by Ehud Diskin
After five days of torture, they were moved to the detention facility in Jerusalem. I was told that when they arrived, they looked as though they had just been released from a Nazi death camp. Their clothes were bloody and torn, their faces bruised and swollen, and two of them had broken bones.
I regretted not having the opportunity to meet their torturers and give them the same treatment in return. I wondered for a moment about Brigita and what she would have said about revenge if someone close to her had been the victim of such abuse. It was easy to be detached when sitting down to a cup of hot tea and discussing such things, but when you actually saw the atrocities, it was quite different. Mercy is a wonderful thing, but the rules on the battlefield are different, and failing to uphold the principle of “an eye for an eye” could cost you both your dignity and your life.
The Brits released Alec from solitary confinement four days after my arrest. He had lost weight and looked terrible. We weren’t in the same cell, but we met up in the courtyard. I finally got to hear his version of what had happened to land him in prison.
“I was on the balcony one night, with my binoculars trained on the Schneller Barracks, when four British policemen burst into Regina’s apartment.” Alec said. “I managed to get back into my room before they reached it, but after finding my binoculars, they started beating me with their clubs. I denied everything, but they took me into custody and continued to beat me on the way.”
“Taneli says you punched a guard.”
Alec rubbed his forehead. “That was unfortunate. But he spat on me! I knocked him out, and then a second guard hit me with his club. When I came to my senses again, I was in handcuffs.” I frowned and he waved away my concern. “Never mind, I’ve endured worse. After they let me out of solitary confinement, they told me you had admitted we were planning an attack on the Schneller Barracks. I smiled at the investigator and asked him why he was telling me ridiculous stories.”
“They told me the same about you,” I said.
“They have nothing on us. As soon as we’re released, I’ll settle the score with Regina’s son. I have no doubt he was the one who informed on me to the British.”
“Don’t do anything foolish,” I warned. “If you kill him, the British will hang you. Do you want to turn Eva into a widow?”
“So, what do you suggest?” Alec snapped. “That we simply leave the bastard alone?”
“I didn’t say that. I suggest that we strip him naked and each treat him to eighteen lashes.”
Alec thought for a moment and then nodded. “I’ll take your advice, even though I don’t like it. When we fought together in the forests, we showed no mercy to informants. But we both seem to have gone a little soft since we got here.”
“There is no difference between the two, but the circumstances have changed,” I said. “We have women we love and would like to enjoy a future with them, right?”
Alec sighed. “I was just starting to enjoy my married bliss.”
A GUARD CAME TO MY cell the next morning and ordered me to follow him to the warden’s office. Sergeant Stanley stood when I came into the room.
“I’m sorry you had to wait,” he said, shaking my hand. “It took me a while to speak with a senior detective. I’m hoping to secure your release shortly.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the murder of Inspector Jeffries, and I’ve come up with a few ideas that may help move the investigation forward after I’m released. I’d appreciate it if you could also arrange the release of my friend Alec Rozonovsky. I can vouch for him as a loyal supporter of the British authorities. He’s an intelligent young man, and I believe we can make some real inroads into the investigation together.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Stanley said, jotting down Alec’s name on a piece of paper. “In the meantime, is there anything else I can help you with?”
“There certainly is. I’m sure you can get me and Alec transferred to a cell for privileged inmates so we can sleep on beds rather than mats on the floor.”
He nodded. “Yes, I believe I can arrange that for you today. Anything else?”
“Yes. Please go to Café Pinsk and tell the waitress Shoshana that Alec and I were falsely arrested and you’re working to secure our release.”
The following day, Alec and I were moved to a special cell for so-called privileged inmates. Those prisoners got to sleep on beds, wear regular clothes, and stroll around the courtyard twice a day instead of only once.
Two days later, Haganah member Gideon Wonders approached me in the courtyard.
“The Arabs are planning a riot,” he said in a low voice.
“Do you know when?”
He shook his head and left me. I hurried back to Alec and told him. We sat up that night, trying to plan some way to protect ourselves if the riot did, indeed, happen.
The next few days were filled with anxiety and anticipation, and on January 27, an Arab prisoner attacked a Jewish detainee. When some of the other Jewish detainees tried to help him, a wave of Arab prisoners came at them with clubs, shouting “Itbah al Yahud,” which means “slaughter the Jews.”
An Arab pulled a knife, but Wonders, who was a martial arts expert, broke the blade, along with the arms of two of the Arab attackers. Alec and I got involved, and after several hours of fighting, during which both sides managed to take hostages, the British restored order with smoke grenades.
The prison’s Jewish medic had been beaten to death and the prison warden seriously injured. When the dust settled, the British did what they should have done beforehand—separated the Jewish and Arab inmates into different wings of the facility.
The day before the riot, the Irgun had abducted a British major in Jerusalem and announced the officer would be held hostage to prevent the execution of Dov Gruner, scheduled for January 28. On the day of the riot, Irgun fighters in Tel Aviv kidnapped a British judge. As a result, Gruner’s execution was delayed, and the Irgun released the two hostages.
