by Ehud Diskin
I answered honestly this time. “I think just like you. Indiscriminate attacks on the British are wrong. Some of them deserve to be killed but not all.”
SINCE MONDAY WAS HANNAH‘S FREE day, I decided to stop by her apartment to say hello. Pleased to see me, she ushered me into a chair in the kitchen and served me a cup of coffee.
“You left me very hurt last time,” she said. “I decided that, if this is how you feel, it’s best if we break things off completely. You know, women talk. Shoshana already told me you’re moving in together. I understand Brigita was a big help, and I’m glad I introduced Shoshana to her, even though it ended our relationship. From now on, Avrum and I will be your friends and nothing more.”
I left, relieved that things could remain friendly between us, though I had to admit, Hannah had rather quickly changed her tune. Likely Alec had a lot to do with that. I was surprised Shoshana had confided in Hannah about moving in with me.
My thoughts shifted to my landlords. I had the feeling they were short on money. If I offered to increase the rent, I thought they would likely agree to let Shoshana move in with me. I resolved to speak to them that evening when they were back from work.
I had tried, successfully until then, to keep my distance from my landlords. With my activities against the British, it was too risky to have them stopping by for visits. I paid the rent once a month and otherwise kept to myself.
I knew a few things about them. They were both in their forties. The wife, Varda, was a short woman with brown hair and brown eyes who worked as a teacher. Her husband, Binyamin, was a small, bespectacled man, a clerical worker for the Mandate government. They had both been born in Israel.
When I’d moved in, Binyamin had tried to befriend me, but Varda was quiet and withdrawn. They had two children, a girl named Elinor and a son named Eitan, with whom I played the occasional game of soccer. Every Friday evening, I could hear the blessings and songs they sang through the walls. I would lie on my bed, lonely for my family and the Shabbat dinners we used to share.
When I knocked on my landlords’ door later, I asked them about Shoshana moving in with me. I told them she was her family’s sole survivor of the death camps and that she worked as a server at a restaurant, just like me.
“Terrible things that war did to the Jews.” Varda sighed. “All right, we certainly won’t stand in your way, but I hope to see you getting married and standing under the chuppah one day soon.”
At breakfast with Hannah and Avrum the next morning, this time I was the one to drag Avrum into his study.
“Please provide me with the intelligence you’ve collected about Inspector Jeffries, and I’ll pass it to Yaakov,” I said as soon as he closed the door. “I’ve spoken to him, and he said he personally supports operations to eliminate individuals such as Jeffries; however, the Haganah doesn’t target specific individuals, only military objectives, so he will pass it on to the Irgun.”
Avrum lowered his head. “Unfortunately,” he said, “I wasn’t able to come up with anything at all.”
I stared at him, more than a little surprised. “Avrum, you claim you want to help to establish a Jewish homeland, but you’re not doing anything about it, even though you’re in a unique position to play an important role. You’re the one who told me about Jeffries, yet you’re doing nothing to stop him. What’s going on?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Avrum snapped. He stood up to leave the room, but I gestured for him to wait a moment.
“If you come up with anything at all,” I said, “come find me at the restaurant and let me know. It’s extremely important.”
Avrum nodded and headed toward the kitchen. Over his shoulder, I could see Hannah talking to Alec with that familiar seductive expression on her face. I felt a sense of relief that Hannah had moved on so quickly.
A FEW DAYS LATER, SHOSHANA and I decided to have another picnic in Tel Arza. March was coming to an end, and the weather was pleasant. Like before, I carried the two knapsacks she had packed with food. We walked to the valley that ran through Tel Arza, climbed a little way up a hill, and spread our blankets alongside a large boulder.
There was no bottle of brandy from Max this time. Shoshana had told me on our way that he was angry with her for moving in with me. I was lying down, my hands linked over my chest as I gazed up at my beautiful girlfriend.
“In Max’s opinion, with my looks and personality,” she said, “I could easily find someone better than a good-for-nothing coward,” she said and burst out laughing.
She lay down beside me and caressed my face. And at that moment, I realized I had to be more open and honest with her.
“Shoshana, if Max knew what I’ve done over the past few months, he’d be one of my biggest fans. I’m about to tell you my most guarded secrets. The only other person who knows about them is Alec, who is like a brother to me.”
She gripped my hand as I continued. “When I declined your offer to join the resistance, I wasn’t completely honest with you. The real reason I said no is because I’m concerned about informants. When I was a partisan, a Gentile named Pavel betrayed us, and it cost the lives of several men, including one who was like an older brother to me. I support the fight against the British, but I’ve chosen to operate alone and in secret.
“On Geula Street, a few months ago, I attacked a British soldier and stole his weapon. I was also the sniper who fired on the Schneller Barracks. Max thinks that the death of that officer from the restaurant was a miraculous coincidence, but I was the one who lay in wait for him that night he was at the restaurant. I also killed that sergeant on Amos Street.”
While I was talking, she had sat up and was hugging her knees and staring out at the horizon.
“If you don’t wish to see me hanging by the neck from a British rope, you must keep everything I’ve said to yourself,” I concluded.
