by Elie Wiesel
“All right, I appreciate the effort. I have news for you. You’re not leaving alone.” Elhanan hardly had time to react. “I’m going with you.”
At that Elhanan forgot to breathe. His head spun, and the earth went out from under him. What should he look at? How could he bear all this emotion?
“You see?” Talia asked. “I don’t trust you. Once you’re away from me, who knows whom you’ll fall in love with.” Her eyes sparkled. Her parted lips, full and sensual, demanded a response. More quietly she said, “You are stupid, really. My poor Elhanan.”
“Why do you say that?”
“When we love somebody we ought to show it. But you hide it.”
Did she really say “love”? Elhanan couldn’t believe his ears. Elhanan was no longer Elhanan Rosenbaum. His life was no longer his own. He was dreaming an exalted dream. He saw Vitka again, and Lianka, and they said to him, “Now you will at last fall in love.” He was dancing without moving, shouting his happiness without opening his mouth, less alone and more alone than ever, falling and rising at once all the way to seventh heaven, to the celestial throne where God, surrounded by Sages and Just Men, lavished upon him smiles and words at which his heart and his head swelled. Yet one fearful voice rose too: “So you love her? Be careful of the Tempter, Elhanan! He is always on the prowl, and spirits away the women we love.” Another voice—or was it the same?—was mocking: “You happy, Elhanan? Why? Because you’re off to the Holy Land or because a beautiful woman is going with you? Will the beauty of a woman mean more to you than the call of your ancestors?” In his confusion Elhanan turned to God, Who said silently, “All love implies love of me.” Another voice—was it God’s or Talia’s?—added, “You must not be ashamed to love.”
Talia kissed him. They stood embracing for a long time.
“I want to make love with you,” Talia said, “but not in this place.”
Elhanan saw again the mad eyes of the raped woman. He remembered his disgust. “You’re right,” he said. “Not in this place.”
They broke apart. They had things to do, after all. Elhanan had books to return to the camp library. He had to say good-bye to his neighbors. Fill out forms. Everyone was tense, and the air was heavy with curiosity, with apprehension too. The convoy would run into detours and roadblocks. The forged documents would rouse the suspicions of a mean-spirited customs inspector bribed by British agents. The ship would sink. And if I die on the way? Hasidic texts taught that when a Jew, whoever he is, decides to go to the Holy Land, Satan will go out of his way to stop him. Satan and his tricks. Satan and his manipulations. How will he go about it now? At the end of time, when the Angel of Death slaughters the slaughterer, he, too, will be slaughtered by God. Why wait? Master of the Universe, why not step in a bit sooner? Take charge of Satan, who is the Angel of Death. For once come down on our side right away and keep this love story from fading into darkness. Be with us tomorrow.
Tomorrow arrived after a sleepless and tumultuous night. The convoy moved out at dawn. Elhanan and Talia traveled in the same truck. There were no speeches. There was no farewell ceremony. In shirtsleeves, the leader gave the signal, and the convoy rolled forward. The morning breeze was cool. Elhanan buttoned his jacket. A pious man said psalms. A boy and his fiancée held hands. Elhanan exchanged a wink with Talia. The words “not in this place” flashed into his mind. For two thousand years of exile, the Jews had said the opposite: “Also in this place.”
The convoy rolled through sleepy villages, between tilled fields, into dense woods. Everywhere war had left its mark: demolished vehicles, burned-out tanks, the rubble of razed buildings. Fearful old men, women who walked submissively. Thus their punishment, Elhanan thought. They loosed evil upon the world, now let them live in remorse. They wanted to rule, now let them be ruled. An avenger’s outlook? He was not comfortable in the role. He had broken with his best friend, who in taking revenge on a pitiless enemy had denied one poor woman her own right to pity. At the same time, he could not deny a rush of satisfaction at the sight of defeated Nazis.
What had become of the young widow? And where was Itzik now? He had joined the Czech army before the fighting ended. Elhanan himself celebrated the victory not far from Munich. Then, rather than be repatriated to Feherfalu, he had gone to the displaced persons camp. Was he right not to go home? There was no one waiting for him. And then he was afraid. Afraid to measure the emptiness left by so many dead. Afraid also to see the young widow again. End of chapter. End of European exile. End of wandering in the unknown.
