Lone Wolf in Jerusalem

by Ehud Diskin

  On June 29, the British responded with Operation Broadside, a large-scale military offensive that became known among the Jewish community as Black Sabbath. A general curfew was imposed in all cities throughout the country. Seventeen thousand British soldiers conducted raids on Jewish settlements and institutions in an effort to seize weapons held by the Jewish underground. Some five thousand individuals were apprehended, several of the Jewish community’s senior leaders among them. On the same day, British soldiers opened fire and killed three people during their raids on the Ein Harod and Tel Yosef kibbutzim.

  Mr. Glickstein, whose home we’d used for the meetings of our Jerusalem group, was one of those arrested on Black Sabbath. Yaakov escaped the purge, and he announced that the upcoming meeting would take place at the home of the Cohen family, the owners of the grocery store. I was surprised to discover that the Cohens were active in the Haganah. I had learned in Belarus, and also here in Israel, that looks could be deceiving during times of war.

  “What brings you here, Mr. Don Juan?” Mrs. Cohen asked when Alec and I walked into their apartment. “If you’re here to look for pretty girls, I’m afraid there aren’t any today.”

  “Don’t be so modest!” I exclaimed. “If it weren’t for Mr. Cohen, I would have tried to seduce you a long time ago.” My attempt to kid around was met with her usual look of displeasure and suspicion.

  Yaakov began with a review of what had happened on Black Sabbath. He said that despite the concerted British efforts, the underground organizations hadn’t been dealt a lethal blow and the Jewish Resistance Movement remained active.

  “I’m expecting a stormy July,” he said. “The British have violated the rules of the game. They aren’t allowing Jews to immigrate to Israel, they’ve banned the establishment of new communities and settlements, and many of our leaders have been arrested. The Haganah’s political arm won’t allow us to strike at the British, but the Irgun and Lehi will hit the British hard. I hope it teaches them that they can’t ignore our demands.”

  When the meeting was over, Alec and I told Yaakov that he had our support and we would think of ways to help him.

  I received indirect confirmation of Yaakov’s report a few evenings later, when Max asked me and Shoshana to join him for a brandy after the restaurant closed.

  “I had a talk with our mutual friend, the commander,” Max said. “Because the Haganah is under constraints from its political leadership, the Irgun and Lehi will lead the retaliation against the British for their brutal actions on Black Sabbath. And he asked me to see if you were ready to join up now. This month is going to be a critical one, and if you want to take part in the struggle, you should join now.”

  “Stop pressuring him,” Shoshana said. “He’s already done so much for the Jewish people, and he’s put himself at enough risk. He’ll let you know when he’s ready.”

  Max didn’t say a word as we sat in the restaurant drinking our brandy, the silence between us like a heavy blanket.

  “Let me think about it,” I finally said. Max gave me a disdainful look, rose, and left the room.

  A FEW DAYS LATER, I was at work when a familiar-looking British policeman walked into Café Pinsk and ordered a drink at the bar. He downed it quickly and immediately ordered a second. When he noticed me looking at him, he winked, and I walked over. “Your service has improved greatly,” he said.

  “Thank you,” I said. “We’re always trying to improve.”

  I returned the following morning to the Schneller Barracks, and after the routine security check, I was escorted to Jeffries’s office, where I found him sitting at his desk with a pensive look on his face.

  “I’d like to have a serious talk with you,” he said. “But first a drink—a good one.” He stood up and poured us each a glass of Glenfiddich whiskey.

  “The mass arrests we carried out were very successful,” he began, “and our political leadership is conducting talks with their counterpart in the Jewish community. We feel the pressure has paid off, and the Jewish Agency wants, for the time being, to keep things quiet. Their influence, however, is restricted to the Haganah, not the Irgun or Lehi. We don’t expect them to end the campaign of violence against us, though of course we will respond with even harsher actions of our own.”

  I listened quietly, wondering why he was telling me this, but I didn’t have to wait long for the answer.

