Beyond the Shield

by Nachman Kataczinsky

  “So I ask again: Do you want to introduce Islamism to this time? It will spread as soon as we open our borders, which will happen soon.”

  The members of the Knesset exchanged glances and then the senior one said, “This is an aspect of the problem we didn’t consider, but does it warrant expulsion? Maybe we can re-educate them, provide them with better conditions?”

  Amos shrugged. “None of the Islamists are poor. They’re mostly from well-to-do families. So that argument is a dead end. Did you have in mind a re-education program like the Cultural Revolution in China?”

  One of the visitors nodded. “If necessary that would do.”

  Amos smiled. “You would put people in camps, torture and brainwash them just to avoid expulsion? I wouldn’t do it to them and, more importantly, wouldn’t do it to us. Feel free, though, to raise it in the full Knesset for debate.”

  The senior member of the delegation got up. “We appreciate your time. This conversation has been very enlightening.” They left.

  The Prime Minister took a sip of his cold tea and called for the next visitors. The Defense and Internal Security Ministers came in, followed by the head of the Security Service.

  “Gentlemen, how are the preparations going?” asked the Prime Minister.

  “We’re almost ready,” responded the Internal Security Minister. “We need to install more transport nodes to assure that important historic structures, like the Church of the Nativity, do not go away. There are also some adjustments to account for possible archeological sites and for the few Christian Arabs left in the Palestinian Authority.”

  “What’s the mood in the Israeli Arab villages that decided to leave?”

  The head of the Security Service responded. “Most of them are celebrating the upcoming move but are apprehensive as to how they’ll survive without government support. We were surprised that a large number of Bedouin tribes decided to leave.”

  “Not so surprising,” interjected the Defense Minister. “Being nomads they like the idea of going to a place where they will be able to move all over the world with no civilization stopping them.”

  “We’ll need a lot of troops to make sure that travel day goes smoothly. We don’t want people going who don’t want to go and vice versa. When will we be ready?” asked Amos.

  “We’ll need to call up some reserves for a week or so. We can do the transport two weeks from today,” said the Defense Minister.

  “What about emigrants to Jordan?” asked the Prime Minister.

  “Personally I was somewhat surprised that Emir Abdullah invited less than fifty thousand Palestinians to come to Jordan. Not so surprising is the fact that less than ten thousand decided to move. Most of them, or maybe all of them, have family there,” responded the head of the Security Service.

  ***

  Ze’ev and Linda Hirshson hosted their first large Saturday night family dinner since Noam had been wounded. Most of the family was together again, including Noam, who was slowly moving around with some help from a set of crutches.

  Ze’ev’s eldest son, Chaim, drove from Beer Sheva, where he ran one of the company’s plants. He also brought his wife and kids, plus the three girls studying at the university: Sheina, Tzipora and Esther. Esther’s parents, Nachman and Tzila Frumin, were present, as was Jacob, who was done with his active army service and back from Italy. Ze’ev’s youngest son, Benjamin, was also there, having finished his four week reserve service with the navy.

  Linda managed to seat Jacob between his sister Sheina and Esther Frumin, hoping to develop the budding romance.

  To Jacob’s surprise Esther, who had done her best to discourage his attention the last time they met, started a conversation. “I heard from Wolf that you were promoted to sergeant. He told me that you’re a hero.”

  Jacob smiled. “A hero I’m not, but I tend to give my all to the job at hand. I worked hard and they promoted me. I really didn’t do anything exceptional.”

  “Men are weird. Wolf says the same about his promotion.”

  “No, no! Wolf was promoted for initiative and courage in battle. That’s a real hero. I just worked.”

  Esther smiled. “Yes, so you said before. Combat Engineers are just a work outfit, right? So why is ‘Combat’ in the name?”

