfulfilled desire for a daughter”– another telling phrase, since she had a daughter, but was forced to abandon her.
Regarding Albert, no matter how abusive he was, Mileva still was open to forgiveness. She once asked herself this question: “When has a man ever listened to reason, when a woman is involved?” She should have listened to her own words.
Mileva Marić died on August 4, 1948, at the age of 72.
This story of Albert falling in and out of love with Mileva was not the first such episode in his life. It was previewed by and even overlapped with his first sweetheart: Marie Winteler.
In 1895 he spent a year enrolled in the cantonal school in the town of Aarau, near Zurich. He had taken the rigorous entrance exams for the Polytechnic (which Mileva later passed) and had flunked the non-science and non-math parts. But since he did so well on the science and math parts, it was recommended that he do a year of make-up in Aarau; plus, he was applying at age 16, a year early. He boarded with the family of Jost Winteler, a teacher at the school. Jost and Pauline had three daughters, the prettiest being Marie, two years older than Albert. Albert quickly fell for her, and she for him. She was an accomplished pianist, and so their love interests were supplemented with piano and violin duets. After that year, and after passing the entrance requirement at the Polytechnic, Albert moved to Zurich – where he met Mileva, and then broke off with Marie. In short, he jilted her, as he would later do with Mileva.
Marie, however, thought the relationship was to be forever, and wrote pleading letters when he stopped writing to her. After all, he was still mailing her his dirty laundry to wash and send back. (I am not making this up.) Being deeply hurt, she fell into a depression that (may have) plagued her throughout her life. She became a schoolteacher (whose records show that she missed a lot of classes due to sickness); in 1911 she married a man whose first name was Albert. They had two boys, but divorced in 1927. We also know that she tried to reach the first Albert in the 1940s about emigrating to the USA, but there is no record of his having received her letters. (Albert’s secretary was known to censor his mail.) She died in a mental institution in 1957, two years after Einstein died.
I mention this for two reasons. One, the obvious – this being a preview to the story of Albert’s shabby treatment of Mileva and the parallel terrible consequences. The other reason is the dirty laundry. This, also obviously, needs to be explained.
In 2019 I published an historical novel on Einstein’s life, called A Solitary Smile. In it, Marie is one of the characters, especially near the end and in a dream sequence that has Einstein recalling their time together, where he realizes how he hurt her. In recalling this part of my book, while writing this story of Mileva, and now Marie again – I suddenly realized that I didn’t include the dirty laundry bit. Why? I knew it then, as I do now. So why not mention it? Ruminating on this, I can only surmise that I was subconsciously protecting Albert from more scorn. Why dig up all the dirt (seemingly, literally in this case). How interesting this is. Me, being part of the problem. Protecting Albert’s image.
Well, I caught myself. And here I acknowledge my error – to supplement my saga on the dark side of Albert Einstein.
* * *
Readings: Mileva Marić Einstein: Life with Albert Einstein, by Radmila Milentijević (United World Press, 2010). In Albert’s Shadow: The Life and Letters of Mileva Marić: Einstein’s First Wife, edited by Milan Popović (The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2003). A Solitary Smile: A Novel on Einstein, by David R. Topper (Bee Line Press, 2019).
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How to read fixed, daily, and progressive jackpot labels at Betscore Casino
Modern casino lobbies feature distinctive jackpot tags designed for easy recognition across various game tiles. Browsing through Bet Score, you will see that the platform uses a consistent system to present fixed, daily, and progressive jackpot displays. This brief guide explains how these labels are typically formatted, offering visual cues so you can confidently interpret each jackpot category. Betscore Casino presents these markers in a clear and recognizable way.
Across the lobby, jackpot labels act as immediate visual indicators that separate one game’s prize structure from another. These tags use bold text, simple icons, and standard placements, which makes scanning for your preferred jackpot type quick and intuitive. While game tiles may share basic design language, the wording on a label—along with visual styling such as meters or timers—lets you know at a glance whether a jackpot is static, day-specific, or incrementally building. Familiarizing yourself with these UI elements helps you compare options in Betscore Casino without clicking through each game panel. Understanding the visual symbolism of these badges saves time and keeps your focus on how casino interfaces communicate essential details about their jackpot mechanics.
