by Bodie Thoene
Harvey Terrill, night desk editor, had never left the office. The weary, frantic little man raised his bald head and scowled in Murphy’s direction. Three cold cups of coffee stood amid the devastation of his desk.
“Hi-ya, Boss,” he said glumly.
“Bad night, huh?” Murphy swung past him and motioned with his briefcase for Harvey to follow into the glass-enclosed office.
Harvey gathered up a stack of transmissions and hurried after Murphy. He kicked the door shut with his foot and sat down, looking like a man suffering from shell shock. Then he laid the sheaf of transmissions on Murphy’s desk.
“The German diplomat has been promoted by Hitler.”
“Vom Rath?”
“Right. Now he’s the head of the German Embassy in Paris. Nice job if the guy lives.”
“And?”
“He might make it. Hitler has sent his personal doctor to take care of him. We can hope.”
“And Palestine?”
“Twenty new incidents since last night.” Harvey rubbed his bald head forlornly. “Mostly in and around Jerusalem for the worst of them. One major attack in northern Palestine near Mount Carmel. Twenty-four hundred troops of the Royal Scots Grays Horse Regiment arrived in Haifa yesterday from India and spent their first night in the Holy Land fighting Muslims.”
Harvey passed the next few minutes ticking off the incidents one by one, counting on his fingers twice through.
“Any word from Captain Orde?” Murphy asked quietly, with a sense of foreboding.
Harvey passed the short dispatch across the desk to Murphy. “Just this.”
Murphy scanned the page:
Arab rebellion believed by British intelligence sources to be financed and led by foreign agents Stop Many innocent killed on all sides Stop No peace in our time in Palestine Stop
Murphy pondered the brief message, putting it all together. “Foreign agents. No peace in our time.” He shook his head and looked up at Harvey. “We don’t have to think very hard to figure out who the foreign agents are, do we?”
“We can’t print it, Boss, until we have proof. They gotta catch a Nazi in Jerusalem before we print it. Otherwise they’ll say we’re just a bunch of paranoid journalists.”
“Like Churchill?”
“Exactly.”
Murphy scowled at the message. He read it again, then picked up a wire describing the struggle of Ernst vom Rath to live. Another told of the anguish of the Jewish adolescent who pulled the trigger. Still another related violence against Jews in Poland. Beyond the glass window of his office, the machine-gun rattle of the typewriters waged a war of words. “Seems as if only the innocent get hurt, doesn’t it, Harvey?” He narrowed his eyes and looked out on the rain-slick London streets as he remembered German bombers over Madrid. “We’re not paranoid. England is already at war with the German Reich in Palestine, but Chamberlain is too dumb to know it.” He handed Orde’s dispatch back to Harvey.
“What do I do with it?”
“Give it a banner headline, Harvey. NAZI AGENTS INSTIGATE RIOTS IN PALESTINE. Got it?”
“But, Boss—”
“And get me a line through to the British colonial secretary. I want a box right below that with a story about the Woodhead Commission’s decision on Jewish immigration.”
“But they haven’t decided yet.”
“They decided before they ever set foot in Palestine!” Murphy snapped. “Now do it.”
***
Hitler was conferring with Dr. Joseph Goebbels, Reichsminister of Propaganda, just before his limousine was scheduled to take him to address the horde of Brownshirts gathered to hear his memorial address.
Heinrich Himmler, unmistakable satisfaction beaming from his round face, entered the room. “Mein Führer, I have the latest dispatches, which I thought you should hear before attending the ceremony.”
“I have been expecting you,” remarked Hitler. “Stay, Goebbels. You should hear this also.”
“The BBC has just announced the findings of the Woodhead Commission’s review of British plans for a Jewish state in Palestine.”
“And?” encouraged Hitler.
“They have concluded that to go forward with such a plan would unnecessarily antagonize the Arab population. It is the commission’s strong recommendation that the partition plan be scrapped.”
The Führer’s eyes began to glow with anticipation.
