The Ambassador

by Yehuda Avner

  Draxler’s face was marked with hatred so intense Dan thought it could leave a bruise.

  At the end of the performance stewards moved among the terraces, inviting guests to the marquee for refreshments. Once inside, Ben-Gurion scooped up a fistful of almonds and joined in an argumentative discussion with his Jewish Agency associates. The High Commissioner dispensed “How do you dos” to acknowledge church leaders and university professors and white-tied orchestra members who chatted with him in atrocious English.

  Dan found Gottfried in a corner of the marquee. He seemed spent, soaked in sweat. His thick hair was wild and his eyes were distant. Dan shook his hand. He felt a vibration in his palm as though the music still played there, and realized it was the musician’s elevated pulse.

  “Who was that German?” Gottfried murmured. “The one who wore the British police uniform. Sitting near the High Commissioner.”

  Dan was impressed to find Gottfried so attuned to his surroundings. Draxler did look entirely German, even in a British police uniform, but still, the conductor had noticed it all the way from his podium. Perhaps he had heard him demand entry to the VIP section. “Draxler’s from the German community. He reports on their activities to Boustead, the High Commissioner’s political chief. He’s also a member of our local Nazi Party.”

  Gottfried flinched. “A Nazi Party? Even here?”

  “Even here. Visit the German Colony in the south of the city and you will see the swastika flags flying brightly.”

  “It can’t be.”

  “Don’t worry, Herr Gottfried. They have no real power.”

  “That’s what we said in Germany six years ago.”

  “Draxler is soon leaving us, in any case. He’s immigrating to Germany to be part of the Führer’s great new Reich.” Dan put a reassuring hand on Gottfried’s trembling shoulder. “But tell me, why did you have to smuggle your violin out of Germany?”

  “It’s a Stradivarius.” Gottfried lowered his hand to the violin case leaning against his leg. “Not just any Stradivarius either. It’s from the great master’s golden period.”

  “It must be worth a great deal.”

  “It was a gift. I could never have afforded it.”

  “From a lover of music?”

  Gottfried lifted the violin case and clutched it to his chest, a small, private smile on his face. “Yes, that’s right. A lover of music.”

  “Did you arrive in Palestine recently?”

  “I’ve been working on a kibbutz in the Galilee for some years. When I heard about this new orchestra, I decided I’d had enough of goats and chickens.”

  “You took the baton tonight, but you were not a conductor at the Berlin Philharmonic. Am I correct?”

  Dan’s musical ignorance drew Gottfried out of his creative exhaustion. “Of course not. That is the domain of Maestro Furtwängler. He is the Berlin Philharmonic.”

  “And he continues to conduct for the Nazis.”

  Gottfried sighed. “You’re German, aren’t you?”

  Dan inclined his head to one side. “I was born in Berlin. My family came here when I was only seven years old. I don’t know that I could still be considered German, given what’s happening there.”

  “Perhaps you’re not German, after all. If you were, you’d understand that the real Germany is a culture before it is a country. The culture of Goethe and Beethoven. Of Schiller and Bach. I will return there. I will play this very violin there once again. It is a promise I made before I left.”

  “You won’t deny us the continued pleasure of your music here, I hope. My wife would love to hear you play. She’s quite an aficionado.”

  Gottfried sneered and threw out a dismissive hand at the crowd of professors and functionaries gathered around the tall figure of the High Commissioner. “Look at these provincials. In Berlin I knew everyone. Counts and countesses. The great musicians and writers. The leaders of industry. I knew all the best people.”

  The man’s snobbishness repelled Dan. “But not all the right people.”

  Gottfried deflated. His mockery and vanity left him. He rubbed his hand on the violin case. “I think I’d very much like to meet your wife.”

