by Ehud Diskin
“That would be nice,” Regina said. “My son never seems to have time to fix anything. When will your friend come to see the room? I would like to meet him.”
“He doesn’t need to see it. I’m like a brother to him, and he trusts me. He’ll stop by next Sunday. Don’t worry, you’ll like him.” The rent that Regina proposed was low, but I figured she’d get suspicious if I didn’t haggle. So I did, and she gave me a small reduction. We agreed on a three-month trial period, and I paid her a month’s rent in advance. She looked very happy as she put the money into her wallet.
“Who are you going to get as a tenant?” Shoshana asked after we’d left the building.
“Alec,” I said.
“Alec?’ Shoshana exclaimed. “He just got married. What makes you think he’ll agree to be away from Eva?”
“He doesn’t have to be away from Eva. He doesn’t even have to sleep there. He’ll tell Regina that he and his wife are trying to work things out and that when she asks him to stay over there, he does. I’d do it myself, but we have to stick to our story. Let’s go see him and talk this out.”
We headed for Alec’s apartment in the Bukharan Quarter. Eva opened the door for us and embraced Shoshana. “Who’s the kind angel who brought you here to visit us so unexpectedly?” she asked.
Shoshana kissed her on the cheek. “We always enjoy getting together with you, but David wants to discuss something with Alec. You and I can stay here and chat while the men go out for a walk.”
“Here in this country,” Alec said with a smile, “the women call the shots, and if they tell us to go out, we do as they say.”
“I’ll have to keep that in mind.” I winked at Shoshana and followed Alec outside.
“In preparation for Operation Barrels Raised,” I said as we walked down the street, “I’ve arranged for you to live temporarily in a room in an apartment on Geula Street that overlooks the Schneller Barracks. I need you to study the layout of the base and the movements of the British, then come up with a suitable spot for our assault.”
“David,” Alec said, “you’ve been both a commander and a brother to me, but you’re asking too much.”
“I’d do it myself, but I already told the owner, Mrs. Federbusch, that a friend will be renting the room. And you can do the work better than anyone else. You were the one who chose to attack the German ambush force near the Minsk ghetto, and you gathered all the information we needed for the operation. You were the one who located the German supply base, and our mission was a success, thanks to you. Without your help, we wouldn’t have been able to kill that bastard Nikolai. In this case, you can gather the information we need without spending much time away from Eva at all.”
Alec didn’t answer, but the look on his face told me he would do it.
Later, when Shoshana and I arrived at the café for our shift, Max informed me that the renovation of the warehouse in Tel Arza was taking longer than expected and would not be completed until mid-December at the earliest.
On Sunday morning, Alec and I went to Mrs. Federbusch’s apartment. “He’ll be an easy tenant,” I said to her before giving Alec a brief tour of the place and showing him the washing lines that needed fixing. He told Regina he was happy with the arrangement and would move in the next day.
December dragged on, and the renovation work on the warehouse in Tel Arza had yet to be completed. According to Max, Zvi hadn’t pushed things along any quicker, because he was negotiating the purchase of the building. Max said the contract would be signed soon, and the training sessions were scheduled to begin in January.
Alec’s reconnaissance mission was taking longer than expected too. I knew the delay stemmed partly from his desire to spend most of his time with Eva, but there was another reason. He had aroused the suspicions of Regina’s son, who had noticed Alec spent a lot of time on the balcony.
“I told him I enjoy the crisp winter air,” Alec said, “but I’ve had to cut back on the time I spend surveilling the base.”
Three days before the new year, Irgun member Binyamin Kimchi received eighteen lashes for his part in a bank robbery aimed at securing funds for the Irgun’s activities. Along with the lashes, he was given an eighteen-year prison sentence. In response, the Irgun abducted a British major in Netanya, two sergeants on HaYarkon Street in Tel Aviv, two sergeants in north Tel Aviv, and another sergeant from the Sixth Airborne Division in Rishon Lezion.
