Elie Wiesel’s Night, which first appeared in French as La nuit in 1958, may well loom as the archetypal Holocaust survivor narrative. But it was only in 1994, in his memoirs, that the author addressed the fact that Night is part adaptation, part translation, of a Yiddish work he originally published in Buenos Aires in 1956: …Un di velt hot geshvign (…And the World Was Silent). Critics have read discrepancies between the two versions in various ways: favorably, as resulting from appreciation for the distinct literary idiom of each language; provocatively, as the consequence of Wiesel’s desire to cast the Holocaust in Christian, rather than Jewish, terms; and disparagingly, as part of a strategy to hide ideologically unpalatable, ethnocentric attitudes from a wider audience.

This article reviews the merits and flaws of these interpretations of differences in versions of Night. Further, it offers a new approach that involves a re-examination of Wiesel’s relationship with François Mauriac, the towering writer who encouraged his entry into French letters.

Part of the project of reweaving the threads of the history of the Third Reich, the essay discusses the complex relation between the testimony of the victims and their body as an epistemic source of the witnessing. On a theoretical bases constructed with the help of Shoah memoirs – by Primo Levi, Jean Améry, Jorge Semprun, Robert Antelme, and others, the paper challenges the notion of the witness as a speaker, a narrator; instead, it treats the kind of victim that since Auschwitz has been known as “a Muselmann” as an integral witness. It is the body of the survivor that constitutes integral testimony; it fills a testimonial lacuna. The presence of the Muselmann is testifiable, and it can replace the memoir by the body as the repository of the event. When the body translates into the corpus of writing, survivor testimony is perceived as incomplete so long as the Muselmann is perceived as the other. The lacuna in survivor narratives is testimony from inside the experience of the Muselmann.

The article explores the complex relations between scholars and witnesses of war, taking as a test-case Erich Maria Remarque’s All Quiet on the Western Front. The article defines two types of witnesses, which lay claim to two distinct types of authority: eyewitnesses, who lay claim to the factual authority gained from the objective observation of events; and flesh-witnesses, who lay claim to the experiential authority gained from having personally undergone certain experiences.

Eyewitnesses are a valuable and relatively docile source of scholarly information, providing scholars with data about war without challenging the scholars’ ability to process this data. The authority of eyewitnesses thereby backs up the authority of scholars. In contrast, flesh-witnesses often challenge the ability of scholars to understand the experience of war. They thereby undermine the authority of scholars, and set themselves up as an alternative and superior authority on war.

Eyewitness narratives promise immediacy, the authority of you-are-there witness to the events of the past. Such narratives, however, whether those by comparatively removed witness-observers or those by more directly involved witness-participants, pose difficult problems of distance. How do the limits and possibilities of eyewitness experience contribute to working through the identity concerns that autobiographies typically engage? Revisiting history in their relational autobiographies, Passage to Ararat and Maus, Michael Arlen and Art Spiegelman look to eyewitness narrative to bridge the gap that separates them from their fathers. In her Holocaust memoir, Still Alive, by contrast, Ruth Kluger takes a darker view, exposing the manifold registers of distance -- linguistic, psychological, epistemological -- that complicate her own and any quest to stand at the eyewitness ground zero of biographical and historical knowledge.

The end of the Middle Ages is characterized by significant changes in Mediterranean geopolitics: in Eastern Mediterranean, the Christian powers were driven out by the progression of the Mameluks and the Ottoman Turks. In the Western Mediterranean, however, the Christian powers of the Iberian Peninsula completed the Reconquista. The fall of Acre in 1291, the conquest of Constantinople in 1453, and the capture of Granada in 1492 inspired a whole range of narratives from eyewitness reports to indirect and sometimes exagerated accounts. I would like to investigate the process of amplification that provoked the crystallization of some stereotypes related to the lost of the aforementioned cities: the massive massacre of the Christians in Acre reported in the anonymous Chronicle of the Templar of Tyre, the legend of the miraculous transformation of the last Byzantine emperor Constantine XI Paleologos into marble transmitted by Greek folklore, the story of Boabdil gazing for the last time at the Alhambra from a rocky eminence south of Granada. These stories show an interesting interplay between eyewitnesses, amplification nurtured by a high dose of nostalgia, and reminiscences of older narratives related to the topos of the capture of such antique cities as Troy or Carthago. My approach will analyze the process by virtue of which the intertextual processes obliterated the taste of authenticity contained in the genuine eyewitness report.

This paper discusses the aesthetic and social implications of enacted eyewitness accounts. For Brecht, the principles of eyewitness performance served as a “basic model” for contemporary epic theater as a performed critique of social life, with the “Street Scene” (1940) and a camp scene (1939/40) as the paradigmatic sites of eyewitness acts. With Brecht and Smith, who superimposes these sites in her multi-media work on the Brooklyn Crown Heights Race Riots in 1991 (1992-94), the theatricality of eyewitness accounts, their “uneasy” aesthetics and acting technique, becomes crucial to understanding the present moment in culture.  Concomitantly, enacted eyewitness accounts politicize and de-psychologize our understanding of their scenes. They are not about identity – what we are – but about personhood, about how we are as social creatures, in legal, aesthetic, and material terms.