Lone Wolf in Jerusalem

by Ehud Diskin

  It was August 1942, a few months after Leah had come into my life. By this time, I had fallen for her hard and begun focusing less on our operations against the Germans and more on our efforts to survive. We knew that the Germans, despite their impressive series of victories during the first two years of the war, had run into difficulties, particularly on the Russian front.

  Word had come that the United States had entered the war, and though we had no idea when or if they would ever land their armies in Europe, for the first time we had hope that we might see the end of this hideous conflagration and that we could hold on until the day our people were liberated from Nazi occupation.

  Our main objective was to obtain food and other essential items, and we did so by force. One day, we stormed a village and raided the homes, holding the villagers at gunpoint while we ransacked their kitchens and took their food. On the way back to our hideout, we spotted a group of fifteen people—men, women, teenagers, and two small children—who were following one of the paths through the forest.

  We approached them with caution and soon discovered they were Jews who had fled the Minsk ghetto a few days earlier. I recognized the oldest member of the group—Andrei, a farmer who used to sell wheat to my father’s mill. We took them to our hideout in the woods, and after they had eaten, I questioned them about the situation in the ghetto. Unfortunately, the sense of foreboding I had carried in my heart for a very long time proved prophetic.

  “In April and May,” Andrei began, “the Germans started conducting nightly raids on the ghetto, targeting a single building or group of buildings and murdering all the occupants.”

  He estimated that they had been murdering upward of five hundred Jews every night. Then in late July, the Germans had forced thousands of Jews to assemble in Jubiliej Square, the central meeting place of the ghetto.

  “We feared that they were planning to kill all the remaining Jews,” Andrei said. “Moshe Yaffe, the head of the Judenrat, was instructed by the Germans to reassure the crowd, but as he started to speak, he saw the gas trucks approaching. When he saw those trucks, he shouted, ‘Jews, the godforsaken murderers have deceived us. Run!’ And the Nazis shot him on the spot.”

  “Gas trucks? What do you mean?” I asked.

  “They’re trucks with airtight compartments inside; they pump exhaust fumes into them while the engine is running. The Jews are forced into the compartments and locked inside while the trucks drive. Everyone inside dies an agonizing death from poisoning and suffocation. At the end of the journey, there are mass graves, where the Germans open the compartments and dump the bodies.”

  After a long silence, I asked Andrei the question that had been on my mind for so long. “Do you know what happened to my family?”

  He looked down at his hands. “I don’t have good news for you, David. Your father was shot to death in the square, and your mother was killed trying to protect him.”

  “And my brother and sister? Their families?”

  “I don’t know. I saw your brother in the square. Unless he escaped, they would have, well …”

  My throat tightened, and tears blurred my vision. Although I had thought often in recent months about the possibility of never seeing my parents again, the confirmation of their cruel deaths was too much to bear.

  Alec glanced over at me and then back at Andrei. “And how did you manage to escape?”

  “My family and I were at the far end of the square,” he said. “When we heard Moshe cry out, we fled. We hid in the ghetto for a few days and then escaped into the forest with the rest of the group you found.”

  “How many are left in the ghetto?” Alec asked.

  “I’d say no more than ten thousand,” Andrei responded. “Perhaps an equal number have managed to escape like we did.”

  I closed my eyes. If we also considered the additional Jews transferred from Germany, Austria, and Czechoslovakia to Minsk, the ghetto had housed about one hundred thousand Jews in the first few months. If Andrei’s figures were correct, the Germans and their collaborators had murdered eighty thousand of our people in just a year and a half.

  After composing myself, I turned to Andrei. “It may be too late for my family, but if ten thousand Jews are still living in the ghetto, we have to save as many as possible. And if we manage to kill a bunch of Germans in the process, all the better. Do you think there’s a way?”

  Andrei paused for a moment before answering. “There are two young men in our group who have been in and out of the ghetto before. They know all the breaches in the fence, and they’re experts when it comes to avoiding the German and Ukrainian patrols. They didn’t know exactly where you were, but they led us here. We can ask them to return to the ghetto and make contact with the Jewish underground.”