“Furthermore, reports have arrived of new violent outbreaks in Palestine that are taking place even as we speak. It seems there is a massive Arab uprising in response to some Jewish atrocity.”
The light in Hitler’s eyes intensified.
“Finally, it is my painful duty to inform you that Secretary vom Rath has tragically succumbed to the wounds inflicted by the Jew assassin Grynspan.”
Hitler could not repress the urge to give a little jig-step of delight. He beamed at the two men with him in the room.
***
Rumors of vom Rath’s death were already circulating in the packed hall. A growing rumble was heard as Brownshirts exclaimed in louder and louder tones: “What are we waiting for? The Jew dogs must be taught a lesson they’ll never forget!”
The official announcement that vom Rath had, in fact, died came just before the Führer strode onto the platform to speak. A tense silence fell over the crowd in anticipation of the Führer’s words.
Hitler approached the microphone. The Brownshirts leaned forward almost as one in anticipation. They waited, but still Hitler did not speak.
Some in the crowd could not stand the tension any longer and began to murmur again: “Kill the Jews . . . break their heads . . . all Jews are guilty . . . kill the Jews.”
The Führer, obviously in the grip of the strongest emotion at the death of the fine young Aryan, vom Rath, indicated with a shake of his head that his grief was too powerful; he could not speak.
The Brownshirts could no longer restrain themselves. They surged from their places and out into the streets of Munich, shouting, “Smash the Jews! For one dead German ten thousand Jews should die . . . no, a hundred thousand . . . no, millions . . . smash them all!”
The Führer stood on the platform, his head bowed in silent, personal suffering. In a soft aside, spoken just for the ears of Reichsminister Goebbels, Hitler remarked, “The SA must have their fling.”
***
A sharp and urgent rapping on Theo’s door pulled him from sleep.
“Mr. Lindheim!” It was the voice of Ambassador Henderson. “Wake up, my good man! For heaven’s sake!”
As Theo moved to open the door, he could hear the rumble of a fleet of trucks outside the embassy gates. Could it be, Theo wondered, that Göring has gone back on his promise to allow me twenty-four hours to leave Berlin?
The face of Henderson was gaunt and pale in the corridor. He pushed past Theo, closing the door behind him as he took Theo’s arm and guided him to the window overlooking Wilhelmstrasse.
“What is it?” Theo asked, startled by Henderson’s intensity.
Henderson pulled back the curtain and gestured for Theo to look.
Most of the windows at the Adlon Hotel across the street were dark. The street itself was deserted except for a line of trucks that passed in slow procession around the corner from the Interior Ministry to Wilhelmstrasse.
“That German chap has died in Paris,” Henderson explained, his voice hoarse from agitation. “Those trucks are coming from Gestapo headquarters.”
Theo could see the open-backed trucks were loaded with men. He quietly finished Henderson’s thought. “Then there will be reprisals, demonstrations.” He frowned. Would one of those trucks stop outside the British Embassy? Had Göring arranged for his arrest tonight?
“Quite.” Henderson nodded curtly. “It has already begun in Munich. There is not much time, I’m afraid. Please gather your things as quickly as you can. I have arranged for you to leave early. There is a British transport plane fueled and ready at Templehof. The car is waiting for yo
u in the drive.”
“Five minutes,” Theo agreed and Henderson left him. Then, as if to signal that even five minutes might be too long, an eerie orange glow lit up the night sky somewhere beyond the Adlon Hotel.
Theo buttoned his shirt as he took one last look out the window. Berlin was burning! Herman Göring’s bonfire of books had been only a small demonstration of the conflagration that the Nazis planned for the Jews of Germany. Kristalnacht, the “Night of Broken Glass,” had begun. Perhaps this night too was meant to be just a taste of what Hitler planned for the People of the Covenant.
Theo would carry the warning back to England. He could only hope that someone would listen, that something might be done before it was too late.