  “I want you to work as my agent in one of these organizations,” Jeffries said. “You’re an intelligent young man, who would be an asset to any underground movement. Especially with their recent loss of manpower, you’ll be playing a part in operational activities in no time at all.”

  There was something alarming about his tone, a warning that this wasn’t merely a friendly request.

  “My solidarity with the British is sincere,” I said with caution, “but it’s hard for me to see myself joining the underground just to betray them. I endured a great deal of suffering before I came here, and all I want right now is some peace and quiet.”

  Jeffries glanced at me. “I thought you’d say that, and that’s why I’m not giving you a choice. A few months ago, we set up a new department to examine the papers of all the new arrivals in Palestine. I ran a check on your papers and those of your girlfriend. The check took some time, because the head of the department was murdered. But two days ago, I received the results. You were cleared, but Shoshana wasn’t.”

  His words startled me, but I kept a straight face. Apparently, Nelka and I had managed to obtain exceptionally good forgeries, while Shoshana had not.

  “In keeping with regulations,” Jeffries continued, “I should have issued an arrest warrant against Miss Shoshana Bukstein, in which case she would already be at the Atlit detention camp, awaiting deportation. But because of your cooperation, I haven’t yet, and I assume you’ll continue to cooperate in the future.”

  My eyes were fixed on his neck while he was speaking, and I clenched my fists at my side as I fought the urge to strangle him.

  “Come now,” he said, apparently picking up on my agitation and trying to calm me down. “It’s not so bad. We’ll brief you thoroughly on how to join the underground organization you’re sent to, and I’ll make sure you are handsomely rewarded for your troubles.”

  “And Shoshana?” I asked.

  He raised one brow and smiled. “Now, if you’ll excuse me for a moment …” Jeffries stepped out of the office. He obviously wanted to make me sweat over Shoshana’s fate, but I wouldn’t allow him to shake me. Soon he returned with one of his men.

  “This is Sergeant Richards,” Jefferies said. “He’ll guide you in how to join the underground.”

  Richards gave me a stiff nod, his thick British accent grating on my nerves as he gave me instructions. “Go see Reuven Haimovich. He owns a furniture store on the corner of Geula Street and Yonah. Tell him you want to join the underground to fight the British.”

  “And what if he asks me how I found him?” I asked.

  Jeffries and Richards looked at each other. Richards shrugged. “Tell him that someone you met at the restaurant sent you,” he said. “Someone who wants to remain anonymous.”

  “In the meantime,” Jeffries said, “you and I will stop meeting for a while. We’ll get together again only after you have information to pass on. If you’re ever captured by our men, wait until someone from the CID shows up, and tell him to call me.”

  For the first time since I’d become a partisan commander, I found myself taking orders rather than giving them, and I didn’t like it. But Jeffries had the upper hand … at least for now.

  “Don’t forget,” Jeffries said after the sergeant had left the room, “I’m the only reason your girlfriend isn’t in a detention camp right now. But I promise that if you prove yourself to be a good source of information, I will personally make sure she obtains legal status here.”

  As soon as I got to Café Pinsk that afternoon, I asked Max to contact his superior and tell him I needed to meet urgently.
When I arrived at the house in Talpiot that night, I told the commander about my meeting with Jeffries.

  “British efforts to plant moles in the underground are nothing new,” he said with a stern look on his face. “On a number of occasions, they’ve managed to cause serious damage with the help of those traitors, but we pick ourselves up and press on with the struggle. Do exactly as Jeffries instructed and remain in touch with me via Max. We’ll take the necessary measures to protect ourselves.”

  “If you have any intention of killing Haimovich,” I said, “I ask that you hold off for a while. The British would suspect me of ratting on him.”

  The commander’s face darkened. “You think we don’t know what we’re doing?” he snapped. “Don’t worry, we won’t put you at risk, and we’ll feed you information to help you maintain your cover.”

  When the driver dropped me off at home, my burly chaperone surprised me by getting out of the car and offering me his hand. “I’m Shimon,” he said, and I realized that he now considered me a member of the underground.