  Chapter 4

  As the months passed, Dan Lavi could barely believe that the dream of statehood that had entered his head during the late-night session at Ben-Gurion’s home didn’t die. The Old Man took it up and defended partition at the World Zionist Congress in Zürich, despite severe criticism from American Jewish leaders who believed he should hold out for the whole Land of Israel. Then, in March 1938, Neville Chamberlain convened his cabinet for a meeting that lasted well into the night. The British prime minister was tired of the terrorism and murder being perpetrated across Palestine against British troops and civilians. He was occupied, too, by the mass unemployment and extreme poverty in the northeast of England. He saw the drawn faces of protesting hunger marchers every day on his way to Parliament, and considered their plight a more pressing concern than the resolution of the dispute over the Holy Land. The final report of the Peel Commission recommended partition, as Shmulik had foreseen. Accordingly, Chamberlain set out to persuade his cabinet colleagues to dump the problem of Palestine.

  “Most of us concur that our Mandate in Palestine has become untenable,” he told his ministers. “There is a simultaneous Arab and Jewish assault on British forces. Both communities have resolved to rid themselves of our presence and then settle accounts between themselves. There is no British military solution to the turmoil, and with each passing month, our capacity to contain the violence deteriorates. The course we are on means constant strife. It means loss of British lives. It surely means war between Arab and Jew. It must not mean war for Britain.”

  “Am I to understand that you’re inclined to accept the partition of Palestine, Prime Minister?” the foreign secretary, Lord Halifax, broke in. “Need I remind you that British interests are overwhelmingly shaped by developments in Europe, and everything must necessarily be measured by that yardstick? There are clear signs that the Arabs are turning to our rivals in Europe—not least to Germany— for support against us. Partition will not only earn us the hostility of all the Arabs, both inside and outside Palestine, but it will lead to an increasingly close association between the Arabs and our European rivals. The consequences may be far-reaching, and extremely perilous to ourselves, in terms of our oil supplies, our lines of communication, and, above all, the protection of the Suez Canal.”

  Foreign affairs were not Chamberlain’s preferred topic. He had been a successful mayor of Birmingham and he ran Britain as though it were a grand municipality. He had no stomach for a foreign war. But war, if it could not be successfully avoided, would be what he was remembered for—not the Factories Act or the Housing Act, or anything else he had done to improve the conditions of the underprivileged. He cleared his throat and resumed. “I thank His Lordship the Foreign Secretary for articulating his misgivings. I must clarify that His Majesty’s Government has no power under the terms of the Mandate to award the country to the Arabs or to the Jews, or even to partition it between them. We must, therefore, take such steps as are necessary and appropriate, having regard to our existing treaty obligations under the Covenant of the League and other international instruments, to submit the Palestine question to the judgment of the League of Nations. We do so in the earnest hope that the League will recommend an appropriate solution which will secure an effective measure of consent on the part of all the communities in Palestine.”

  The cabinet ministers avoided the prime minister’s nervous glance. They were drawn from all three major political parties, the economic emergencies of the Thirties having forced politicians to put aside their differences. Each of them thought now of how a coalition designed to fight against the Depression might easily be converted to face the even more dire situation of war, should it occur. Hitler’s troops had moved into Austria only a few days earlier, annexing the country to the great acclaim of its masses. The Anschluss made
Chamberlain very uneasy. He knew Hitler wasn’t finished with his expansions. If Palestine was a foreign policy problem of which he could wash his hands, then now was the time to do so.

  “We shall inform the League of our intention to terminate our responsibility as the Mandatory Power for Palestine as soon as is feasibly possible,” he said. “All British personnel, civilian and military, will withdraw.”

  Malcolm McDonald, the secretary of state for the colonies, spoke up in his precise Highlands accent. “We shall be squandering a British asset, Prime Minister. When war comes—” He raised his hand to silence the protests around the table, then adjusted his round glasses and continued. “When war comes, we shall have given the Jews an important card to play against us. They shall sit close to the Suez Canal, more or less right on our most vital access route to India.”

  Chamberlain twitched the smallest of smiles under his graying mustache. “If the League decides in favor of partition, in all probability there will be a war between the Jews and the Arabs. There is every likelihood the Arabs will win, in which case, with our influence in Transjordan, we shall have a friendly state in Palestine. And if the Jews are able to hold their own, the policies of Herr Hitler will inevitably push a Jewish state into our arms and thus, again, we shall be the beneficiaries.”

