by Ehud Diskin
I held her close as she kissed me on the lips. Nature took hold, and we soon found ourselves naked, with Leah lying on her back atop our clothes and me on top of her. After making love, I said to her, “You know this must stay between us.”
Leah beamed with joy. “I’ll do exactly as you tell me, and I love you very much.” She paused, and we gazed into one another’s eyes for a long moment. “I haven’t felt this happy in such a long time,” she finally said. “I’m so glad I had the courage to escape from the ghetto; otherwise, I would never have met you.”
I took Leah in my arms and held her tightly against me. I had not felt this good in what seemed like forever.
5
“OUR STEPS BEAT OUT THE MESSAGE: WE ARE HERE!”
(FROM “SONG OF THE PARTISANS” BY HIRSH GLICK, 1943)
It did me no good to wallow in the past, and as I neared the restaurant, I pushed away the memory of how Leah had felt in my arms and forced my attention back to the present. The Germans had been defeated, and we Jews who had survived that brutal genocide needed a fresh start here in our ancestral homeland. Yet a new enemy stood in our way. I reminded myself that it was my duty as a Jew to rise up against the British.
Had I not allowed my emotions to get the better of me, I would have already started a new operation. But I knew I was not really ready. Experience had taught me that time and planning were key to a successful operation. Not for the first time, I wished I had Alec by my side to watch my back.
Hannah’s idea for me to befriend her husband could open new avenues, and I needed to patiently explore them. The “chance” encounter with her husband had been arranged for Tuesday morning, when Avrum was free. Hannah told me to go to the cobbler at ten o’clock and wait there for her husband to arrive with a pair of her shoes. The cobbler, a man named Gershon, had a store at the western end of Zephaniah Street, at the top of the incline, where the road starts making its way down into the Tel Arza neighborhood.
I arrived at the planned time and went into the shop. Gershon was hammering away at the heel of a shoe, his eyes fixed on his work and several nails clenched between his lips. He plucked them out, one by one, before driving them into the heel of the shoe. He didn’t respond to my greeting, only stopping to look up at me after he had hammered in the last of the nails he held between his lips.
“What do you want?” he snapped.
“There’s a problem with the sole of my shoe.” I removed my right shoe and handed it to him.
Gershon examined it briefly. “Your shoe is just fine,” he said.
“No,” I replied, “this sole is slightly more worn than the sole of the other shoe so that when I stand in them, my foot twists a little and it hurts my ankle.” Before Gershon could say anything, I added, “I’m not in a rush. I’ll wait for you to finish what you’re doing.”
“Heaven help me—as if I have nothing else to do. Can’t you see I’m busy?” Gershon grumbled, perhaps hoping I’d give up and walk away. I pretended not to hear. After a few minutes, he finished hammering and growled at me from under his mustache. “Okay, give me the shoe. Let’s see what I can do with it.”
I took a seat on the bench near the door. As he was frowning down at my shoe, a short man with a slight paunch, thinning hair, and a rather forgettable face walked in. I found it hard to believe that such a man could be married to an attractive woman like Hannah, but he was carrying a pair of women’s shoes and addressed the proprietor the moment he stepped into the store.
“Gershon,” he said, “you have to do me a favor. My wife, Hannah, you know her—she thinks the entire world was created to do her bidding—she got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning and insists she has to wear these shoes tonight. She said I shouldn’t bother coming home before they’ve been repaired.”
Gershon gave him the same irritable look I’d received. “You can wait here. It’ll take me a few minutes to repair this one’s shoe, and then I’ll take care of your wife’s.”
Avrum sat down next to me and sighed. “At least you’re here to repair your own shoes. It seems like all I do is run errands for my wife. You married?”
“No,” I replied.
“Lucky you,” Avrum said and then laughed. “I’m joking. Marriage has its advantages. It’s not all doom and gloom.”
I smiled politely.
“I haven’t seen you around before. Are you new to the neighborhood?” he asked.
“Not really. I’ve been living here for a few months now.”