Shoshana looked stunned at my words. “Of course I will. I’m … well, I’m shocked, but it does explain a few things.” She lowered her gaze and was quiet for a moment, then glanced up. “I admire you for what you’re doing. I wish I could be part of the resistance in such a way. Are you planning more operations?”
“Alec is going to join me, and together we will strike the British in any way we can until they leave Israel. I won’t tell you about our future operations, but I wanted you to know who I really am.”
Shoshana smiled and then hugged me tightly. “The moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you were someone special. I knew it was worth overcoming everything I’d experienced just to be with you. Please be careful, since I need you forever.”
Her words reminded me of Leah’s, and I felt a pang in my heart. We may not have been under Nazi occupation any longer, but the dangers we faced were still real. I had failed the first love of my life. I was determined to stay vigilant and make sure nothing bad ever happened to Shoshana.
11
“UNKNOWN SOLDIERS ARE WE, WITHOUT UNIFORM”
(FROM “UNKNOWN SOLDIERS,” A POEM BY AVRAHAM STERN, 1932)
Alec suggested that I give myself a break from planning new ways to attack the British. “Shoshana is moving in with you. You need to focus on her for a while. Things are too hot right now. Go quiet until the British ease up a bit.”
I knew he was right. As partisans, we knew we had to go to ground after a successful operation. At the same time, I had to continue gathering whatever information I could about Inspector Jeffries, even if I couldn’t act on it right away. Not that I was willing to wait too long. Taking him out of the picture could save lives, and every day we waited put the underground at more risk.
Alec quickly got the hang of things at the restaurant, lightening everyone’s load. Even Max seemed less stressed, though he never eased up on me.
“I don’t think you’re right for Shoshana,” Max said to me one evening. “I can’t change her mind, but I’m warning you … if you hurt her, you’ll have me to deal with, and it won’t be pleasant for you at all.”
I no
dded as he stared at me, and then he let out a long-frustrated groan. “The commander who met with you a while back would like to see you again. I told him it was a waste of time, but he insisted that I ask.”
“Why not? That’s fine,” I said, shrugging my shoulders.
“All right!” Max snapped. “They’ll send a car to pick you up one of these evenings.”
Two days later, just before closing time, a man walked in and immediately seized my attention. His hair was cropped short, and the pugnacious expression on his broad face made him look like a brawler. I sized him up and came to the conclusion that I’d be in real trouble if we ever got into a physical confrontation. Max pointed to me, and the man wordlessly gestured for me to follow him outside.
A black Ford Anglia was parked in front of the restaurant. The tough guy ushered me into the back seat, slid in next to me, and told the driver to go. As we rolled down Ben Yehuda Street, he took a black scarf from his pocket and blindfolded me.
After a short drive, we came to a stop. The man opened my car door and led me down a gravel path into a house. With the door closed behind us, he removed my blindfold. Standing in front of me was Max’s old hero from the restaurant.
“How are you, David?” he asked, extending his hand. “I apologize for all the cloak-and-dagger stuff, but as a former partisan, you surely understand the importance of secrecy.” He escorted me into a sitting room, where two men I gauged to be in their late thirties were sitting on the sofa. Hanging on the wall were three large photographs of British men in uniform.
“Regrettably, I’m unable to give you my name or the names of my colleagues,” the commander said to me. “I’m sure you understand. I’m usually very good at reading people, and you sparked my curiosity the last time we met. I did some digging, and I was very impressed by your fighting record as a partisan commander.”
He paused, apparently waiting for a response that I would not give, and then he continued. “We’ve been fighting the British for several years, and we’ve gained valuable experience. Our people are brave, loyal, and patriotic, and we’ve carried out dozens of successful operations. But I’ve been thinking that someone like you could offer insights we haven’t considered, that your perspective could improve our performance.”
The commander turned to one of the men sitting on the sofa. “Brief David on the three men in the photos.”
The man stood up and tapped the photograph on the right. “This is General Archibald James Halkett Cassels, Jim to his friends. In 1944, he led a brigade that was among the first British forces to land on the beaches at Normandy. He fought alongside his troops and was highly decorated for his excellence in the field. He was promoted after the war to the rank of general. He arrived here in March to take command of the Sixth Airborne Division, which is spearheading the Brits’ fight against the Jewish resistance movement.”
I looked at the picture of Cassels, a tall man with a large droopy nose and a smile on his face. He wore the same red beret as the soldiers I had wounded at the Schneller Barracks. It saddened me to know that this man, who had fought courageously against the enemies of the Jewish people, had joined the war against us.
The man pointed to the picture in the middle. “This is General Evelyn Hugh Barker, known simply as Barker. He’s the commander in chief of the British forces in Israel and Transjordan. He served in Israel between 1936 and 1938, returned to England, rose through the ranks to become general, and was named commander of the Forty-Ninth Infantry Division. His division also landed on the beaches in Normandy and excelled in battle. In December 1944, he was named commander of the Eighth Army, directly under Montgomery. On April 1, 1945, his soldiers reached the Bergen-Belsen death camp, where he got a firsthand view of the horrors perpetrated there by the Nazis. Nevertheless, Barker is a rabid Jew-hater and enemy number one of Israel. We know he’s having an affair with a young Christian Arab woman who stages parties at her home in Jerusalem for members of the Arab elite and British officers.”