Decoding fixed and daily jackpot displays in casino lobbies
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How progressive jackpot meters stand apart and quick display checks
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When identifying jackpot types quickly, three main cues make reading the tags straightforward. Fixed jackpots always feature a stable, non-animated number next to their badge, keeping things simple and clear. Daily jackpots consistently add a day-based timeframe indicator, which could be text or a countdown, usually positioned close to the label for easy association. Progressive jackpots, by contrast, are marked by a running total or animated meter, making them stand out as prize amounts increase. Paying attention to these conventions, you’ll find it much easier to compare options and navigate the jackpot categories provided with confidence and efficiency.
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Some random thoughts on the AMIA bombing, Operation Solomon, Arab migration to Palestine, and Jeffrey Epstein
By BERNIE BELLAN When I received an email from an Ethiopian Jew who is now living in Winnipeg who reminded me of the incredible efforts made by so many different people to help rescue Ethiopia’s Jewish population and bring them to Israel during Operation Solomon in 1991 (Operation Solomon) I began to ask myself why that particular event doesn’t get paid more attention within our own Jewish community here?
Recently our community held another commemoration of the AMIA bombing in 1994 in Buenos Aires, which claimed the lives of 85 people (not all Jewish) and injured over 300. Each year B’nai Brith holds a solemn ceremony during which 85 candles are lit and the names of the deceased are read out.
Yes, that was a horrific tragedy, but I wonder how much it still resonates with people. There have been so many other horrible events since that AMIA bombing, including of course the massacre of October 7, but more recently there was also the Bondi Beach attack in Australia last December, during which 15 people were killed and 40 injured. Are we also going to have commemorative events held here in Winnipeg going forward to mark that particular event?
Compare the solemnity with which tragic events such as the AMIA bombing and the October 7 massacre are remembered with the total lack of celebration of something that should be as uplifting as was Operation Solomon. Could it be because Operation Solomon happened in far away Africa and the people who were rescued were black – and seemed so foreign to those of us who can even remember what happened in 1991? I don’t know whether there’s an element of racism involved in the lack of recognition anywhere of Operation Solomon, but I thought it most interesting when I was rereading articles in The Jewish Post & News written by the one individual in our Jewish community who did more to help in the rescue of Ethiopian Jews than anyone else – the late Elliot Levine, and Levine noted the total lack of support from the Winnipeg Jewish Community Council for what was known as “The Committee for Ethiopian Jews,” I couldn’t help but wonder how much race has played a part in sidelining Operation Solomon as a momentous event in the recent history of the Jewish people.
When one considers how much attention is paid to the AMIA bombing, which affected people who, simply put, look more like us, to the lack of attention paid to Operation Solomon – well, I think you get my point.
The Ethiopian Jewish community now living in Israel has had a difficult time being accepted by mainstream Israelis, but over the years many members of that community have made significant contributions to Israeli society and the more recent descendants of the original Jews who were brought to Israel are now proud Israelis. It would be nice for our own community to hold some sort of event to mark Operation Solomon, since it is now the 35th year since that momentous achievement occurred.
Speaking of past achievements, the furor over the Nakba exhibit at the Canadian Museum for Human Rights has continued to spark heated discussion. I’ve received a number of emails from various members of our community responding to articles I’ve written about the Nakba exhibit (and in some cases articles written by others that have appeared in the Jewish Post). I don’t mind admitting that I’m not at all sure where I stand on the whole issue of the Nakba exhibit. I can see the merits of arguments that have been made on both sides of the issue and I try to keep an open mind as I hear different perspectives. But, no matter what argument is being made, I encourage everyone to listen to what people have to say and think carefully about the pros and cons of the particular points being made.