He held out his hand. “I’m Avraham,” he said. “But everyone calls me Avrum.”
“David,” I said, shaking his hand briefly.
“I hope you don’t think I’m trying to pry, but can I ask you why you chose this neighborhood? It’s very quiet—not exactly the place for a young man like you.”
He certainly was prying, but snooping was his profession, after all.
“I was constantly on the run during the war,” I said. “I’d fall asleep at night never knowing if I’d see the next morning. Now I just want to live my life in peace and quiet, and this is a quiet place. Plus, it’s close to British headquarters, and I figure they’ll keep the peace here.”
“Interesting,” he said. “Aren’t you bothered by the fact that we’re under British rule?”
“Bothered? They were our allies in the war. They defeated the Nazis. I think we’re lucky to have someone here to maintain peace and security and help with the development of this country. I realize others might not see it that way, but I’m not ashamed of my opinion.”
Gershon continued to work on my shoe and didn’t appear at all interested in our conversation. Avrum, on the other hand, was looking at me with a pleased expression on his face.
“I like you,” he said.
“Thanks,” I responded.
“You are so right,” Avrum went on. “Good on you for your independent views and having the courage to express them. Too many think we should fight the British, without realizing that the Arabs are the true enemy. I’m a longtime Jerusalemite, and I’ve seen the antics of Haj Amin al-Husseini since I was a young man in the 1920s. You’ve heard of him, haven’t you?”
I shook my head.
Avrum rubbed his hands together, obviously pleased to have a captive audience. “Haj Mohammed Amin al-Husseini was a Palestinian Arab nationalist and Muslim religious leader in Mandatory Palestine,” he said. “He was fiercely against the establishment of a national home for the Jews. The Hebron massacre, which put an end to the four-hundred-year-old Jewish community in that city—”
“Yes, I’ve heard—”
But Avrum ran right over me, his face turning red as he spoke. “—was a result of his relentless and unbridled incitement. In 1933, when the Nazis took over, al-Husseini rushed to let the German consul in Jerusalem know that he couldn’t wait to join the bastards in knocking Jewish skulls. Years later, he asked Germany and Italy to recognize the right of the Arab countries to ‘solve’ the ‘problem’ of Jews in Israel—and in the Arab states—in the same way the two fascists were solving their own Jewish problem in Europe. He met with both dictators in ’41. Hitler assured him that once the Germans occupied the Middle East, all the Jews in the region would be exterminated.” Avrum paused, his eyes bright as he watched for my reaction.
“Unbelievable,” I muttered. He nodded in satisfaction and continued.
“In 1942, al-Husseini helped establish a special SS force attached to Rommel’s army in Africa; its job was to organize the extermination of all five hundred thousand Jews in Israel. The son-of-a-bitch planned to establish a concentration camp north of Jerusalem, near Jenin, for this purpose.”
“What a despicable man,” I said. “It makes no sense to me that we’d be fighting the British when the Arabs are obviously the true threat.”
“Listen, I need more smart men like you around,” he said. “Come visit me at my house, and we’ll chat over coffee. What do you say?”
I pretended to hesitate for a moment
, then nodded my head. “Sure,” I said.
He gave me his address. “When can you come?”
“I’m usually free in the mornings.”
“Okay,” Avrum said. “I’m pretty busy tomorrow, but I’ll tell my boss that I’m coming in the afternoon. Come see us at ten o’clock.”
“I will. Thank you for the invitation.”
Avrum’s smile widened. “What a coincidence. We both came here to repair shoes, and we found some common ground.”
I nodded, knowing as well as Gershon did that neither Avrum nor I had shoes that needed fixing. With a grunt, the cobbler announced that he had completed the repairs, and I paid him and took my leave.
The following morning, I went to Avrum’s house. I knocked on the door, and Hannah’s husband opened it, extending his hand to greet me.
“Hannah, come meet David,” he called out to his wife. He clapped me on the back and ushered me inside. “I need to apologize for moaning about you sending me off to the cobbler,” he said to her, “because I just happened to meet this very pleasant and smart young man there.”