  “Is there still an active resistance movement in the ghetto?” I asked. I had assumed that they had all been hunted down and killed by now.

  “Yes,” Andrei replied. “After the third aktzia, the underground intensified its activities and helped Jews escape into the forests to join up with the partisans.” He gestured toward two young men nearby. “Michail and Iser are part of the underground.”

  I thought about what Andrei had just told me. “If the boys were captured, the Germans would torture them until they divulged our location.”

  “There’s always that danger, of course,” he said. “But I don’t see any other way if we want to help the Jews in the ghetto.”

  I called Michail and Iser over, and Andrei and I briefed them. I gave each boy a pistol and ammunition and a brief lesson in how to use their weapons, along with instructions on how to secretly mark their trail to find their way back to us. Because our ability to absorb new people was limited, I made them promise to bring back no more than ten escapees, preferably of fighting age.

  The next day, we equipped them with clothes and food. I gave them a final shooting lesson, and they headed out. In the hours that followed, I instructed my group to pack up all our equipment and move deeper into the forest. Then I set up a lookout point not far from the previous hideout. I thought that in the worst-case scenario, if the boys were caught and forced to give away our hiding place, we had better not be there when they showed up. At the same time, we needed to be nearby to greet the boys if they came back with escapees from the ghetto.

  Two days later, word came from the lookout that German soldiers were spotted advancing toward our previous hideout, their rifles drawn and ready for an assault. Much to their disappointment, they found no one, and they retreated empty-handed. I consulted with my people, and we came to the tentative conclusion that it was not the boys that had informed on us. The boys needed at least two days to reach the ghetto, and unless they had been caught along the way, there would not have been time for the Germans to organize their attack. A Belarusian farmer, we decided, had likely betrayed our location.

  A week passed, and Michail and Iser had yet to return. I wanted to move to the other edge of the forest entirely, but I eventually agreed to Andrei’s request that we wait another two days. And indeed, the following day, our lookout spotted the boys approaching the old hideout. Instead of a group of ten Jews, however, Michail and Iser had brought thirty people with them.

  When our lookout returned to our new hideout with the new group of arrivals, I greeted the group with mixed emotions. I was pleased that Michail and Iser had returned safely and managed to rescue so many Jews who would have otherwise been killed. On the other hand, I was concerned that we couldn’t support that many people and that our large numbers would put us in even greater danger, especially now that we had children and elderly people among us.

  I longed for my father, who’d always known the right thing to do, but he was dead. I had only myself to rely on now. I knew all too well that even if we defeated the Germans in the end, it would still take many months, maybe even years, for us to be free from danger. I decided to completely alter our modus operandi.

  I divided the fifty-nine people into two groups, one of f
ighters and one of children and the elderly. Thirty-two individuals comprised our fighting group—the ten original partisans and another twenty-two people who had joined since, including seven women. We equipped the new fighters with weapons and put them through intensive training.

  With winter approaching, we found a new hideout for the noncombatants—a deserted warehouse in a town that had burned to the ground during the German’s advance. The rest of us split into small groups and carried out numerous raids to secure food, clothing, and other essential items. In order to lessen the danger to ourselves, we raided only isolated hamlets. And to make it harder for the Nazis to anticipate our strikes, we took great care to make the pattern of our attacks as random as possible.

  In the midst of all of this, my relationship with Leah intensified. I felt as though I had found my soul mate. Despite her youth, she proved capable and wise, acting as both mother and sister to everyone around her. She devoted herself to playing with the children and caring for the elderly. With her help, we became one large family.

  Her brother, Misha, also fit in well, and he reassured me that he was happy about my budding relationship with his sister. From time to time, Leah and I would find a secluded spot to be alone, but other couples soon formed, and we no longer needed to keep our trysts a secret.

