Tikkun Magazine, January/February 2007 

Remembering Najib Mahfouz

By Ben Lynfield

When Nobel literature laureate Najib Mahfouz died on August 30, 2006 at age 94, among the tributes that flowed into Cairo from all over the world was one from the state of Israel.

"The people of Israel will remember him always as a man of peace who believed in friendship between the peoples and strove for understanding and dialogue between us." Israeli President Moshe Katsav wrote to Egyptian President Hosni Mubarak.

Israelis would be right to recall Mahfouz's early and vocal support for Egyptian peace with Israel, together with the remarkable literary achievements of a man whose career spanned seven decades. Mahfouz was a master of allegory, a keen observer of human nature and politics who wrote books that were both popular and profound, distinctly Egyptian and yet universal. But what Katsav did not mention was that over the years, Mahfouz became disappointed by Israeli behavior and the demise of his dream of Egyptian-Israeli cooperation.

When he was awarded the Nobel literature prize in 1988, the Swedish Academy cited his creation of an Arabian narrative art that applies to all of mankind.

But Mahfouz was not merely influential in the literary world. He was very much apolitical novelist. His indirect criticisms of the Nasser regime in his novels, which became more direct after Nasser's death, were significant in airing and driving home the conclusion that the Egyptian revolution had gone wrong.

Mahfouz steered away from collisions with the authorities and was even, in a sense, part of the system he criticized, serving as chief censor for the Culture Ministry during the 1960s. He never went to jail for his beliefs, and he made his toughest criticisms against Nasser's police state after Nasser died. Mahfouz knew how to survive and keep writing.

One issue about which he was quite direct was peace with Israel. Mahfouz and playwright Tawfiq al-Hakim's support for Sadat's peace policy—at a time when most Egyptian intellectuals opposed it—added to the legitimacy of the Camp David Accords in Egypt. Mahfouz had a hopeful vision for Egyptian-Israeli relations, and he had argued even before 1977 that Egypt required peace in order to concentrate on its own development. In 1978, Mahfouz wrote a letter to Tel Aviv University Arabic Literature specialist Sasson Somekh expressing the hope that through Arab-Jewish cooperation, the Middle East would become "a bright temple of science blessed by divine principles." It is worth adding that Mahfouz highly esteemed Israeli academic work about his writings.

At the close of my first interview with him at the Ali Baba cafe in Cairo in 1989, a few months after he won the Nobel Prize, Mahfouz surprised me by saying, "send my regards to Professor Milson." He was referring to Hebrew University Arabic Literature Specialist Menachem Milson, who was best known in left-wing Israeli circles for his hard-hitting bid to crush Palestinian nationalism during the early 1980s as Ariel Sharon's appointee to head the civil administration in the West Bank. His actions included dismissing elected pro-PLO mayors, closing newspapers, and shutting down Bir Zeit University.

To Mahfouz, Milson, who later published an excellent book on the Egyptian novelist, was one of several Israeli academics whose work impressed upon him that they truly understood his writing. Another was Somekh, the Tel Aviv University scholar. Speaking to October magazine in 1982, Mahfouz, describing his reaction upon reading a study by Somekh on his works, says, "I felt as though he had lived for many years at my side."

In that first meeting with him in Cairo, Mahfouz had received me at his table, which overlooked bustling Tahrir Square, after Philip Stewart, an Oxford academic who translated several of his books into English and was with the laureate, introduced me as a journalist for the Jerusalem Post. It was only due to Stewart that I met Mahfouz. I had to catch the bus from Cairo to Tel Aviv and did not have time to wait in the line of people anxious to see the laureate. But Stewart let me take away some of his own time with Mahfouz, apparently believing it important that contact should be made between the leading writer in the Arab world and the readers of the Jerusalem Post. Mahfouz had trouble with his hearing, something that would worsen over the years, and Stewart raised his voice and directed it toward the laureate's left ear as he repeated my questions to Mahfouz. Downstairs about ten people waited to see Mahfouz, some of them carrying books to be autographed. Even after winning the Nobel prize, the writer had remained unbelievably accessible, frequenting the cafe at the same time every morning and being open to people approaching him with questions or to ask for his autograph.