Hannah smiled and shook my hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Hannah, can you make us coffee, bring a cake, and join us?” Avrum asked.
“Coffee and cake coming up, but I have many errands to run and won’t be able to join you,” she replied. When she turned to go to the kitchen, she flashed me a smile and a wink behind Avrum’s back.
After Hannah served the coffee and cake, Avrum asked me where I was from.
“I’m from Minsk, Belarus.”
“I know where Minsk is,” he said. “Most Jews there were murdered.”
“Yes,” I said. “We suffered horribly.”
“Have you thought about what I said yesterday?”
“Yes, I hadn’t given the Arabs much thought, to tell you the truth. But you’re right; they hate us as much as the Germans did.”
Avrum appeared satisfied with my response. “The Haganah once had a clear picture of the situation and was able to focus solely on the fight against the Arabs and on protecting the Jews. I don’t like this turn they’ve made against the British.”
As I nodded, Hannah walked into the room, and Avrum turned to her. “David is a great guy—smart—and I’m going to think of a way to help him with … a project.” He looked back at me and winked. “I’m always working, but if you need anything, contact Hannah, and she’ll pass on your request. I suggest you come to see us next Tuesday for breakfast, and we’ll talk some more.”
“Thank you, Avrum,” I said. “I’m pleased to have met you—and you too, Hannah. I’ll see you then.”
On my way to Café Pinsk, I thought about what Avrum had said about the Arabs. We clearly faced great dangers from men like al-Husseini. On the other hand, I thought about the Arabs I had met while training at the YMCA gym. They hadn’t come across as Jew-haters. My boxing coach, Yousef Bustani, often told me that he admired the Jewish people.
In the meantime, I was still formulating a plan of action against the British. The principle was a simple one—to strike at them in locations where they felt secure, like the Schneller Barracks, which was crawling with red berets. The idea had been sparked when Hannah had shown me Avrum’s rifle, the one with the telescopic sights.
Perhaps I could steal it, find a hiding spot somewhere overlooking the Schneller Barracks, and shoot as many red berets as I could in a short time. Then I’d slip away and return the weapon to Avrum’s cabinet.
It would be a complex and dangerous operation, but doable, I thought. I was not going to seek out and kill British soldiers just because they were British. I just wanted to convey a strong message by wounding them. It would be a serious blow to the pride of the British. Someone shooting into their headquarters would show them that they were not safe anywhere. Hopefully, such an attack would help convince the powers in Britain that they should withdraw from Israel.
After a thorough inspection of Geula Street, I found a building that offered unrestricted access to the roof. Like most buildings in Jerusalem, this stairwell had no door and opened directly to the street. The roof of the building offered a clear line of sight to the grounds behind the wall that surrounded the barracks. I memorized the names of the tenants on the shared mailbox so I’d be able to offer an explanation if any of them were to pass me on the stairs and question my presence.
A week went by, and I showed up for my breakfast date with Hannah and Avrum. He steered the conversation toward his favorite subject—the shortsightedness of the Jews fighting the British.
“I think I have an idea on how to revive the cooperation between the Haganah and the British,” he told me over breakfast.
“That sounds exciting,” I said. “How can I help?”
He pursed his lips and rhythmically nodded his head, presumably composing his thoughts. “I’ll think about it and let you know. I’m leaving in three days on a two-day tour of the Haifa region. Let’s arrange to meet here again in a week’s time.”
I realized that this was my moment. With Avrum out of the picture, my only problem was finding a way to smuggle the rifle out of the house—and back in again—without Hannah noticing. Fortunately, it was mid-November, and the weather had turned cold. Three fabric straps sewn to the inside of my long winter coat would allow me to securely tie the rifle in place and keep the weapon concealed.
I RETURNED TO AVRUM‘S APARTMENT on the day I planned to attack the barracks. Hannah was waiting for me, dressed only in a robe, and immediately led me to her bed. After a stormy two-hour session of lovemaking, I pretended to doze off, and Hannah soon fell asleep herself.