As I noted in an earlier column, rather than descending into an argument over which group has a more valid reason to feel aggrieved – Palestinians who were forced to leave their homes in Palestine (and I’m not going to debate whether the majority left willingly or not; that’s an issue that will never be resolved to anyone’s satisfaction) or Jews who were forced to leave their homes in Arab lands, I’d rather concentrate on thinking about where can we go from here?
Unfortunately, the clear consensus in Israel now seems to be that there can never be a Palestinian state and even those politicians who might have been willing to enter into at least some sort of discussion about the possible creation of a Palestinian state have moved so far to the right – in response to the clear shift in public opinion in Israel that sees no room for even contemplating a Palestinian state, that the issue of a future Palestinian state has been completely taken off the table.
At the same time though, as much as I’m generally sympathetic to the Palestinian aspiration to have a state of their own, just as I prefer to refer to historical evidence when it comes to debating what actually happened during the “Nakba,” I also like to look at the evidence surrounding just how many true Palestinians there are.
By that, I mean how many people who call themselves Palestinians can trace their roots back to the actual land which can be referred to as “Palestine.” Remember that there was no such thing as “Palestine” per se until the British Mandate over Palestine began officially in 1923. Prior to that what we now regard as “Palestine” was simply part of the Ottoman Empire.
According to figures compiled by one of the pre-eminent experts on demographic in the Ottoman Empire, Professor Justin McCarthy, there were approximately 500,000 Arabs in what is referred to as Palestine at the turn of the 20th Century, while there were approximately 23,000 Jews.
By 1945 the Arab population of Palestine had grown by over 600,000 to approximately 1,100,000 while the Jewish population had grown to over 550,000. There is much debate over whether a good part of the increase in the Arab population was due to the surge in economic activity brought on by the influx of Jews, but let’s leave that argument aside for the moment. A point that I made in another column about the Arab population of Palestine at the time when Israel was declared a state is that approximately 750,000 Arabs left what had been Palestine – but whether they left voluntarily or not was irrelevant to me. What was relevant to me, I emphasized, was that there could not have been a “Jewish” state with a majority Arab population.
I have heard nothing from those who would criticize the Nakba exhibit at the CMHR about that point.
Again – as I noted previously, I’m not arguing the morality of what happened to the Palestinians; I’m simply making the observation that Israel could not have come about had those 750,000 Arabs who did leave had chosen to stay. I don’t suppose my making that point makes one whit of difference to anyone who is criticizing the CMHR exhibit. I just wanted to reiterate my support for looking at what happened in 1948 objectively. And I’m well aware that even suggesting that one can be “objective” about such a contentious issue is up for debate – but can’t we even try for a little objectivity?
Finally, what about Jeffrey Epstein – and what’s he got to do with everything I’ve just written?
Well, it was the persistently nagging questions surrounding Epstein’s relationship with Trump that led directly to Trump deciding to join in with Netanyahu and attack Iran. Trump was desperate to “change the channel,” especially when so many of his diehard MAGA supporters kept asking questions about why Trump was so keen to put the Epstein issue aside. So now Trump is caught up in a war that he thought would divert attention from Epstein, but the most likely scenario is that he’ll end up trying to bring the war to a conclusion by ceding control over the Hormuz Strait to Iran and abandoning the notion of forcing Iran to give up its quest for a nuclear weapon. And if the only way to reduce Trump’s march toward total authoritarianism is to elect enough Democrats to at least take over the House of Representatives then what we’re going to see is a bunch of “woke” Democrats in Congress who will be wanting to end American support for Israel – and, they’ll be pushing for a Palestinian state.
Thank you, Jeffrey Epstein, for being the cause of this whole mess.
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35 years ago 14,000 Ethiopian Jews were rescued and brought to Israel in a short, but brilliant 36-hour operation
By BERNIE BELLAN My memory of an event that took place 35 years ago was jogged recently when I received an email from someone who himself was one of 14,000 Ethiopian Jews who were brought to safety in Israel during what was known as “Operation Solomon.”
That individual wrote that he wanted to thank me for articles I had written over the years, including about the rescue of Ethiopian Jews.