  Benjamin, who sat across the table from the couple, said, “Don’t let him convince you otherwise. Combat Engineers is a unit of volunteers that do all kinds of dangerous work, often under fire. Just thinking of all the explosives they handle makes me shiver.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Jacob responded. “This immature grandson of ours has no clue what he’s talking about. Besides, he’s in the navy. What would he know about Engineers?”

  Esther laughed. “You guys are strange but nice,” she conceded. “Are you in the reserves?” she asked Benjamin.

  “Yes, this is the second time I’ve been called up. Normally the Navy doesn’t keep its reservists; they transfer us to land-based units. But we’re in a war and they need to rotate troops. The reserves relieve the regular guys so they can go home for a couple of weeks.”

  Esther looked at Jacob and asked quietly, “How soon do you expect to be called up and for how long?”

  Jacob smiled. “I’m a bit wet behind the ears and have no experience in this. I can only tell you what they told us: As a sergeant I can expect to be called up for five weeks every year. I should have about a year before my first call up, unless there’s an emergency.”

  Noam Shaviv said, “From what I hear they might leave you alone for the full year. The Generals don’t expect to need many more forces in Europe, at least for a while.” He looked directly at Esther. “You know it’s all a question of luck. He may serve out his term, until they kick him out because of advanced age, without a scratch. I got unlucky and all my planning was for nothing.”

  His wife Shoshanna elbowed him none too gently. “Don’t tempt luck. You’re here, alive, and will walk well soon. There were lots of people who died in that battle.”

  Noam smiled and raised both hands in surrender. “Yes, boss.”

  Esther asked him, “From what I heard you got brand new knees. Is that true?”

  Noam nodded. “Yes, it’s true. It’s not a big deal. Medicine has advanced a lot and Israel is always on the cutting edge. Now I have two knees made mostly from titanium. I’m still learning to walk and the implants are still healing but I expect everything will be as good as it was before I was injured.”

  “That’s why I started studying medicine – to help people,” Esther said. “That, and the fact that they fed medical students enough to only starve slowly.”

  After dinner Ze’ev invited Esther to his study. “How are your studies going?” he asked.

  “Not too bad,” she replied. “My Hebrew is decent, although it needs some work, and I can use a computer now. In a month or so I’ll be ready to start regular studies.”

  “Even now your Hebrew is less accented than mine is. I still have remnants of the Russian and Yiddish my parents spoke at home.

  “Did you explore the possibility of being accepted to medical school?”

  “I did. The information I got is not encouraging. The advisor at Ben Gurion University told me that the only way for me to get into any medical school would be to start a biology or similar program and try transferring after the first year.”

  “And your year of medical school in Russia doesn’t count?”

  “That’s what she told me.”

  Ze’ev hesitated for a moment then decided that he may as well come out with his proposal. “Would you want me to inquire and see if I can help with that?”

  Esther thought for a moment. “I don’t want anything irregular. If it’s only a question of overcoming stupid bureaucracy, I guess it’s acceptable.”

  “Good. I’ll contact a couple of friends and see what can be done.”

  After Esther left, Ze’ev’s eldest son Chaim came into the study. “What was that all about?” he inquired.

&n
bsp; “Esther wants to go to medical school but the councilor at Ben Gurion told her that her year of medical training in Russia doesn’t count and her chances of acceptance are very low. I offered to help. Do you know anyone?”

  “I’ll have to think about it but I know for sure that the councilor was wrong. One of the criteria they’re looking at is how much an applicant wants to be a doctor. Finishing a year of med school and still wanting to continue is a good first step.

  “On a different subject, I’ve been driving the new car for several days and wanted to share impressions. What do you think of it?”

  Ze’ev shrugged. “I drove it for three days. It’s a car, what else can I say?”

  Chaim smiled. “Yeah, that’s what happens when an old man tests a car. I’ll tell you what I think. It has pluses and minuses. On the plus side: It is quiet – quieter than my wife’s Lexus. The acceleration is decent and it’s drivable. On the minus side: The body is 1942 style and looks old to me. I would like more refinement and a faster start time.”