  We knew that any day could be our last, but we were both optimists by nature and believed we would survive the war. I told Leah of my plans to immigrate to Israel after the war and live in Jerusalem, a place my father had spoken of with such longing.

  “Would you join me?” I asked.

  “Of course I would,” she said. “We’ll raise a family there—have at least two children. Promise me?”

  “I promise, my love,” I said as I kissed her.

  A few days later, I was teaching a weapons lesson when Leah showed up and winked at me from the sidelines. When the lesson was over, she and I went for a walk in the forest. It was a sunny day, and a light breeze was blowing through the treetops. In her backpack, she had a blanket, which we spread out on the ground. We made love and then both dozed off.

  Suddenly, I heard a faint noise. I opened my eyes and saw two Belarusian farmers standing twenty feet from us with rifles at their sides. I rolled over and reached for my submachine gun as they opened fire. Bullets sang through the air around us, and my vision narrowed and darkened as I pulled the trigger, my heart pounding; when the magazine in my gun was empty, there was no one left standing.

  I dropped the gun and turned to Leah to find her lying motionless on the ground, a large blood stain spreading across her chest. Her eyes were open, and she was alive but couldn’t speak. There was a look of helplessness in her blue eyes as she gazed up at me, and then there was nothing.

  I fell to the earth, with my face against hers, and wept as I never had before.

  6

  “THOUGH THE STORM IS EVER MOUNTING”

  (FROM “SONG OF THE PALMACH” BY ZERUBAVEL GILAD, 1942)

  When I arrived at Hannah and Avrum’s home a week later, Hannah opened the door and surprised me with a fleeting kiss on my lips. “Avrum’s gone to the pharmacy to get me some sleeping pills,” she said with a seductive smile. “I’d sleep like a baby if you were taking care of me every night.”

  Alarmed, I suddenly realized that Hannah obviously wanted a very different kind of relationship than I ever wanted to have with her. And in that moment, I knew how much I wanted to be with Shoshana.

  Ignoring Hannah’s remark, I quickly changed the subject.

  “Listen, I’d like to bring my friend Shoshana along the next time we all get together. I know Avrum doesn’t suspect anything yet, but it might be a good idea if he sees I have a girlfriend.” By putting things this way, I hoped Hannah would remember our arrangement and agree with my suggestion. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

  She pouted a bit but then nodded. “Yes, that’s smart,” she agreed.

  “Just keep in mind that Shoshana isn’t too fond of the British, so we should probably stay away from political issues when she’s around.”

  Avrum returned home a few minutes later. “Why isn’t breakfast on the table by now?” he joked. “Let’s hurry up and get our young friend fed before he goes to eat somewhere else.”

  When Hannah disappeared into the kitchen, Avrum took me to the room where his arms cache was hidden. He closed the door behind us and invited me to take a seat across from him at his desk.

  “David,” he said, “it’s time for us to speak frankly, but you have to give me your word that what I’m about to tell you will stay between us.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  He nodded. “All right. Well, what you don’t know is that I serve as a plainclothes policeman for the British police. And that has to remain a secret, of course, because if it gets out, my life will be at risk. Resistance groups like the Irgun and Lehi have killed undercover policemen in the past.”

  As I searched for something to say, Avrum continued. “You’re new to the country, so you probably aren’t familiar with the story of Aryeh Polonsky, the Jewish policeman who was shot and killed by the Irgun shortly before the outbreak of the war. Polonsky was a liaison between the Jewish Agency and British law enforcement. He also provided the Jewish Agency and the Haganah valuable intelligence. He would even forge transit papers that allowed Haganah members to pass through British checkpoints unhindered. But none of that mattered. He was murdered because the Irgun thought he’d turned some of their fighters over to the British.”

  “That’s awful,” I said.