Here is part of what he wrote: “I am an Ethiopian Jew who live in Winnipeg. I recently came across Bernie Bellan’s articles and i was very fascinated by the depth of them and the fact they are informative and educational. I am not sure if he wrote anything about the thousands old dream of Ethiopian Jews who at the end reached their destination Israel. Thanks to operations Solomon and Moses that airlifted the Ethiopian Jews to become Israel’s citizens. I personally am grateful for the support i got from a couple of Jewish individuals in Winnipeg….My ancestors were hiding who they were in Ethiopia and i will never stop from telling who i am and my support for Israel. Please tell Bernie i said hello and i pray for his health so that he will continue sharing his knowledge. Little did he know that one day an Ethiopian Jew will read one of his articles.”
Reading that email led me to look back at articles that appeared in The Jewish Post & News around the time of Operation Solomon, also a later article that I wrote in 2013 about Israeli Brigadier General Eden Attias, who was deeply involved in Operation Solomon and who appeared at an event in Winnipeg that year.
I would be remiss, however, to write anything about Operation Solomon without mentioning the absolutely pivotal role that the late Professor Elliot Levine played in orchestrating support among some Winnipeg Jews to help in the rescue of Ethiopian Jews. I found two articles Levine had written around the time of that incredible rescue effort in which he described the clandestine work in which he – and several other Winnipeggers were involved in reaching out to Ethiopian Jews at a time when anyone in Ethiopia who openly announced they were Jewish put their lives in peril.
To begin with, here’s some background about what led to Operation Solomon – taken from my 2013 article about Israeli Brigadier General Eden Attias. General Attias had played a key role in Operation Solomon, including having been on the ground in Ethiopia during the actual rescue operation. He was introduced at that 2013 event by the late Yude Heneleff.
“Henteleff gave a brief overview of Operation Solomon: ”In 1991 the Ethiopian government was threatened with being toppled,’ explained Henteleff.
“For several years previous Israeli operatives had been secretly working in Ethiopia to procure the escape of as many ‘Falasha’ Jews as possible (whom Henteleff noted should be rightfully referred to as ‘Beth Israel’.)
“Concerned that a new government would put a stop to this ongoing exodus of Ethiopian Jews, the Israeli government decided to implement a bold plan to ferry out as many Jews as possible in a condensed period before the window of opportunity was closed.
“Thus ‘Operation Solomon was born and carried out with precision. It involved the use of 34 aircraft, including several El Al passenger aircraft, as well as Israeli Air Force planes. In 36 hours the planes carried over 14,000 Ethiopian Jews to safety in Israel. In fact one Boeing 747 set the record for the most passengers ever transported on one aircraft when 1,122 passengers were crammed into the plane.
“During his talk Gen. Attias gave a detailed explanation of the events leading up to Operation Solomon, beginning as far back as 1862, when a group of Ethiopian Jews began the trek to Israel through the hostile territory of Sudan. Very few actually survived that journey, Attias noted.
“Through the years there had been various other attempts to bring Ethiopian Jews to Israel, with the most notable effort prior to Operation Solomon being ‘Operation Moses’, which was carried out in 1984. That operation was undertaken with the complicity of the Sudanese government and involved Mossad agents working to bring Ethiopian Jews to secret departure points in Sudan. Unfortunately members of the Israeli media learned of the operation and, even though they were asked to withhold revealing what they knew, went ahead and published details. That brought the operation to a sudden end, and with the rescue of only 7,000 Jews.”
Prior to Operation Solomon Ethiopia had been engulfed in a civil war that had contributed to mass starvation and brutal violence. In 1991 the Marxist regime that had been in power was threatened with being toppled and there was heightened concern within Israel – also in many communities in the diaspora, for the safety of Ethiopia’s Jewish population. As has already been noted, there had been other efforts to rescue Ethiopian Jews, but with mixed results. Thus, the bold plan to rescue as many Ethiopian Jews in one fell swoop was hatched. But in order to bring that rescue about contacts had to be made within the Ethiopian Jewish community.