***
A fine mist drifted over the Mount of Olives. Two white-robed figures walked slowly among the ancient trees of Gethsemane. One, an old woman, clung to a small silver cross that hung around her neck. The other, young and beautiful, carried the sorrow of the ages in her eyes as she studied the Jewish cemetery below.
The old woman reached up and plucked a gray-green leaf from the branch of a gnarled tree. She held it out to the young woman and pointed to a single raindrop on the leaf.
“Drougoi,” said the old woman. “The Lord is also weeping for you today.”
The young woman held the captured teardrop gently in her hands as she watched the body of Eli Sachar being lowered into a grave surrounded by a cluster of black umbrellas. A ring of British soldiers led by Captain Orde stood guard around the perimeter of the mourners, lest an Arab sniper fire on them as they grieved. Leah and Shimon stood to one side.
“The captain has spread the story that you took your own life rather than endure a forced marriage. For your safety it is best that no one knows the truth. Not Eli’s loved ones. Even your own.” The old woman looked back toward the mourners.
“I have no loved ones,” Victoria said quietly. “Captain Orde is right about Eli’s family. Let them believe what they need to believe. They must not carry the burden that he loved me. That he would not have been a rabbi after all . . .” Her voice faltered. “They must have their own illusions. It makes no difference.”
“What will you do now?” asked the old woman. The distant sounds of sobbing drifted up to them. Ida Sachar called the name of her son again and again. Eli’s brother, Moshe, stood apart, unshielded by an umbrella. His hair dripped water onto his grim, hard face. No one looked up toward the two women on the knoll of the hill.
The young woman did not answer for a long time. She looked again at the teardrop on the olive leaf, proof that the Lord suffered with her. “Yes, in the Old City they say that I am dead,” whispered the young woman. “And so I am, in a way.” She smiled sadly toward the grave. “It is just as well.”
The old rabbi intoned a prayer in Hebrew and then tossed a handful of dirt into the grave. The sobbing grew louder. Moshe’s face broke with emotion. Angrily he brushed away his tears.
The young woman did not weep as she watched. “They suffer,” she said, “but they do not know that time is nothing, do they, Mother?”
The old woman shook her head in pity for the mourners. “It is a blink of an eye since Jesus wept here. It will be that long until He returns to this very place, Victoria.”
“Yes. I believe that. And so . . . I would like to wait here for that moment. To be near Eli while I wait. To grow more in the likeness of my Friend.”
The old woman touched the silver cross. “You may be waiting a lifetime.”
“What is that?” Victoria raised her hands as if releasing a bird. “It will be gone. Is that not the secret of Jerusalem? All the lifetimes. All the grief. It will end, and I will stand before my Lord with Eli again at my side. Please, do not send me away. I want to serve here until then.”
The old woman nodded her assent. “His will be done,” she said softly.
And the two women walked back home along the path where Jesus walked.
Digging Deeper into
JERUSALEM INTERLUDE
In August 1938 Hitler’s forces sweep across the borders of the Sudetenland, ultimately swallowing the entire land of Czechoslovakia. His goose-stepping soldiers seem humanly unstoppable. Other nations who had promised to protect Czechoslovakia back down, fearing for their own safety, thus making it easy for Hitler to carry out his evil agenda.
More Jews are forced to flee their homelands. Some are forcibly removed in cattle cars, such as Lazer, Rifka, and Berta Grynspan. And all for the unforgivable sin of being born with Jewish blood! Other Jews flee to Palestine, the Promised Land of their dreams . . . only to be imprisoned in barbed wire as they disembark from rusting ships. Shimon and Leah Feldstein are two of the “lucky ones” who are approved to live in Jerusalem.
However, even in the Holy City, Hitler’s darkness lurks. Two unlikely bedfellows, the Muslim Grand Mufti of Jerusalem and Adolf Hitler, secretly join in a common goal: to eradicate the Jews from the earth.
It’s no surprise the Jews would wonder, Is there no place on earth that’s safe for us? For people like Leah and Shimon Feldstein? for Rabbi Lebowitz in Jerusalem and his beloved family in Warsaw? for young people in love, like Eli Sachar and Victoria Hassan, who are separated by the highest walls of religion and tradition?