  He looked about the table with satisfaction. Perhaps Birmingham hadn’t been such a bad training ground for international affairs. “I think that has settled the matter. Now, let’s turn to these hunger marchers.”

  Chapter 5

  In Geneva, the League of Nations debated the partition of Palestine for three days. While the world deliberated on whether there would be a Jewish state, the Jewish leaders engaged in a battle over whether to accept one, should it be offered. Dan, who had accompanied Ben-Gurion to Geneva, found it unconscionable that some of his people’s leaders could be against partition when the Jews in Germany were suffering such persecution. The Old Man faced constant anger from those who believed the Zionist Movement should refuse any deal that gave the Jews less than the entirety of the Land of Israel. These were the same people who had opposed Ben-Gurion’s transfer agreement with the Nazis in 1933, even though it had allowed Dan to bring new emigrants to Palestine.

  Rabbi Stephen Wise, a leader of the American Reform Movement, had been pushing for a boycott of Nazi Germany for years, and continued to decry the ongoing dealings with Berlin. He buttonholed Ben-Gurion in the lobby of their hotel as Dan accompanied his boss to the Palais des Nations for the final vote on statehood.

  “I can only express revulsion at your attitude,” the rabbi said. “Fifty thousand people—fifty thousand—packed Madison Square Garden at a rally in support of a total boycott of German goods not long ago. Macy’s, Gimbal’s, Sears & Roebuck, Woolworths, and a good many other major American stores have removed German goods from their shelves and ended all commercial transactions with Germany. How can our people in Palestine, to whom we all turn for moral leadership, do anything less? Dealings with the Nazis of any sort are abhorrent, but your signed agreement is despicable. Now you would do a similar deal with the entire world, in which you will agree to sign away our Jewish birthright in favor of a mini-state just so you can have control over it.”

  Ben-Gurion rubbed his belly as though Wise’s attack disturbed his digestion. “The calamity that has befallen the Jews of Germany casts a shadow over all else. Trading with Hitler is acutely distasteful, but if that’s what is necessary to save Jews and bring them to Palestine, I will deal with the Nazis—even if it brings benefit to them. It is a true Zionist answer to Nazism.”

  To Dan’s eye, Wise looked remarkably like the White Anglo-Saxon Protestants who ran Harvard. The rabbi was tall, with a thin mustache and a long, aristocratic face set in a combative frown even when he wasn’t angry. But now he was angry. “You’re dealing with the devil.”

  “How else are we going to save Jews? How do you get an agreement unless the other side—in this case, the Nazis—sees something to its advantage in it?”

  “It pains me to say this, but your whole attitude is dishonorable. You are behaving like a Levantine merchant at the expense of the honor of the Jewish people.”

  Dan caught his breath. “Levantine” was, after all, a euphemism for the grasping, untrustworthy Jew of anti-Semitic prejudice. But the Old Man was a master of the unfair rhetorical advantage, easily able to shame a critic for his anger and shut him down.

  “Rabbi Wise, we are old colleagues, so I shall ignore your impetuous comments. Just let me say that the difference between us is that I have to deal with harsh Jewish realities, not virtuous American liberalities. While you American Zionists are mounting your boycott campaigns, we Jews in Palestine are struggling to provide a safe haven for German Jewish refugees—refugees to whom your president is denying entry to the United States. We have to find a practical Zionist response. Speeches in Madison Square Garden do nothing.”

  The rabbi took a step back, as though Ben-Gurion had jabbed his chin. He turned and went quickly from the hotel.

  Ben-Gurion twitched his head to the side. “You think I made a mistake, Dan?”

  “He’s quite an influential man.”

  “American Jews will support us once we have a state. So will Rabbi Wise.”

  “If we lose the vote today, there’ll be nothing for them to support.”

  “If we lose today, there’ll be nowhere for Germany’s Jews to go. That’s what I care about. Come on.” They walked to the Palais, where Ben-Gurion tapped every last influential contact he could find outside the hall.