Each of the abducted British soldiers received eighteen lashes as well. The incident shocked the British people. Britain was derided worldwide, with a cartoon that appeared in a Parisian newspaper showing a British soldier using a steel helmet to protect his exposed rear end.
SHOSHANA AND I DECIDED TO celebrate the new year, 1947, in the same way we had welcomed 1946—with a dinner on New Year’s Eve at Café Wien.
I realized that this would be the perfect opportunity to surprise Shoshana with a ring and a proposal. By giving the manager extra money when I made the reservations, I made sure that we would have a nice table with two candles and a violinist to come to our table and play for us.
On New Year’s Eve, as the waiter led us to our table, Shoshana, who knew nothing about my plans for the evening, slapped my behind and warned me, with a smile, that if I didn’t kiss her promptly at midnight, she’d give me seventeen more.
After we’d toasted with a drink of vodka, Shoshana blew me a kiss in the air. The violinist made his way to our table and started playing beautiful romantic melodies. By the time he finished, Shoshana seemed overwhelmed by the exceptional evening. She leaned back in her seat, beaming with joy.
At that moment, I took two boxes out of my pocket. I opened Shoshana’s box, took out her ring, and said, “Shoshana, you are the love of my life, and I’ll be yours from now to eternity. You are my woman forever, and when I am done with all my missions, if you will have me, I want to marry you in a traditional way.”
I put the ring on Shoshana’s finger, handed her my ring, and held out my hand. Shoshana looked stunned and, with tears in her eyes, slid the ring she held onto my finger.
“This is the happiest moment of my life,” she said. “I’ll be yours forever, and I’ll do my best to make our union wonderful.” I gestured to the violinist to come back and asked him to play The Wedding March for us. Excited over our “nuptials,” we continued with dinner and with more vodka.
At midnight, we kissed passionately. Shoshana smiled up at me, her arms around my neck. “You’ve been spared. That was a good kiss. I won’t be spanking you tonight.”
Later at home, after this incredible evening, as I lay by Shoshana in our bed, I hoped that only good things would await us in the new year. Then, just as quickly, I remembered that there are no guarantees in life for anyone—especially during this unrestful time in Jerusalem.
22
“THOUGH LEADEN SKIES MAY COVER OVER DAYS OF BLUE”
(FROM “SONG OF THE PARTISANS” BY HIRSH GLICK, 1943)
In the first two weeks of 1947, the Irgun carried out coordinated assaults on military and police targets in Jerusalem, Jaffa, Haifa, and Tiberias. They used mines to take out British military vehicles in Jerusalem, Haifa, and Petah Tikva. The Hadera train station was hit, and a train carrying British treasury money was attacked and robbed a few days later. In an attack on the Ramat Gan police station, Irgun fighter Dov Gruner was wounded and captured.
The renovation of the newly purchased Tel Arza property finally came to an end in mid-January. We hung a large sign—Lumber Warehouse—on the outside and used lumber to block off the front section of the facility, leaving only a narrow passageway that led to the back, where the weapons training would take place. Above the passageway, we stacked lumber on a platform tied to the ceiling with ropes. In the event of a raid, we could cut the ropes and block access to the back of the facility. In the floor at the rear of the facility, the renovators had installed an escape hatch leading into a narrow tunnel some thirty yards long. Our arms and ammunition were hidden in a cache
under the floor, covered with another layer of lumber.
Our first training session for the newcomers—led by Zvi, Shimon, Avrum, Misha, and me—was devoted to instruction on using a handgun. All twenty of our trainees were from Eastern Europe, mostly from Poland and a few from Hungary. They had all been in displaced persons camps in Germany or elsewhere in Europe before making the journey to Israel. The majority spoke only a little Hebrew. Most of them understood Yiddish, but Zvi also translated some of our instructions into Polish. I made a mental note to bring Eva or Magda along to the next session to translate for those who spoke Hungarian.
As the session progressed, I quickly realized that some of the trainees would never be proficient fighters. When the session was over, Zvi and I decided which men would be dropped from the course. We agreed to have only three instructors for each session.