I looked at the photograph. Unlike Jim Cassels, Barker, with his elongated face and cold eyes, didn’t look like a particularly pleasant individual.
“The man in the third photograph is Inspector Malcolm Jeffries. He’s the lowest ranked of the three, but he represents a major problem for us. An unidentified cell whose members aren’t affiliated with one of the known underground organizations killed his deputy, one Sergeant John Perry, a threat in his own right. Jeffries’s primary objective now is to apprehend the killers. To this end, he’s assembled a team of six men who’ve been tasked with hunting down as many underground members as possible. The members of his team are professionals, hard men who served in an SAS commando unit under Colonel David Sterling. They wreaked havoc on the Germans both in North Africa and in Europe. Two of them are currently accompanying Jeffries as his bodyguards.”
The man stopped talking and waited for a signal from his commander to continue. I gathered they were waiting for a response from me. I looked at the photograph of Jeffries, the man I already had in my sights. It was my first time seeing his face. He had red hair, small hostile green eyes, and the same patronizing expression Greene had worn in the restaurant, but this man looked even tougher and more determined.
“David,” the commander said as I studied the photograph of Jeffries, “can you offer us any ideas on how to safely assassinate these men?”
Although my three years as a partisan had left me well versed in the art of killing Germans quickly and efficiently at a moment’s notice, every situation was different. There were no hard and fast theoretical principles on assassinations.
“The most important thing,” I said after a few moments of thought, “is to make sure that the people entrusted with the mission have the right skills for the job. If they plan to hit the targets up close, they must be in excellent physical condition and well trained in hand-to-hand combat and silent weapons, like knives and ropes. If they are to use a firearm, they must be talented long-range marksmen who’ve trained on and calibrated the exact weapon they’ll carry into battle. And your choice of weapon should suit the environment in which you are operating. At night or in urban areas, it’s best to use a weapon that’s effective at close quarters. Selecting level-headed individuals for the job is the most important thing. People get killed when their comrades lose their heads.”
I stopped for a moment, gathering my thoughts.
“Clearly, intelligence is vital,” I said. “You have to collect as much information as possible about the target so you can choose the right time and place for the hit.”
The men listened attentively as I told them about our operations against the German ambush force near Minsk and the German supply camp.
“I think you should create a small unit that specializes in targeted killings,” I continued. “Unfortunately, some of those skills can only be learned in the field. It’s an art—a mixture of bravery, pragmatism, creativity, and an instinct for the unexpected.” I nodded at the photographs on the wall. “Let me ask you something. How would you rank these men in terms of importance?”
“General Barker tops the list,” the commander said. “Then Jeffries.” He paused, staring at me to let me know that his next question would address the crux of this meeting. “David, would you join us on this mission? We’ll provide any weapons and support you need.”
“I’ve already told you where I stand,” I said. “I identify with your objectives and admire your bravery, but I need a break from fighting.”
He stared at me with a baffled look and then shrugged. “Think about my proposal,” he said. “We’d greatly appreciate your advice as we move forward on this. Thank you, David.”
We shook hands. My burly escort stepped forward with his blindfold.
“There’s no need for that,” the commander said. “From what we know about David—and we know quite a lot—he can be trusted.”
We said goodbye, and I got into the car. I could see now that the house was in the Talpiot neighborhood in south
ern Jerusalem, although I doubted I could’ve found it again on my own. The driver, however, required no instructions from me and dropped me off outside my house on Zephaniah Street. They had clearly done their homework.
Shoshana hugged me warmly when I opened the door. She told me she was planning some changes to the apartment and had gone to see the landlords to get their approval. “Varda agreed to everything I asked for,” she said. “She even invited us for dinner at their home this Friday. What a nice woman!”
I was surprised. Varda had always struck me as sullen and standoffish, and she’d never offered me so much as a cup of tea, let alone invited me to Shabbat dinner. I was forced to admit to myself that Shoshana’s social skills were much better than mine.
At the beginning of our shifts the following night, we asked Max for Friday off. “Alec is worth two of you,” Max sneered at me. “We’ll miss Shoshana, but we’ll get by.”
For Friday’s dinner, Shoshana put on a beautiful white dress that I’d never seen before. I wore a white shirt and blue trousers that I kept for special occasions. Varda and Binyamin gave us a warm welcome and ushered us to the table.
Binyamin sat at the head, and I was shown to the seat at the opposite end. Varda sat next to Shoshana, and their children sat across from them. Binyamin poured the wine and recited the Kiddush prayer, something I hadn’t experienced since my own family’s Shabbat dinners at our home in Belarus.
The sounds of my landlords’ family celebrating the Shabbat had made me feel lonely before, but as I sat with them at their table, I was gripped with a sorrow that caught me by surprise. I could picture the delicate features of my beautiful mother putting on her white lace headscarf and lighting the candles. I recalled my father saying the blessing over the wine and the challah before tearing off pieces of the bread to pass around a table covered with a similar white tablecloth.