During our meeting, Mahfouz's openness toward Israel was coupled with his criticism of its policies. "After the peace agreement, our nation opened its heart to every Israeli, but the Israelis threw this away," he said. He added that he had been angered by Israeli actions after the peace treaty, including its refusal to withdraw from Taba, a strip of the Sinai Peninsula and the 1982 Lebanon invasion.

Still, he said, he did not repent his support for peace. "Even though there have been many deceptions, I am still hopeful that a complete peace will be achieved. I know that many Israelis want peace."

Despite having grown up at a time when there were many Jews in Egypt, including some in his neighborhood, Mahfouz hardly referred to Jews—or to Israel—at all in his more than thirty books and hundreds of short stories. Somekh, who became friendly with him after the 1979 peace treaty, recalls asking him about this but being unable to elicit an explanation.

Mahfouz's openness to Israel stemmed from a variety of factors. He believed Egypt needed peace in order to develop. Mahfouz was an Egyptian rather than an Arab nationalist, and he was disillusioned by the internal and external failures of Nasserism, including its disastrous leadership of Arab confrontation against Israel. In a book he published in 1983, In Front of the Throne, Mahfouz puts Jamal Abdul Nasser and Anwar Sadat on trial before a tribunal of judges presided over by Osiris, the judge of the dead in Egyptian mythology. Nasser is criticized for being a failure militarily and for foreign misadventures at the expense of development in Egypt. Sadat is taken to task for failing to establish real democracy, but his striving for peace is applauded and he earns a far more favorable judgment than Nasser.

In May 1990, I went to see Mahfouz a second time at the Ali Baba cafe. This time, I had come a few days after a chance encounter with the Egyptian playwright Lenin Ramli, who had explained to me his view that Israel's existence was illegitimate since it was the result of a foreign aggression against the Palestinians. He had added that Ashkenazi Jews who immigrated to Palestine and Israel have no place in the Middle East. "The Sephardi Jews belong here and are part of our region," Ramli said. "But the European Jews are from the countries of Europe. And it is not my problem if the Christian Germans and Poles did not see it that way."

Mahfouz listened patiently as I described to him how intellectuals I had met in Cairo remained shocked even by the word Israel. (Although Ramli, it should be added, said he was against war.)

I asked Mahfouz if Egyptians would ever make peace intellectually and not just politically with Israel.

"Yes," he replied, "If we solve our problems, I believe Israel may prove to be useful. This will make people forget [their animosity]."

Recalling the biblical days of King David and King Solomon, Mahfouz said, "Close relations between Egypt and Israel is not a strange idea," and that in ancient days there was friendship between them most of the time. I mean after the time of Musa," (Moses) he added with a laugh.

I asked Mahfouz what he meant by Israel being useful, but he declined to specify. "I think you know what I mean," he told me.

But in this interview as well, the peace vision was coupled with expectations of peaceful behavior by Israel.

At a time when the first intifada was raging, Mahfouz put the burden squarely on Israel to make peace with the Palestinians and he stressed that "unless Israeli-Palestinian peace is achieved, Israeli-Egyptian peace will be cold because we can't have good relations while Arabs are being killed every day."

When I met with Mahfouz on another occasion—after Iraq's invasion of Kuwait in 1990—he strongly condemned Saddam Hussein and predicted a tragic end for the Iraqi dictator. Although he did not say so, my guess is that for him Saddam was a latter-day Nasser.

The signing of the Oslo Agreement in 1993 fueled Mahfouz' expectations that his vision was on the way to realization. "Mutual recognition has arrived and step-by-step a genuine peace is being realized," he wrote in al-Ahram. Then he added, "We have to understand that real peace begins with face-to-face contacts, the meeting of two cultures and economic and scientific cooperation. All of these things will allow the region the development and progress it deserves."