  Ze’ev made a stern face. “Who are you calling an ‘old man’

  “So the trick worked. I didn’t want to influence your opinion.

  “I mostly agree with you but in my opinion the car isn’t drivable enough. It doesn’t behave like a good internal combustion powered vehicle. I think that it needs more power when cold, which may be solved by reducing the engine’s thermal inertia or better cooling. We’ll see what R&D comes up with.

  “The body will have to go. I hope we can get together with Fiat designers and come up with something a bit more modern-looking with a modern suspension. The Fiat Berlina was considered a good car in its day but we know better. I would also like to reduce the whine from the electric motors.”

  “You think it’s worth investing in? This is going to be an expensive project.”

  “Definitely worth investing in. Don’t’ forget the size of the market. If we build a good car we can sell it worldwide. We’ll beat the competition hands down. Our car will be unique in its performance, quiet and ability to use different fuels.”

  ***

  Lavrentiy Beria, the head of the Soviet People’s Commissariat for Internal Affairs (NKVD), waved for Boris Merkulov to sit. Merkulov was Beria’s deputy responsible for internal security.

  “Boris, what can you tell me about the ‘Palestinians’ we have here?”

  Merkulov looked glum. “Not much, comrade Commissar. Each of their ‘emissaries’ is accompanied by an ‘assistant’ or ‘interpreter’. The problem is that they say nothing we don’t already know.

  “Their legation in Moscow is completely opaque to us. The bugs we planted before they took possession of the building are working but all we hear through them are trivial conversations, in Hebrew.”

  Beria rubbed his chin. “There must be something we can do. What about the cleaning crew that we offered them?”

  “Comrade Commissar, they surprised us by accepting our offer and now the crew goes in twice a week. They haven’t found anything out of the ordinary.”

  Beria nodded. “I want to know more about them. The official line is that they’re independent of the British and have very advanced knowledge. There must be something to this because, as you know, they provide us with excellent intelligence on the Fascists. On the other hand, I smell a rat. That can’t be the whole story.”

  “We could grab one of their people and interrogate him. It would be a while before they miss an emissary,” offered Merkulov.

  “I’m quite sure they know nothing useful, otherwise they would not be so exposed. You have any other ideas?” Beria said.

  “There were five of them in the permanent mission. It’s housed on Olkhovskaya Street in a little building we found for them – easy to keep an eye on and easy to bug. A sixth guy arrived last week. He’s the First Secretary of their legation. I had my department check his name and crosscheck with our records of useful people. Apparently he’s a member of the Palestine Communist Party and probably knows Trepper. We can try recruiting him. This would provide us with the most reliable information.”

  “This First Secretary hasn’t contacted us yet? Very strange. Maybe he didn’t have enough time to settle in. Do these people spend all their time at the legation building?”

  “Some come out infrequently. Our guy likes the Writer’s Club. In the week he’s been here he’s visited three times already.” Merkulov hesitated. “That may be the best place to approach him.”

  “I think you’re correct, comrade Merkulov. He’s probably looking for a contact. Just be careful; we don’t want to try recruiting the wrong guy.”

  Chapter 10

  November 1942

  General Ephraim Hirshson, the commander of the Israeli Expeditionary Force in Europe, examined the map in front of him with his Chief of Staff, General Uri Sadot.

  “Uri, I was considering our next move. We can’t sit here and do nothing for an extended period. The Germans seem reluctant to attack. From the intelligence we’re getting they will leave us alone as long as we don’t bother them. I want to prod them a bit. It would also be useful if we could cut off their access to the Adriatic and the Balkans.”

  Sadot looked at the large monitor displaying the map of the Adriatic coast, Slovenia and Croatia. “There’s not much point in going into Slovenia. Since Italy joined us and pulled out their troops they have been replaced by Germans extending their garrisons from Lower Styria and Upper Carniola. The Germans are very thinly spread and I doubt that we can find a good meaty target there. Besides, the Slovenians are doing a fair job of harassing the Nazis.