  15

  “THE ENEMY CREEPING EVER CLOSER”

  (FROM “ON GUARD WE STAND,” A POEM BY AVRAHAM SHLONSKY, 1941)

  The next morning, I followed Sergeant Richards’s instructions and went to see Reuven Haimovich. He looked like he was in his forties, full figured, with piercing eyes. He motioned for me to follow him into the small office near the entrance to his store. “What can I do for you, young man?” he asked in a distinctly Polish accent.

  “I came to Israel from Belarus about a year ago,” I replied. “I needed some time to recover from everything I went through during the war. Now that I’m back on my feet, I want to play a part in the struggle against the British.”

  “Who sent you to me?” Haimovich asked.

  “I work as a waiter at Café Pinsk,” I said. “A customer and I were talking about the restrictions the British have put on immigration, and I told him how angry it made me. He asked if I was interested in doing something about it. I said I was, and he wrote down your name and address. I haven’t seen him since.”

  Haimovich looked me straight in the eyes. “Are you willing to sacrifice yourself for the sake of your homeland?” he asked.

  I could have simply said yes, but I thought that might seem suspicious. “Let’s not go too far,” I said. “I’m willing to enlist and help the underground, and I know it’s dangerous. I think that’s enough at this stage.”

  “Okay,” Haimovich said. “Come back in an hour.”

  “Wait,” I said. “Which group are we talking about?”

  “You’ll find out if you’re accepted. Now leave.”

  I was getting tired of being ordered around, but I did as he said. I spent the hour walking, my mind on the past. When I returned to the store at the given hour, a car, a driver, and an escort were waiting for me. We hadn’t traveled farther than a block when my escort—a short, thin man with a mustache and curly hair—pulled out a blindfold and tied it around my head, covering my eyes, sending me into darkness.

  We reached our destination about twenty minutes later. I was helped out of the car, and we walked for several minutes. We stopped. I heard a door open, and I was pushed forward. I took a few steps and stumbled over what seemed to be a threshold or entrance. A door clanged shut behind me.

  “You can remove the blindfold now,” the escort said.

  I pulled the cloth from my eyes and looked around. We were in a small room. There were several chairs and a desk, and from their industrial look, my impression was that we were in the office of a small factory. A few seconds later, a door on the other side of the office opened, and a tall, thin man, with a hooked nose and thin lips, walked in. He looked at me quizzically and began questioning me about my past in Belarus, my time in Israel, and my political viewpoints. He wanted precise details, and I lost my patience a few minutes into the interrogation.

  “Would you like to know my shoe size too?” I blurted out.

  “A few months ago,” he growled, “a man just like you sat in that same chair. We accepted him into the organization, and he turned out to be an informant working for the British. We caught him, and he was punished, but he caused significant harm to our organization. Stop joking and answer my questions, or you can go back to where you came from.”

  The interrogation went on for another hour or so. “It’ll take me a few days to verify what you’ve told me,” the man said when he was done. “If we approve your request, we’ll send someone to Café Pinsk. If not, you won’t hear from us again.”

  A few days later I was chopping carrots before my shift when a young man entered the restaurant, exchanged a few words with Max, and then approached me.

  “You’ve been accepted into the organization,” he said in a low voice. “Your first task is to post leaflets around the city. Go to Reuven’s furniture store tomorrow night after work.”

  Posting leaflets wasn’t exactly what I had in mind for my first task, and I felt somewhat offended. I also disliked the idea of having to work with a man I knew to be an informant. But this was the situation I found myself in.

  “I’ve decided to join the underground,” I told Shoshana on our way home from work the following night. “I’m going to post leaflets tonight.”

  “Post leaflets?” she stared at me in disbelief. “With all your experience, that’s what they’ve given you to do?”

  I had no intention of telling her about Jeffries’s coercion, but I didn’t want to lie to her either. “Well, I am still very new to the organization. I assume I’ll get more important tasks in time.”