Yet in the midst of such broken dreams, violence, and death, God’s miracles—both large and small—still reign. Baby Yacov is born, and the Grynspans survive—both events a testament to God’s covenant with the people of Israel. In a time of evil, kindness comes from surprising sources. Before she dies, Shimon’s great-aunt leaves him four months free rent on her flat, allowing the homeless Shimon and Leah to have a place of their own. A compassionate priest picks up a dead child in his arms and gathers the grieving refugee family to take them back to his parish. God allows the tough yet compassionate British captain Samuel Orde to be in the exact position to help the Jews of Jerusalem. The diminuitive but feisty Father Kopecky prevails over the Nazis who are determined to rape Etta Lubetkin.
And then, to show His caring about even the smallest of details, God sends Shimon and his cast-encased arm to answer Rabbi Lebowitz’s request for an instrument to crack the hard English walnuts! How right Rabbi Lebowitz is when he writes, in all capital letters, GOD IS AN OPTIMIST and posts the message on the walls of Tipat Chalev!
And that takes us to you, dear reader. You may be in a situation right now, or have faced a situation in the past, where you wonder whether there is a God at all, whether He cares, or whether He’s simply unable to help. Our heart goes out to you. We prayed for you as we wrote this book and continue to pray as we receive your letters and hear your soul cries. No doubt you have myriad life questions of your own.
Following are some questions designed as a starting place, to take you deeper into the answers to your questions. You may wish to delve into them on your own or share them with a friend or a discussion group.
We hope Jerusalem Interlude will encourage you in your search for answers to your daily dilemmas and life situations. But most of all, we pray that you will “discover the Truth through fiction.” For we are convinced that if you seek diligently, you will find the One who holds all the answers to the universe (1 Chronicles 28:9).
Bodie & Brock Thoene
Seek . . .
Prologue
1. Have you loved—and lost—someone (as Charles lost Edith—p. xii)? If so, how has that experience affected your ability to love again?
2. All her life Tikvah has longed for some word from the mother she never had a chance to know (see p. xiii). What do you long for? (Rabbi Lebowitz prays that his family will be able to join him in Jerusalem—see p. 99.) Why?
Chapters 1–2
3. After being such close friends—like sisters—Elisa and Leah find it very difficult to say good-bye (see p. 1). Aaron Lubetkin also feels the loss of his good friend, Dr. Eduard Letzno (see p. 265) as the doctor boards the train for Palestine. Have you found it hard to say good-bye to a particular person? Wh
o? When?
4. “Men will do for religion what they would not do for mere economics! Clothe one’s purpose in the robes of a religious cause, and they will gladly die for you” (p. 5). Do you agree? Why or why not? What evidence do you see in today’s world to support your conclusion?
5. “That which was most forbidden had now become that which Eli desired more than anything else in his life” (p. 10). Have you ever struggled with wanting something that was forbidden? What was the result?
Chapters 3–4
6. All of us long for soul rest, as Elisa did (see p. 27). A place where we can “cocoon” for a while, away from pressure and trouble. When you long for such a place, where do you go? How is that need for rest met?
7. Shimon Feldstein was the only one who survived the SS Darien (see p. 30). Theo Lindheim was the sole survivor of his block in Dachau. In such situations, do you believe “there must be some reason” (p. 34) for their survival? Or is it simply the luck of the draw? Explain.
8. Have you ever been “overwhelmed by the vastness of the problem” (see p. 34)? In what situation? Looking back now, in what ways would you respond differently today to “make a difference even to one,” if given the opportunity?
Some encouragement from Anna Lindheim:
“Those people, the numbers you speak of, they are each precious in the sight of God. The very hairs of our heads are numbered—so it is written. We must only be willing to dedicate our hands to the service of God’s love. Then He will assign our tasks to us. We must not be overwhelmed by the vastness of the problem.”