“I think we should have Shoshana start her training in one of the next sessions,” Zvi suggested as we were closing up the facility. “If you still support her decision to play a role in future operations if we need her?”
I nodded. “I’ve made my peace with it. Now I want her to have the best training possible. Hopefully, that will help keep her safe.”
On my way back to our apartment, I stopped at Alec’s home and asked if he had anything new to report about the Schneller Barracks.
“I have a plan in mind,” he told me. “I’ll have the details finalized later in the week.”
“Good. Let’s get together as soon as possible and discuss it. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I clapped him on the back and headed home to Shoshana.
HOWEVER, ALEC DIDN‘T SHOW UP at work the following day. “He could have at least sent word that he’s sick,” Max grumbled. When he failed to appear the next day too, I went to his apartment. I knew we were in trouble the moment Eva opened the door with tears in her eyes.
“I haven’t seen Alec for two days,” she sobbed. “I’m very worried.”
I immediately rushed over to Regina’s apartment on Geula Street. I had to knock on her door several times before she finally opened it. A look of fear contorted her face when she saw me.
“Where’s your tenant?” I demanded.
She hesitated before answering. “British police burst in and arrested him. They said he’s been scouting their base from here.”
“The police took him because your son went to speak to them,” I said, clenching my fists at my side.
“That’s not entirely true,” she stammered. I realized there was nothing more I could do there, so I left, thinking of my next move.
Four British soldiers approached me with their weapons drawn the moment I stepped out of the building. They ordered me to put my hands behind my back and then handcuffed me. A military vehicle pulled up alongside us a few minutes later, and I was pushed inside. They drove to Jerusalem’s main detention facility at the Russian compound, where the soldiers ordered me out of the vehicle and escorted me to the gate. A sentry recorded my name and address and asked me why I had been arrested.
“I have no idea,” I said.
A derisive smile appeared on the sentry’s face. “That’s what everyone says,” he sneered.
I was taken inside and searched. A soldier shaved my head, and then a doctor examined me. My clothes, wallet, and watch were taken from me, and I was ordered to put on prison clothes—underpants, an undershirt, a ragged pair of pants, and a tattered shirt made from coarse fabric. I also received two blankets, a worn jacket, and a mat to sleep on.
I was ushered into one of the cells, where I found myself with nine other prisoners. Their mats were spread out on the floor of the miserable-looking space, and I laid my mat out too. I wasn’t too bothered by the accommodations—as a partisan in Koidanov Forest, my comrades and I had spent most nights sleeping on the ground. At least I didn’t have to worry about rain or snow here.
I sat on my mat on the floor and waited. An hour or so later, a guard showed up to take me to the warden’s office. The warden was dressed in civilian clothes, and I assumed he was CID.
“Your friend, Alec, has told us everything about your plans to attack the Schneller Barracks,” the man began, fixing me with a stern look, his British accent crisp. “I know your job was simply to carry out reconnaissance and collect information. A military tribunal will send you away for at least ten years, but if you tell me who sent you, I’ll make sure your sentence isn’t that harsh.”
“Attack the Schneller Barracks?” I exclaimed, bursting into laughter. “Do you think we’re insane? Alec is my friend and like a brother to me. He would never harm anyone, much less the British people who keep us safe from the Arabs. His marriage, unfortunately, isn’t working out too well. He rented a room in the apartment where you arrested him. I know this because I was the one who found the room for him, and you can easily verify that.”
The momentary look of hesitation on his face gave me some hope, and I went on. “This misunderstanding saddens me, because I am a supporter of the British presence here. I personally met with General Barker to thank him for freeing my aunt and uncle from the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp. And I’ve gone far beyond just words of praise—at much personal risk, I was an informant for Inspector Jeffries. The terrorists who killed him would kill me too if they knew who I was. There’s a note in my wallet with the number of one of his aides, Sergeant William Stanley. Call him and ask him about me. After he confirms what I’ve just told you, I expect you to let me out of here right away.”