  “Polonsky wasn’t the only one. In Tel Aviv last year, the Lehi assassinated Ze’ev Falsch, a Jewish detective for the British police. And in Ramat Gan, two months later, they murdered Haim Gotowitz, a Jewish policeman who was working as an undercover Haganah agent. When I first started working for the British, I told them unequivocally that I was a Zionist and that I wouldn’t be party to any action taken against the Jews for political reasons. They heard me loud and clear, and I deal mainly with property crime, such as theft, robbery, or embezzlement—and believe me, I don’t make any distinction between Jews, Arabs, and the British.

  “I’m a staunch supporter of the Zionist ideal, of Ben-Gurion and the Haganah, but I’m opposed to violent confrontation with the British. We need to persuade them to leave in a peaceful and cordial manner. They may be gentlemen, but they’re also powerful and determined. Picking a fight with them won’t do us any good.”

  Gentlemen? I was careful to keep my expression one of interest, not astonishment. But how could Avrum consider the British to be gentlemen when they attacked and beat Jews on a regular basis?

  Avrum paused for a moment, perhaps waiting for a response from me. When he didn’t get one, he went on. “I understand you read the papers, so you must know that the Haganah, Lehi, and Irgun recently joined together against the British, creating the so-called Jewish Resistance Movement, which carried out a series of operations a short while ago. The Irgun and Lehi mounted an assault on the train station in Lod, while the Haganah sabotaged the rail network in several locations. Not even in my worst dreams did I envisage the Haganah playing a part in the Irgun and Lehi’s criminal actions.”

  He paused, raising one brow in my direction. “You must have heard about that homicidal maniac who fired on the Schneller Barracks with a sniper rifle, injuring three soldiers—one of them severely.” Avrum’s face twisted as he recounted the attacks I had carried out with his rifle. “The British have reason to believe the Lehi were behind the operation,” he continued, shaking his head. “Indiscriminate murders of that kind are totally counterproductive to our ultimate goal—the establishment of a national homeland for the Jewish people.”

  It was obvious Avrum felt passionately about his cause. That didn’t mean he was right. After a few seconds, his features relaxed, and he smiled, inclining his head. “I need a drink of water. Would you like one too?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  He stood and walked out o
f the room, leaving me there to think about how I would respond to all he had told me.

  When he returned, I took the glass of water he offered, took a long drink, and then spoke. “I completely agree with you about all of this. Cooperating with the British is the only chance we have of establishing a national home for our people here. What can I do?”

  Avrum bobbed his head, as he always did when he was thinking. “The foreman at the Tnuva dairy south of our Zephaniah Street, in the Bukharan neighborhood, is a man by the name of Yaakov Dover, and he’s also a high-ranking Haganah official. Stop by and ask to speak with him. Tell him the truth—that you survived the horrors in Europe and that you’re a Zionist Jew who believes in cooperation between the Jews and the British. Tell him that you want to help, and he will find something worthwhile for you to do.”

  “All right, I’ll do that,” I said.

  “I’d like to develop ties with the Haganah myself, but it’s impossible. I find myself in fear of the Jews, who may know or suspect that I’m an undercover British policeman, and in fear of the British, who, under the current circumstances, are suspicious of all Jews.” He was practically wringing his hands, and I frowned.

  “That sounds like an untenable position, my friend.”

  “Yes!” he agreed. “And the army and the police are full of Jew-haters. At the Schneller Barracks, for example, there’s a sergeant by the name of John Perry who despises us. And he excels at capturing members of the Jewish underground. What’s strange, though, is that he keeps a Jewish lover. She even lives in the neighborhood.”

  It occurred to me that getting rid of a man like Perry would be a significant act to help the Jewish underground. “What a hypocrite,” I said. “And the girl too. Do you happen to know her?”

  “No,” Avrum said, “but Hannah might. Let’s go eat, and we can ask her.”

  We left Avrum’s study and sat down to a sumptuous breakfast—omelets with fresh cheese and chopped scallions and a salad of cucumber, tomato, and onion. We finished off the meal with strong Turkish coffee and apple strudel. In addition to her virtues between the sheets, it seemed Hannah was an excellent cook.