  At the end of another day of arduous debate, amid a hush blotted by nervous coughs, the representative of each state responded to the question of partition in Palestine with “Yes,” “No,” or “ Abstention.” When the last country’s vote was heard, the Assembly Hall erupted. The Resolution was accepted. Palestine was divided. The Jews had a state.

  Ben-Gurion fought his way out of the chamber through a scrum of exhilarated well-wishers, shepherded by Dan Lavi. Neither spoke as they crossed the Avenue de la Paix to their hotel. Ben-Gurion stomped along with his eyes to the ground, as though he were making his way through a repulsive slum in the dead of night, but Dan took in everything around him with the kind of joy that comes to a man who has just seen the luminous face of his child for the first time. The Alps shone in the spring sunshine and the breeze off Lake Geneva seemed to carry him with it like a dancing partner.

  The phone rang as they entered their suite. Dan ran to pick it up. Through earsplitting static as raucous as the atmosphere in the Assembly Hall had been, the international exchange connected him to Jerusalem.

  “Can you hear me?” Shmulik shouted. “Is the Old Man with you?”

  “Yes. I’ll give you to him now. Isn’t it a miracle, Shmulik? A state for us. For the Jews.”

  “We’ll need another miracle to keep it. Give me the Old Man now.”

  Ben-Gurion grabbed the phone, growling impatiently. He listened as his intelligence adviser spoke. Finally he demanded to know, “What’s that din I hear in the background? Celebrations? Are they meshuga?”

  He hammered the phone down.

  Dan caught the heaviness in his boss’s demeanor. The struggle wasn’t finished. It was barely beginning.

  “Shmulik reports that the Arab armies are already on the move.” Ben-Gurion slumped into a wing chair, but was uncomfortable in its stiff leather and upright back. He stood and punched a hand down on the side of the chair. “We have the independence we wanted. Now we are to have our war to keep it.”

  Chapter 6

  Dan drafted the Jewish state’s Declaration of Independence on the plane back to Tel Aviv. He gave it to a committee of union leaders and politicians to haggle over the final text, and went to Jerusalem. He didn’t have much time to celebrate with Anna. Ben-Gurion was to read the Declaration in public the next day. After that, Dan expected to join the new Israel Defense Forces, fighting the Arab armies to secure the Jewish state’s borde
rs.

  The disputes over the wording of the Declaration went on until the last minute, but at 4 p.m. the following day, Dan entered the Tel Aviv Museum with Ben-Gurion for the ceremony. Anna and Wilhelm Gottfried were with them. In the hall, the man who would soon be prime minister of the Jewish state stood beneath a portrait of Theodor Herzl, the journalist who had been an early proponent of Zionism. Voice of Israel broadcast the event over the radio.

  The first thing listeners heard was the impatient banging of a gavel. The Old Man called the hall to order. “I shall now read the scroll of the Establishment of the State,” Ben-Gurion declared.

  It took sixteen minutes to read the Declaration, and every moment was a transport of joy for Dan. From amid the bureaucratese and clumsy ideological phrases inserted by the committee, he recognized his words. When Ben-Gurion laid down the scroll, he called upon Rabbi Yehuda Leib Fishman to recite Shehecheyanu, blessing the new state.

  “Blessed are you,” the rabbi sang, “Lord our God, King of the universe, who has granted us life, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this occasion.”

  The leaders of the Zionist movement mounted the stage to put their names to the Declaration of Independence. When the last signature had been affixed to the scroll, Dan nudged Gottfried and sent him to the front of the hall with his violin. The great musician walked slowly, as if in a trance. His jaw trembled with emotion as he raised his bow. He played the piece that, in that moment, became the national anthem of a state, “Hatikva,” the song of longing suddenly fulfilled. Jews had their own land.

  Ben-Gurion’s jarring, nasal tones rang out over the final, perfect note from the Stradivarius. “The State of Israel is established. This meeting is adjourned.”

  Dan pushed through the crowd to his boss. He wanted to say goodbye before he left to join the fighting. War was clearly on Ben-Gurion’s mind. His eyes were downcast and his face was grim. Dan wondered what it would take for the Old Man to smile. If not the foundation of a Jewish state after decades of his commitment to Zionism, then what?