But Oslo unraveled and eventually blew up. The last time I saw Mahfouz was in 1999, at one of the gatherings with friends and writers he attended almost every night after being stabbed by an Islamic fundamentalist five years earlier. He had always held weekly meetings with groups of writers and with his old high-school friends. But after Mahfouz lost the ability to put pen to paper due to his injuries, friends made sure he had meetings with a different circle every evening of the week to keep his spirits up and keep him in touch with the outside world. He still dictated a weekly column for al-Ahram.

I saw that Mahfouz was waging a battle to hold on to his intellect and sense of humor. "You should be drinking vodka," he quipped to a young writer about to sip tea, convulsing those around him. Mahfouz spoke little during the gathering, becoming animated only when someone he really liked or respected approached him. But as part of the price of his fame, politicians and obscure intellectuals came by, seeking to bask in his glory as the leading writer in the Arab world. The head of the Moroccan Writers Union arrived, seeking a photograph with Mahfouz to convey the impression the two were close. Friends, raising their voices so he could hear, read him the contents of newspaper and magazine articles.

Mahfouz listened as Egyptian playwright Ali Salem told about a lecture he had just given to Israeli students from Ben Gurion University at the Israeli Academic Center in Cairo. In retrospect, Mahfouz was probably the only intellectual in the Arab world who was close both to people who were staunch supporters of normalization with Israel like Salem, and intellectuals who rejected Israel, but still viewed him as a friend and profound literary influence.

In his last years, Mahfouz left behind several columns expressing fury over Israeli actions.

In April 2002, after Israel reoccupied West Bank cities after a string of suicide bombings, he wrote in his al-Ahram column, "I do not recall ever having been more infuriated than at the monstrous Israeli attacks on the Palestinian territories, the siege of Arafat and the demand that he renounce terrorism." He continued:

    "While Israel's actions are the most dangerous form of terrorism
  because they are perpetrated by a state rather than by individuals,
  the Palestinians attempt to defend themselves in the name of identity
  and freedom is their only means of expressing hope. Suffering the
  worst kind of occupation in an age that has long freed itself of the
  vestiges of colonialism, the Palestinians have no option but armed
  resistance to Israeli savagery. All attempts at peace have failed and
  Sharon has ignored the Arab proposal and violated international law
  with impunity. Their lives stripped of all meaning, who can blame the
  Palestinians for searching for some meaning in death?"

A month before his death, Mahfouz gave an interview about Israel's war with Hezbollah, which was published in al-Ahram weekly in July 2006:

    "What is this? What is this destruction and hatred unleashed against
  an Arab nation that still has part of its land occupied? What do they
  want exactly? The assault on Lebanon's infrastructure is not meant for
  Hizbullah but for the Lebanese people. The aim is to bring Lebanon
  back fifty years, to make it an example. Is this the same Israeli
  government that claims it wants peace? I don't get it anymore. We used
  to think that Israeli generals were the ones to want war, but the
  current prime minister and interior minister [sic] are civilians. Does
  everyone in Israel wish to bomb the Arabs?
    Olmert's government has proven that it is no different from earlier
  military governments. Had the Israeli government been serious about
  reaching an agreement, as it claimed in the platform that brought it
  to power, it would have dealt with this crisis in a different manner,
  not in the manner of previous governments that had no commitment to
  peace. Olmert's government came to power saying that it wants a peace
  settlement. Now, given the wars it started in Lebanon and Gaza, that
  government has weakened the genuine proponents of peace on both sides.
  Peace is now further away than ever."

The question of Mahfouz' legacy regarding Israel is not merely academic in Egypt, where a fresh effort to annul the Camp David Accords—this time mounted by the pro-democracy Kifaya movement—has recently been launched. An article written in Rosa al-Yossef magazine after Mahfouz' death in Egypt suggested that he may have gone to the grave regretting his support for the peace treaty. However, Somekh, the Israeli Mahfouz scholar, believes that Mahfouz' reference to proponents of peace on both the Arab and Israeli sides at the end of his al-Ahram interview indicates that despite his bitter criticism, he hadn't changed his point of departure at all.

Ben Lynfield is a Jerusalem-based journalist who writes on the Middle East for American and British publications.

Source Citation

Lynfield, Ben. 2007. Remembering Najib Mahfouz. Tikkun 22(1): 49.