Interview with Jacques Berle

I sometimes wander through my personal archives and find materials that I believe have not expired. Like the interview I conducted years ago with the famous singer Jacques Berl and published in “Maariv.” Below is the interview, verbatim, which I quote:

The interview with Jacques Berle

Jacques Berle came to Israel for his third concert tour. When we arranged to meet, he asked me to come and pick him up from his hotel in Herzliya. When he got into my little car, a “Beetle,” his long legs and tall stature made it difficult to find room. I remember my first impression when I saw him up close: prominent teeth, large stature, not trying to be likable – but full of grace and charm. He was dressed in tight white pants, an open gray shirt – the same outfit in which he appeared in front of a large audience that evening. A jacket hung carelessly over his shoulder, a tattered travel bag in his hand. A typical image of a wanderer, whose mobility had become a habit and a calling.

The secret of Jacques Brel's success

Indeed, he told me in his deep voice, “I like to wander, it’s hard for me to sit in one place. Before coming to Israel, I performed about a hundred shows in 125 places. At the beginning of my journey, I traveled about 100 kilometers, first in clubs or small cabarets. Unexpectedly, stars of the road thanks to illnesses that struck stars and I was asked at the last minute to perform in their place.”

“What is the secret of your success?” I asked.

“I believe that in my poems people find hopes that they often seek, and worries that they often experience. In their eyes, I represent everything that is opposed to the machine, to a defined regime of life, to an army unit.”

As it happened, when he mentioned “army,” we passed tanks and cannons that were positioned on our way to the planned Independence Day parade. To my surprise, he showed an understanding of the types of tanks and cannons, although he did not hide his reservations about military demonstrations. At the same time, he denied that he was a staunch anti-militarist and even told me with an amused smile that when he was 19 years old, he had fulfilled his national duty and served a year in the Belgian Air Force. Knowing that he had a private plane and a pilot’s license, I asked him if he had learned to fly during his military service. He burst out laughing.

"God forbid, I had a different role, very important, very responsible. I worked as a storekeeper and was responsible for all the underwear of the Royal Air Force."

He explained why war was hated by him. Not because he had personally experienced its horrors, nor because he had suffered from the German occupation during the World War, but because he had another explanation:

“My family was divided into two during the occupation – part of it maintained its honor and fought in the underground. It turned out that they were the stupid ones, at least compared to the treatment they received compared to the favorable treatment given to the other part of my family, which preferred to collaborate with the Germans, to make profits and get rich from it. I was a teenager at the time and that period left a deep impression on me.”

What did he think of the Belgians and the bourgeois?

His songs, for which he composed both the words and the melody, were full of power and humor, voice and heart, and therefore they used to call him “Berle the Whipper.” He expressed heretical opinions even on matters that are close to the hearts of most people. When I reminded him that he was Belgian, he reacted with disdain and skepticism, saying:

“Belgian, yes if you want. But what are Belgians? The Belgians do not exist, they are a people artificially created as a result of the many conquests over generations.”

If he did not particularly appreciate the Belgians, he hated the Flemish part of them even more. One of his cruelest and most satirical poems is dedicated to Flemish women, and he exposed their ugliness with cruelty mixed with pain.

"To this day, the Belgians do not forgive me for that, but my heart aches to see Flemish women as they are."

But this son of a typical bourgeois family, hated the bourgeoisie above all, and one of his most cruel poems is dedicated to them and he says: “The bourgeoisie are like pigs.”

It is clear, then, that bourgeois circles around the world did not forgive him, and for a long time – until he became a star that could not be ignored – his songs were banned from being played on state radio stations, especially in Belgium and France. “And I am proud of that,” he told me at the time.

What motivated Jacques Brel?

“What actually drives you, what and why are you lashing out,” I asked.

“Two opposing but complementary things guide me: I love people, and then I write songs full of tenderness. But sometimes people scare me, and then I sing songs full of satire. On the one hand, the song “Jeff” reflects my love for people, and on the other hand, the song “Next in Line” expresses my disgust with the course and rhythm of our lives. This song is about a military brothel, and the recurring refrain in it is the words of the corporal who maintains order and repeats: “Next in Line.”

He wanted to emphasize to me that the main motif in his poems is the idea dear to the typical wanderer's heart and soul: constant movement.
“For me, there is only one truth – it is the movement. The movement of views, ideas, feelings and truths. I am against defined ideas and views, which become distorted the moment they are sold. I believe that there should be no set rules about anything in life. For example, my first impression of Israel on my first visit is no longer valid today – Israel has changed and so have my impressions.”

Don't leave me.

On a completely different topic, he told me the background to perhaps his most famous and chilling song: “Don’t Leave Me”:

He had an affair with a married woman and they would meet in a dilapidated, collapsing house, on the edge of a cliff on a beach in northern Europe – an area he loved. At some point the affair ended and the house was also destroyed. The memory of this affair gave birth to the poem.

At the end of the interview, I understood why Jacques Berle was a poet who was painful and hurtful, cruel and compassionate, hateful and loving, and to defend himself – whipping.

Finally, a personal note: When you see the trend of increasing Islamism in Belgium, you can understand why Jacques Berl hated his own people.