Sliding carefully out of the bed, I dressed and went to the room where Avrum hid his guns. I dismantled the plywood partition and removed the rifle, slipping a box of cartridges and cleaning tools into my pocket. After replacing the partition and tying the rifle to the inside of my coat, I put it on and returned to the bedroom.
Gently shaking Hannah awake, I whispered, “I have something urgent to do at work. It’ll take me about two hours, and then I’ll come back to you.”
“Come back as soon as possible,” she said in a sleepy voice.
It wasn’t easy to walk normally with the rifle inside the coat, but I did my best not to attract any attention. I arrived at the building and climbed the stairs to the roof. I removed my coat, loaded the rifle, lay on the roof, and fixed my sights on the inner courtyard of the Schneller Barracks. I wanted to hit multiple targets, so I would watch and wait until I saw at least three red berets together.
After a few minutes, I spotted three men wearing red berets, standing together and talking. I trained the rifle’s sights on one of them, but just at that moment, I heard the door slide open on the balcony directly below the roof. Peering over the edge, I saw a woman step out to hang washing on the clotheslines strung across the balcony. Based on the names of the tenants and the locations of their respective apartments that I had memorized, I assumed the woman was Mrs. Regina Federbusch.
By the time she had finished hanging up her laundry and gone back inside, the three red berets had disappeared from view. I waited patiently for a while longer until another group, this time four soldiers, moved into my line of sight. Three of them were wearing red berets; one had green.
Fixing the sight’s crosshairs on one of the red berets, I squeezed the trigger, aiming at his leg. I struck him in his right leg, and he dropped to the ground. Before the others could react, I fired at a second man, striking him just below his knee. As the third soldier ran for his life, I shot him in the back, in the shoulder.
I lowered the rifle and watched as the remaining soldier, the only one wearing a green beret, scurried for cover. Then I had a great idea. Why not stop the big famous clock at the top of the tower, in the center of the barracks? I shot three bullets into the clock but could not verify that I had succeeded. If I had, it would be quite a blow against these Brits—a far cry from London’s Big Ben but still meaningful for them here in Jerusal
em.
I collected the empty shells, stuffed them into my coat pocket, and retied the rifle to the inside of the coat. I hurried down the stairs and out of the building, turning onto Geula Street. Nothing was happening around the entrance to the Schneller Barracks. I forced myself to walk at a moderate pace and turned onto Amos Street, heading for Hannah and Avrum’s apartment.
When I reached the entrance of the building and stepped inside, I stopped for a moment to slow my breathing before I entered Hannah’s apartment. When I walked in, Hannah called to me from the kitchen. She came into the living room, wearing only her robe, and smiled when she saw me.
“Great, you came back early. Take off your coat, and I’ll make you a cup of hot chocolate.”
“That sounds good,” I said. “I just need to wash my hands.” In the bathroom, I took off my coat and quickly cleaned the rifle with the kit I had in my pocket. I folded the coat lengthwise, wrapped it around the weapon, and then, making sure she had gone back into the kitchen, hurried back into the living room and slipped it under the sofa.
A steaming mug of hot chocolate was waiting for me when I went into the kitchen, and I sipped on it happily. Afterward, she took my hand and led me to the bedroom.
“I can’t spend the night,” I told her. “I have to be at work early tomorrow morning.”
“Then let’s make good use of the time we have,” she said. She pushed me onto the bed and then straddled me with her eager thighs.
An hour or so later, she fell asleep, draped over my chest. I slowly eased myself out from under her supple body and slid out of bed. I dressed and then went into the living room, removed the rifle from under the sofa, and replaced it in the gun cabinet. I kept the spent shells in my pocket, planning to dump them in an out-of-the-way place the following day.
That night, after I went to bed, I couldn’t sleep. I kept seeing the soldiers I had shot, falling to the ground. I closed my eyes, and older memories, the usual memories I battled, returned to haunt me.