The warden noted everything I said with the same look of uncertainty on his face. “I’ll check,” he grumbled. “For your own good, I hope you haven’t just fed me the same kind of imaginary tale that your terrorist friends try to sell me.”
A policeman escorted me back to the cell. I doubted he would bother calling Sergeant Stanley any time soon, and I had no idea if Stanley would want to help me, but it was worth a try.
I asked my fellow detainees if any of them had seen Alec. Apparently, my friend had thrown a punch at one of the guards and had been sent to solitary confinement for a week.
I lay on my mat, feeling anxious, knowing that Shoshana must be out of her mind with worry. My feeling of helplessness, together with the loss of my freedom, weighed heavily on me. I had never felt this restricted, not even in the Minsk ghetto. After I’d fled that terrible place and joined the partisans, my life had been in constant danger, but I’d been a free man and chosen my own path. Now I was subject to the whims of the prison guards.
Left with no choice, I fell into the routine of prison life. A loud bell would wake us up every morning at five thirty. We were lined up and counted before breakfast and taken for a walk in the courtyard. Then we were sent off to the workshops. I was assigned to the carpentry shop, where we made furniture and coffins. At four o’clock, we were led back to our cells. We were counted again after dinner. Lights were turned off at nine.
The majority of the prisoners were Arabs, mainly petty criminals. There were also about eighty Jewish detainees in the facility, and most of them were suspected of being members of the underground or collaborating with them in some way. I mingled with the underground detainees, and they helped lift my spirits. I wasn’t a member of their organizations, but I was proud to be in allegiance with them. I viewed them all as heroes, but a few in particular stood out.
One was Dov Gruner, who had immigrated illegally to Israel from Hungary via Romania. He was one of the first Jewish residents of Israel who had volunteered to serve in the British army, and he had seen action in Italy. After the war, he’d spent some time as an aid worker in displaced persons camps before returning to Israel and joining the Irgun. During the attack on the British Ramat Gan police station, Gruner had been seriously wounded and then captured.
The injuries he sustained, including a shattered jawbone, left him barely able to speak or eat. A military tribunal had sentenced him to death earlier in the month, and in keeping with British practice, he wore a scarlet prison uniform. My heart broke every time
I saw him.
Michael Eshbal, the poet, and Yosef Simhon, a brave fighter who joined the Irgun five years earlier when he was only fifteen, had both been captured following the assault on the Sarafand British military base. We had some famous inmates, and I’d have given anything for them to be able to leave.
Eshbal’s poem “Manning the Barricades” contained the line “Rifle to rifle, barrels raised in salute,” which had inspired the name of our operation, Barrels Raised. I felt honored to be in this man’s company, even more so after conversing with him. I learned he had been born in Poland and had arrived in Israel following an arduous journey through Iraq in the early 1940s.
Yosef Simhon had been born in Tel Aviv. When he was three years old, his mother had been visiting her family in the city of Hebron just when the 1929 massacre occurred. Sixty-seven Jews were killed by Arabs. Yosef and his mother were saved by an Arabic friend, who hid them in his house.
Meir Feinstein, an Irgun fighter wounded during the attack on the Jerusalem train station two months earlier, was also one of my fellow detainees, along with Irgun fighters Yehiel Dresner, Mordechai Alkahi, Eliezer Kashani, and Chaim Golovsky. On December 29, 1946, the four had been involved in the retaliatory lashing of the British officers responsible for the lashes given to Binyamin Kimchi. That same day, the four Irgun fighters stumbled upon a British vehicle checkpoint at the Beit Dagan junction near Tel Aviv, and the police opened fire on them.
The driver, Avraham Mizrahi, was shot and later died. The remaining four were captured, beaten senseless, transferred to a nearby military base, and put on display for the British soldiers to abuse. Their clothes were ripped off, and they were made to run naked through the base while suffering beatings from everyone they passed. After they were taken back inside, their hair was torn out, and they were ordered to clean the floor with toothbrushes. When they refused, the Brits beat them senseless again and doused them in wastewater.