I devoured newspapers smuggled into the prison by members of the underground, and the reports seemed to indicate the British were growing weary of the fighting in Israel. Despite their great victory in World War II, public morale was low in Britain. Immediately after the war, Britain had been hit by an economic crisis so severe even discharged soldiers weren’t able to find work. The country was experiencing a particularly bad winter, power supplies had been cut, rail services had been disrupted, and the British government had been forced to ask the United States for coal so people could heat their homes.
With this as the backdrop, the attacks on British forces in Israel caused many people in Britain, both among the leadership and the general public alike, to think it was time to renounce the mandate over the Land of Israel issued to Great Britain in 1922. And indeed, the British foreign secretary, Ernest Bevin, announced that the issue would be decided by the UN General Assembly, scheduled to convene in September.
The first sign of a pending British withdrawal came on January 31, when the British embarked on Operation Polly, in which some nineteen hundred British women, children, and “nonessential” government officials were sent back to Britain.
THREE DAYS LATER, ALEC AND I were called to the warden’s office at eight thirty in the morning. Sergeant Stanley, a big smile on his face, sat waiting for us. He rose as we came into the room, as did the warden.
“You two must have done something good in your lives,” the warden said, “because we’ve received orders to release you. Pack up your belongings. Sergeant Stanley will be waiting for you at the prison gate.”
We rushed back to the cell to collect our things, and while I was thrilled to be released, it was with a heavy heart I said my goodbyes to a wonderful group of idealistic heroes, willing to sacrifice their lives for the establishment of an independent Jewish state in our ancient homeland. As partisans, we had fought for our lives against the Germans—we’d had no choice. Here in Israel, every man in detention could have made the choice to
live in peace and quiet but had chosen instead to risk everything for their people and their homeland.
Stanley was waiting for us outside the gate in a military jeep. “Where do you want me to take you?” he asked.
I didn’t want to be seen in a British military vehicle near our homes and asked him to drop us off on the corner of Yehezkel and Zephaniah. On the way, he turned to me and said, “David, we’ll meet tomorrow morning at ten at Café Wien.” His words sounded like an order, and I knew there was no point in refusing.
When I got home, it was such a joy to see Shoshana and hold her tight. We talked for hours, and I shared the details of my extraordinary experience and the incredible men I had spent time with in jail. When night came, I couldn’t sleep. She stayed up with me until I finally drifted off just before dawn.
After only three hours of rest, I had to get up to meet with Stanley. He wore civilian clothing to maintain my cover as his “informant.” Despite that, his face bore the typical tough expression of a British Special Forces soldier. After some tea and chocolate cake, Stanley started talking.
“You realize that without my intervention, you and your friend would still be in prison. Both of you most likely would’ve been convicted and gotten lengthy prison sentences. You promised to help me, and I expect you to keep that promise in two ways: First, you will help me apprehend Inspector Jeffries’s killers. Second, I want you to assist in carrying out a reprisal operation that will teach these Jewish terrorists a lesson. Are you willing to take on an offensive operation?”
His question surprised me, and for a moment I thought he could be setting a trap. “I’m going to be perfectly frank with you—even more so than I ever was with Inspector Jeffries,” I said. “The foolish and pointless actions of these terrorists will doom us all to another genocide, this time at the hands of the Arabs. So my answer is that I’d be honored to help with an operation against the underground, and I hope the operation teaches them that it doesn’t pay to take on Great Britain.”
My response appeared to satisfy Stanley. “As a soldier who was in a commando unit during the war,” he said softly, as if sharing a secret with me, “the incompetence of the British army when it comes to Jewish terrorism truly sickens me. I learned during the war that when faced with an enemy, you eliminate him. Here, the terrorists are arrested and brought to trial, and the entire process lasts months. Very few of these criminals get what they deserve—a noose around their necks.”
His words made me clench my fists under the table, and it was with effort I didn’t slam one of them into his face. He took another bite of cake, and as he chewed, his eyes narrowed.
“I have friends,” he finally said, “all members of the army, who are very unhappy with the situation here, and we plan to exact revenge. We’re going to teach those bloody terrorists and their organizations a lesson they will never forget.” He narrowed his eyes, and a cruel smile curved his lips. “The group we are putting together should be operational next month,” he went on. “Spend the next few weeks with your beautiful girlfriend. When we’re ready, I’ll come to see you at Café Pinsk to tell you what role you’ll have in our operation.”
“All right,” I said. “I’ll be waiting.”
“And in the meantime, try to make some progress on finding Inspector Jeffries’s killers,” Stanley added.
“Of course,” I nodded. “He was a good friend, and it’s always on my mind.”
Stanley called the waiter, then paid the bill and left. My next move was clear—I needed to have a talk with Zvi.