How those many thousands of Ethiopian Jews were contacted is in itself a totally fascinating story. That’s where Elliot Levine’s description of the cloak and dagger nature of the work that was involved in making contact with those Jews was so vividly described in the two articles he wrote for us in 1991.
Levine noted that the vast majority of Ethiopian Jews – also known as “Falashas” (which is a derogatory term meaning stranger that was commonly applied to Ethiopian Jews by other Israelis) lived in Gondar province, which is in the north of Ethiopia.
As he wrote in the first of his articles describing the part that some Winnipeg Jews played in that rescue effort (published in the June 5, 1991 issue of The Jewish Post & News), “In April 1990 an agent if the American Association of Ethiopian Jews went into Ethiopia from North America….
“By May 1990 thousands of Ethiopian Jews had arrived in Addis Ababa with the help of a field worker placed by the American agent. A ‘truck stop’ outside of Gondar city was the rendezvous point. A few dollars a head paid for the road transport to the capital.
“By early June, however, an arrest had been made and a message had been sent out not to replace the field agent. Thereafter, those who made their way out of the hills had to make their own arrangements…
“With over 10,000 now in the capital (Addis Ababa), overburdened workers reported the weekly death tolls… By month’s end, emergency meetings and commitments had been made in Israel…
“In Winnipeg meanwhile, our Council of Rabbis was briefed on the situation and their response, among other things, funded an Ethiopian Jewish ‘agent’ we sent from Israel to assist families with particular problems.”
Levine went on to describe the invaluable assistance that agent played in helping Ethiopian Jews through “nighttime meetings, escorted tours that evaded security patrols and interviews with Ethiopian Jewish refugees.”
Levine noted, however, that the effort to help rescue Ethiopian Jews was organized entirely by a group of private individuals – with no assistance whatsoever from what was then the Winnipeg Jewish Community Council (later to become the Jewish Federation of Winnipeg). Further, the Committee for Ethiopian Jews – as the group was known, was an initiative led by members of Temple Shalom, Winnipeg’s Reform congregation.
At this point I want to return to that initial email I received from the Ethiopian Jewish individual who had reached out to me. In very dramatic fashion he described what happened when one father was approached by one of the agents who had been dispatched by the Israeli government to make contact with Ethiopian Jews and try to persuade them to flee their homes in Gondar:
“ ‘The silent call’ Operation Solomon
“ ‘good morning my name is …..i am here to tell you that we are on a mission to send a lot of people from Bet Israel( Ethiopian Jews) to Israel. And we know you are one of them. Are you interested’
“ ‘no I am not a Jew I went through horrible times I do not want to talk about myself and how would I know you are not a spy’
” ‘No I am not a spy please I know your family that is why I came to tell you about this mission’
“ ‘yes I am and please don’t tell anyone I am a Jew’
“This was a conversation that took place with the father of Anna and Jerusalem, 13 and 15 year olds who were sexually assaulted in front of their mother who took her own life the following day.
“That month in March 1991 preparation to evacuate 14000 Ethiopia Jews was planned secretly.
“In that same year 1991 bitter civil was raging in the Western part of Ethiopia, Just a month later the military junta was about to be overthrown.”
To return to Elliot Levine’s account of the role Winnipeg Jews played in the rescue of some Ethiopian Jews, in the follow-up article he wrote about that effort, he noted that Winnipeg Jews often responded quickly when told of specific urgent cases of individuals in need of direct help: “In the months preceding the airlift we had the luxury of responding to emergency appeals quickly….We in Winnipeg had arranged an especially prompt conduit – on most favourable terms. We also functioned as supporters of last resort for some of the inevitable cases that fell between the cracks. Recipients often confirmed receipt of our aid within a few days of our being notified of their plight.”
Ultimately, Operation Solomon helped rescue over 14,000 Ethiopian Jews in just 36 hours – from May 24-25, 1991. Non- stop flights of 35 Israeli aircraft were involved, including military and civilian planes. Almost all of Ethiopia’s Jewish population was rescued as a result.