The Briha, faithful to its reputation, had organized everything superbly. At the border, formalities took barely half an hour. That same evening the convoy reached the transit camp. A warm fraternal welcome. Cots, fresh linen, hot meals, religious services for those who wanted them, sports for the sports-minded.
During their lightning visit to France, Elhanan was separated from Talia. Busy with various preparations, she spent two days in the camp offices. When that world swallowed her up, Elhanan felt bereft. In a kind of delirium, he saw her climbing the clouds, at which he stared up for a long time before noticing her flying between heaven and earth, in search of refuge and certainty. Then he knew that he loved her truly, and that he would forever. You’re never sure you love someone until you see her dangling from the clouds.
Talia reappeared only on the second evening, when the maapilim—as they called the illegals—were ready to start for the port. “From now on I stick with you,” she said.
So, side by side in the truck, they yielded to the intoxicating hope that prevailed in the convoy. One man prayed. Another squeezed his wife’s arm in silence. A boy said to his girlfriend, “Pinch me; I want to be sure this isn’t a dream.”
“There’ll be eight hundred passengers,” Talia said. “Three hundred and fifteen are already on board.” And after a pause, “I hope the British don’t know.”
Everybody in the truck joined her in that hope. But if the British did know? Several theories were advanced. Of course they’ll stop us for inspection. No, they’ll escort us to Haifa. No, somewhere else … Talia took no part in these debates. What was she thinking about?
“Elhanan,” she whispered, “have you ever seen the sea?”
“No. Never.”
“Close your eyes, then. I’ll tell you when to open them.”
Elhanan felt like the unborn child who flies around the world with his guardian angel to choose a home.
“Now,” Talia said.
Elhanan’s heart leapt as it had when Talia first took his hand. He saw the sea, and it stopped his breath. He had not known that beauty could be so intense. He no longer doubted that the infinite existed, and not only in mystic philosophy. He found a sky so distant and blue that he understood why people looked at it with some anxiety. Where was the sea? Above? Below? Thousands and thousands of stars glittered in it. The sea: rocked gently and rhythmically by waves whose monotonous sound reverberated to the endless horizon. As he had when he studied the Zohar, he found in the sky joined to the sea a hallucinatory universe that he could not tear himself away from without a sense of loss and disorientation.
Talia said, “Sometimes the sea makes people want to die. I hope it makes you want to live.”
The ship was an old Greek tub, the Cretan. Captain Nikos, a seafarer of the old kind, looked as if he were playing his own part in a movie: cap low on his forehead, a pipe in his mouth, a sardonic air that masked a romantic heart. His crew were sailors from all corners of the Mediterranean.
The real commander was Eytan, a strapping young man from the Palmach; they said he was a poet. Surrounded by a Palestinian crew, Talia one of them, he was in charge of the passage. If the British decided to intercept the Cretan, it was he who would organize resistance on board.
They weighed anchor after midnight. The passengers, jammed into stuffy cabins, were to come up on deck only in groups and according to a precise schedule. As interpreter, Elhanan enjoyed certain privileges. He could circulate freely
. Soon, in fact, they considered him one of the Palestinian team.
The passage began badly. As if swirled by an immense hand, the sea screamed and danced: the planet was too small for her and aroused her fury. The sea summoned up all her grandeur and immensity; she provoked the depths to battle, howled at death like wolves at night, and refused to subside in daylight but gave herself up to the tempest. Beating against invisible shores, drowning in mist, she ate away cloud-shaped rocks, leapt toward the sky as if to defy it, and then fell back, like a squatting statue about to give birth.
When calm was restored, they had to worry about the British again. After thirty hours at sea, they faced the danger head-on: a warship approached at top speed.
Eytan gathered his crew. “They’ve spotted us. I radioed headquarters, and our orders are simple: change the ship’s name to Geula”—the Hebrew word for “redemption”—“and resist, resist by any means possible. Public opinion, alerted by our friends, will then be heard.”
His lieutenants brought the passengers to the upper decks. In groups, under the command of Palmach people, they were to delay the enemy boarding as long as they could. Elhanan stayed on the command bridge with Talia and Eytan.
