Reviewing a recently published collection of Primo Levi’s works translated into English, Ian Thomson examines the successes and failures of various attempts to render the writings of the Italian chemist and Holocaust survivor into other languages. Thomson also tells of Levi’s early postwar business trips to Germany:

Levi displayed no obvious rancor during his first trip to Germany in 1953. On the contrary, he was keen to practice the German he had learned so imperfectly at Auschwitz. . . . By the time of his second visit in July 1954, however, Levi was in an antagonistic mood. He . . . wanted to meet a former Nazi and went out of his way to ruffle sensibilities by introducing himself: “Levi, how do you do,” carefully articulating the Jewish surname first.

Levi had already glimpsed an unpleasant instinct lurking beneath the polite surface of the Bayer headquarters outside Cologne, when an employee observed that it was “most unusual” for an Italian to speak German. Levi countered: “My name is Levi. I am a Jew, and I learned your language at Auschwitz.” A stuttering apology was followed by silence. Levi could hardly pretend that he was in a normal business relationship with post-Hitler Germany.

Levi’s most dramatic encounter—what he later called “the hour of colloquy”—took place one lunchtime at Bayer’s guesthouse on Kaiser-Wilhelm-Allee. He was seated at the dining table in shirtsleeves and making small talk when a director asked him about the 174517 tattoo exposed on his forearm. Levi instantly replied: “It’s a memento of Auschwitz.” [The daughter of Levi’s boss, who had accompanied them on the trip], recalled the scene: “All one could hear was a polite clatter of forks on plates as ten Germans—all men—shifted awkwardly in their seats.”

Early Friday morning, Israel attacked military installations near the Iranian cities of Isfahan and nearby Natanz, the latter being one of the hubs of the country’s nuclear program. Jerusalem is not taking credit for the attack, and none of the details are too certain, but it seems that the attack involved multiple drones, likely launched from within Iran, as well as one or more missiles fired from Syrian or Iraqi airspace. Strikes on Syrian radar systems shortly beforehand probably helped make the attack possible, and there were reportedly strikes on Iraq as well.

Iran itself is downplaying the attack, but the S-300 air-defense batteries in Isfahan appear to have been destroyed or damaged. This is a sophisticated Russian-made system positioned to protect the Natanz nuclear installation. In other words, Israel has demonstrated that Iran’s best technology can’t protect the country’s skies from the IDF. As Yossi Kuperwasser puts it, the attack, combined with the response to the assault on April 13,

clarified to the Iranians that whereas we [Israelis] are not as vulnerable as they thought, they are more vulnerable than they thought. They have difficulty hitting us, but we have no difficulty hitting them.

Nobody knows exactly how the operation was carried out. . . . It is good that a question mark hovers over . . . what exactly Israel did. Let’s keep them wondering. It is good for deniability and good for keeping the enemy uncertain.

The fact that we chose targets that were in the vicinity of a major nuclear facility but were linked to the Iranian missile and air forces was a good message. It communicated that we can reach other targets as well but, as we don’t want escalation, we chose targets nearby that were involved in the attack against Israel. I think it sends the message that if we want to, we can send a stronger message. Israel is not seeking escalation at the moment.