  “I suggest that we go down the Adriatic coast to Croatia. Not many Germans there right now but the Croatians have their own, quite numerous, army. We could go down the coast as far as the Albanian border, or we could go to the capital, Zagreb, and make a detour from there, liberating the concentration camp of Jasenovac.”

  General Hirshson considered for a moment. “I generally agree with your reasoning but now that I’m looking at the map it seems like an awfully long trip for our forces with no clearly defined objective. Maybe we can repeat our passive plan: send a relatively small force in the direction of Lubliana and park it in a good defensible position. Let the Germans attack us and exhaust themselves. After we’re done with them we can move to Lubliana and formally liberate it. I’m sure we can scrounge up enough obsolete weapons from the Italians and British to arm the resistance there to hold the city and county for a while.

  “In the meantime we send some of our air force to destroy the Luftwaffe and Croatian air force in the Balkans. Shouldn’t take long even if we use just a handful of planes – it’s a short flight from Brindisi.”

  “You’re the boss. Would 10% of our total force be too big, too small or just right?”

  Ephraim Hirshson smiled. “You’re the chief of operations, figure it out. Just to be clear, from Lubliana I would like to move on Croatia, unless, of course, the Germans wake up.”

  ***

  Ben Mosowitz was a fairly good-looking man, 6 feet tall with wide shoulders and strong, muscular arms. Tonight, he looked tired and his thick black hair was disheveled. Ben came home late, as usual. He was delayed at the synagogue and by the time he, the three kids and his wife Evelyn sat down to dinner it was late. November wasn’t a pleasant time of year in Wilmington, Delaware. The cold, damp, weather didn’t agree with Ben. He was one of the ‘relatively well-to-do’ members of the Jewish community. Not rich but not poor either. His furniture business was doing reasonably well, but he felt guilty. After Pearl Harbor he tried enlisting in the U.S. Army and was disqualified – He was 29 years old with three kids and flat feet. It bothered him, especially since his Jewish neighbor’s 23 year old son, who worked for Ben, enlisted and left his widower father to fend for himself. Ben’s wife visited the old man frequently. In fact the old man wasn’t that old, he was in his mid-fifties, but that looked old to both Ben and his wife.

  “How was your day?” Evelyn asked.

/>   “Nothing special. Not many customers today, so I closed a bit early and went to the synagogue. Just made it to evening services. The rabbi gave an interesting talk and promised to repeat it Saturday.”

  “What was the topic that he’s going to repeat himself? Do I have to pull it out of you with pliers or will you tell me willingly?” Evelyn smiled.

  “Evie, I’ll tell you but promise not to laugh.”

  “I promise. So go ahead already.”

  “You know that our rabbi went to Palestine last month. Now he has a story. He told us that there is a Jewish state there called Israel. It supposedly was transported from the future. He was very enthusiastic about it and the advanced stuff they have. He’s going to give a presentation Sunday night. Including a movie.”

  “That’s it or did he say anything else?”

  “He’s going to make aliyah and wants everyone to come with hm. He says it’s the Promised Land of milk, honey and miracles.”

  Evelyn ate quietly for a while. “Do you want to go?”

  Ben nodded. “I would like to see his presentation and also talk to the representative from Palestine, or Israel, who will be there Sunday night. If everything the rabbi told us today is true, I would seriously consider moving.”

  “But why? The business is doing well, Bea will start school next year, and we live in a reasonably comfortable house. Why move into the unknown?”

  Ben waved a hand in negation. “You always see the glass half full. Look at the other half: I tried getting a contract to supply office furniture to the DuPont Company. You remember what they told me? ‘We prefer not to do business with Jews.’ I have people come in from the street, look at the merchandise and when they discover that I’m Jewish, walk out. Not many, but enough to make me feel unwelcome.