“What will they do with us?” he asked.
“Internment camp,” Eytan said.
“All of us?”
“Not the Palestinians. They’ll let us go.”
Another separation, Elhanan thought. Talia was thinking along the same lines; she turned to Eytan and said, “When will the boarding occur?”
“Tomorrow or the day after. As we approach the coast. That’s what they usually do.”
“Then we still have time.”
“Time?” Eytan was startled. “For what?”
“To get married,” she said calmly.
Eytan looked at her in disbelief. “Are you joking? You’ve picked quite a time for it.”
Talia stood up to him. “If I marry Elhanan, that changes everything for him, doesn’t it? As the husband of a Palestinian citizen he’ll be entitled to go ashore with me. Am I right or wrong?”
Eytan admitted that her argument was sound. He asked Elhanan, “And you, poor boy, you have nothing to say about all this?”
“Yes, I have.”
“Then say it.”
“I say yes.”
“You’re sacrificing yourself for the cause, right?”
“Always ready, as they say.”
Eytan looked him over, shook his head as if emerging from a poetic meditation, and burst into laughter. “This is the fourth ship I’ve commanded but the first time anything like this has happened to me.”
He laughed and laughed, until Talia said, ironically but gently, “There’s a nice wish in Yiddish: May nothing worse happen to you.” And to Elhanan: “You see? In your honor I learned a few words of Yiddish.”
Eytan said, “Talia, Talia. I’m supposed to be a poet, but you’ve outdone me.”
The marriage was scheduled for the next day. Captain Nikos would conduct the civil ceremony, and an Orthodox Jew who spent all day studying the Bible would preside over the religious service.
The ceremony was a true event. A bridal gown was found for Talia and a white shirt and blue trousers for her groom. The officiating Jew recited the customary prayers and blessings. The bride circled the groom seven times under the tallith that served as a huppah. Elhanan said his vows—“by the law of Moses and Israel”—and smashed the glass under his heel in memory of the Temple’s destruction, and eight hundred men and women shouted Mazel tov, mazel tov, good luck to you, and may a lucky star light your way, and may your happiness last beyond this day and this week. There was even a sort of improvised reception. Everyone danced and urged the young couple to dance, and Eytan made a speech, and an amateur minstrel regaled them with funny verses. When night came, Elhanan and Talia took the captain’s cabin. Pleasantly drunk, the captain announced over and over that it was the happiest day of his life, the happiest day of his life.…
Alone in the cabin, Talia took her husband’s hand and placed it on her cheek. “When I was little my parents let their imaginations run wild about my marriage. They competed, inventing fantasies. But neither of them could have foreseen a wedding like this.”
“You don’t think they’ll be disappointed?”
“They’ll be happy. Like me. Because of me. And for me to be happy, you have to be happy too.”
Elhanan recalled his own parents. They too must have imagined this day.
Talia said, “You won’t mind if I weep for a moment?”
Nor could Elhanan hold back the tears.
“Good,” Talia said. “We’ll weep for our parents, who would weep if they were here.”
Outside on deck, the guests were still celebrating.
And then on the horizon a second warship appeared, and then a third. Together they escorted the newlyweds to their destiny.
Three paratrooper units handled the operation. The illegals held out as best they could, but the outcome was never in doubt. In a few hours the boarding, inspection and takeover were completed. Thus ended the epic journey baptized “redemption.” The passengers were transferred to a prison ship waiting off Haifa.
Was it a defeat for the Jewish underground? On the surface, yes; but only on the surface. Some fifty foreign correspondents, mobilized by the Jewish Agency, reported on the story, increasing the pressure on the British government. Newspapers and magazines in all languages, as well as newsreels everywhere, described the odyssey of these uprooted Jews. Driven by a millennial hope, they were determined to return to the land of their ancestors. Photos everywhere showed these refugees driven back by the haughty Royal Navy. And also a picture—so romantic that people laughed and wept—of the couple who had just been married at sea. Yes: Talia and Elhanan were celebrities, so much so that the authorities facilitated their disembarking. Never let it be said that the British lacked heart.