  Shoshana stopped walking and looked up at me. “I’m fine with your decision to join the resistance.” She gave me a small smile. “Who knows? You may even end up posting leaflets I helped prepare at the printing house.”

  We parted with a quick kiss, and Shoshana went into our apartment. I headed for Geula Street. The office at Haimovich’s store was filled with stacks of leaflets that read:

  break the shackles of slavery.

  be a proud and free man.

  volunteer for the fighting liberation underground!

  Underneath the words was the emblem of the Irgun—an arm holding a rifle against the backdrop of the Holy Land. So now I at least knew which group I had joined.

  I picked up a large stack of leaflets, a bucket, and a brush and headed out with Haimovich. Following his directions, we turned right from Geula Street onto Chancellor, pasting leaflets on walls and fences all the way up the street. I cursed Jeffries as I worked—and myself and the forger of Shoshana’s documents.

  When I saw the policemen, it was too late to run.

  One of them raised his club with the intention of bringing it down on my head, and I instinctively blocked his arm and kicked him hard between his legs. As he bent over, I heard the click of a revolver and raised my hands in surrender. Haimovich’s hands were already raised. The policeman I’d kicked, slammed his club against the side of my head. Blinding pain laced through my head as I fell to the ground and blacked out.

  I woke to find myself in a detention cell. My head ached, and when I touched it, I could feel a large lump. I called out to Haimovich, but he wasn’t in the cell with me. I assumed he had already identified himself to the police and been released. I lay back and slept a little despite the pain and woke later to the sound of someone opening the hatch in the upper part of the cell door. A British face appeared at the opening.

  “Where am I?” I asked.

  “You’re in a CID holding cell,” the man said. “I’m taking you for questioning now—and for your own good, I suggest that you don’t try anything like you did last night.”

  “Before you do anything,” I said, “call extension 8611 at the Schneller Barracks and speak to Inspector Jeffries. Tell him you have David Gabinsky in custody.”

  The investigator looked at me and then closed the hatch without saying a word. I could just imagine what he was thinking—another despicable informant.

&
nbsp; When the door to the cell opened some two hours later, the CID officer had returned with a British policeman.

  “He’s all yours,” the officer said. I was escorted to Jeffries’s office in the Schneller Barracks. The inspector ushered me into a chair, forgoing the whiskey this time. He looked angry.

  “I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t resist if you got arrested,” he said, his voice terse. “And yet you assaulted a British policeman. You’re lucky you weren’t shot. I didn’t take you for such a fool.”

  “You’re right,” I replied, “but when the policeman raised his club with the intention of hitting me in the head, my instincts took over.”

  “It was foolish,” Jeffries said, “and a mistake that you mustn’t make again.”

  “I’m sorry, sir.”

  “I understand you’ve been recruited by the Irgun.”

  “Yes, sir. I guess I’m on probation for now. It’s safe to assume that I’ll be doing trivial missions for a while. I’m sure they’ll be cautious and keep an eye on me before I hear any significant information.”

  He nodded. “That’s fine. The upcoming month is a critical one, but I see you as a long-term investment. Contrary to the foolish hopes of the underground, we will be here in Palestine for many years to come. With the help of people like you, we will eliminate the terrorists down to the very last one.”

  I kept my curses to myself, left his office, and hurried home.

  I found Shoshana lying in bed when I walked in. I quietly crossed to the bed and put my hand on her shoulder to wake her. She sat up, blinked, and then threw her arms around me. “I thought they arrested you!” she cried. “I was so worried!” I sat down on the bed and held her tightly.

  Shoshana caressed my head, and I gave a little hiss when she touched the large lump left by the policeman’s club. “Oh, no, what have they done to you? Let me help you!”

  She jumped up and ran out of the room. In a few minutes, she came back with a small chunk of ice chipped from the block we kept in our icebox, wrapped in a piece of cloth. She sat down beside me and gently pressed it against the lump on my head.