The couple were resting in Jerusalem, at the house of Talia’s parents, when a letter came from America for Elhanan. A cousin wrote, “I had no idea that any of the family had survived the catastrophe.” And Elhanan was unaware that he had family in the United States. Yet the cousin’s letter proved that he was telling the truth. Names were accurate; dates and addresses corresponded perfectly. “Bring your young wife and come spend a few weeks with us,” the cousin proposed. “We have a beautiful place in Westchester; your room looks out over the woods. You need time to recover, and you’ll be able to do that here.” A touching invitation, but Elhanan and Talia were in no mood for vacations.
In Palestine, Elhanan felt transported to a country at once familiar and mysterious. He seemed to recognize every stone, every tree, and every crossroad; but at the same time he felt a need to stop after every step he took, and cry out, “Is this only a dream?”
Hebrew inscriptions and street names—Yehuda Halevi and Don Itzhak Abrabanel—Jewish police speaking Hebrew, the Star of David gloriously displayed, the underground striking fear into the hearts of the British army: “Look, Talia! Read this! Listen to that!” Overcome by emotion, he passed from one wonder to another, in all the ecstasy of a teenager after his first date.
For the country, for the whole Jewish people, this was the finest hour. Each incident took on the dimension of an epic. After two thousand years of exile, a sovereign Jewish state was about to be reborn from the ashes. Everything would change: political structure and state of mind, foreign relations and self-esteem.
The first Sabbath with Talia’s parents. Zalmen was a civil servant, Reuma an editor. After the kiddush, Zalmen and Reuma embraced the young couple. “Let’s dance!” Zalmen shouted. Reuma needed no urging. Talia and Elhanan held back. “Come on, you too,” Zalmen said. “Happiness is here to be shared!”
Elhanan and his in-laws got along beautifully. Mutual respect, affection, generosity, no misunderstandings and no afterthoughts. When people talked about “mixed marriages” between Sephardi and Ashkenazi Jews in the Mea Shearim neighborhood, t
hey mentioned both couples.
Before looking for work, Elhanan and Talia went to the seashore for a few days. In a cabana on the beach they loved each other. Elhanan would always remember immense, violent waves.
Not far from them, two men walked slowly along the beach. Leaning on a cane and limping badly, an old man seemed to search for something in the sand. All these dramas that one observed. Some of the women were quietly beautiful but without sparkle; others seemed to light up the sea and the sun itself. The handsomest faces were those that did not reveal what they had lived through.
On their return, the days fell into a normal rhythm: attacks on the army and the police, curfew, repressions, demonstrations against regulations. Sensational news: the three resistance organizations concluded an agreement to cooperate. In one night ten bombs exploded at various nerve centers. The Lehi blew up military aircraft, the Irgun blew up a barracks, the Palmach and the Haganah brought in a few hundred refugees near Netanya. Unprecedented convulsions racked the country. Endless debates and discussions. When you’re fighting for independence, where do your rights end? How do you respond to death sentences imposed by military courts? To a whipping by the police the Irgun replied by publicly whipping a British soldier. The British authorities threatened to execute “terrorists.” These same terrorists took officers hostage: an eye for an eye, a life for a life.
Eretz Israel had not seethed like this since Bar Kochba’s revolt.
(Any victory is temporary, a victory over time more so than others. Yet now Elhanan could not restrain himself. For him, every moment of clarity was a triumph that he earnestly tried to sustain. At those times he would speak until exhausted, not knowing if it would be granted him to finish the story he had begun.
So he often had the feeling that the memory he was summoning was the last. Like the scribe copying Holy Scripture, he wanted to bless God for each word that he succeeded in bringing to life.)
ELHANAN
ROSENBAUM’S WORDS
Fool that I am, I never realized that Talia was leading a double life. I never guessed. She covered her tracks perfectly, she who never lied about anything. She claimed she was working for the secret service of an organization for underground immigration. In the evening she sometimes left me, saying in the most natural tone, “I’m on duty tonight. Don’t wait up for me; I’ll see you in the morning. If I sleep late, wake me. You know I love to have breakfast with you.” Only later, lifetimes later, when I came back from Amman, did her parents tell me the whole story. They knew it all along.