23
“TWO ROADS TO SALVATION—THE BLOOD AND THE SWORD”
(FROM “THE MESSIAH,” A POEM BY AVRAHAM STERN, 1941)
I left my meeting with Stanley, feeling uneasy. He had me at his mercy, and I knew he could put me right back in prison if I didn’t cooperate. I’d have to take care of him in much the same way I had taken care of Jeffries when he’d threatened to arrest Shoshana.
I made my way from Café Wien to Café Pinsk, where Max embraced me warmly. “It’s great to have you back,” he said. “I hope you didn’t suffer too much.”
Avrum greeted me with a friendly hug as well. “By the way,” he told me, “you should know that Shoshana is the best trainee in the Tel Arza training facility. She is talented, dedicated, and very observant. I gave her a few private lessons. I expect she’ll soon be a competent sniper.”
I thanked him, aware of how much time I had missed being able to train her myself in other combat procedures. I would have to make up for lost time, but first I had to see Zvi. I asked Max to set up a meeting with the commander as soon as possible, and he solemnly agreed.
Feeling at loose ends, I helped Shoshana and Avrum during the restaurant’s lunch rush, which gave me a sense of comfort. Nothing had changed at all. Avrum’s habit of chatting endlessly with the patrons, and the look of self-satisfaction on his face whenever he persuaded a customer to order a specific dish, still amused me.
Alec also gave me a joyful welcome when he showed up for the evening shift. “Would you like to take a walk with me in the courtyard?” he asked with a smile.
“I’d rather go with you to Europe,” I replied, and it took him a second or two to realize I meant Café Europa. Luckily, the café wasn’t busy, and Max agreed to let Alec leave with me.
We walked there, and over tea I told Alec about my conversation with Stanley. “When I learn more about what they’re planning, I’ll update you,” I said.
“Of course, I want to help,” Alec replied, “but we have a more pressing matter to deal with right now.” I raised one brow in question. “Meir Federbusch, that informant scum. The best time to get him is Friday when he brings his mother her challah for Shabbat. He lives in Zichron Moshe, which borders on Geula. He once showed me a shortcut he takes through an empty field to visit her. We can hit him there.”
Before we parted, I asked about Misha and learned, much to my joy, that he and Magda were getting serious.
That evening, Shimon showed up at my apartment to drive me to Talpiot. “I’m glad you’re out of jail. It’s good to see you,” he said—a rather long and emotional statement for Shimon.
Zvi was alone in the house when we arrived. “I regret to tell you that I’ve decided to cancel Operation Barrels Raised,” he said. “A reliable source tells me the Irgun already plans to attack the Schneller Barracks. They’re a much larger group, with more resources. We need to focus on our own activities and not compete with them. We’ll continue with weapons training for the newcomers.”
“I have something important to tell you,” I said, then recounted my meeting with Stanley.
Zvi’s expression grew serious. “An attack by British soldiers and police could result in dozens of Jewish casualties,” he said. “We have to prevent it. Plant yourself in their organization; do and say anything that helps you get close to him. From now on, this is your sole mission. I don’t even want you involved in training the recruits. If you’re arrested again, we won’t be able to prevent this attack.”
“I understand,” I said.
Zvi paced across the room, looking fiercely thoughtful, and then stopped and turned back to me. “The name of your new mission will be Blood and Sword, from Avraham Stern’s poem ‘The Messiah.’ He was a uniquely brave man and a fierce soldier but also a talented and sensitive poet. According to the poem, ‘the Messiah will be born in prison, and the road to salvation will be paved with blood and the sword.’ ”
On the drive home, I was lost in thought. Shimon glanced over at me. “I hope I can help with Operation Blood and Sword.”
“You will,” I said. “We’re going to need all the help we can get. Stanley and the rest of his group are skilled fighters, and we’ll have to be at our best if we’re going to thwart their plans.”
THE FOLLOWING DAY, I WENT to see Misha. I thought he’d be at home when I got there, but Magda said he had yet to return from the bakery. “He should be here any minute,” she said. “Sit down. We’
ll have some tea while you wait.”
Over a cup of tea and biscuits, Magda told me how happy she was with Misha and thanked me for helping him enter the country. Then her demeanor grew sad. “He told me about Leah. Knowing Misha, I can imagine just how dear his sister was to you.”
Hearing Leah’s name always made me melancholy, and I was still staring into my teacup when Misha walked in. He kissed Magda and then hugged me.
“It’s good to see you, Misha,” I said in Belarusian.
“You too, David,” he answered in Hebrew. “Magda insists I speak only Hebrew. She says it’s the only way I’ll learn the language.”
“She’s right,” I said in Belarusian, “but there’s something I want to say that’s for your ears only.” Magda frowned, but before she had a chance to get a word in, I said, “I’m sorry, Magda, I have to use Belarusian to explain the matter at hand.”
Magda seemed offended, but I ignored her and continued in Belarusian. “Alec and I are taking on an important operation against the British. I hope you’ll join us.”
“Of course, I’m in,” Misha said. “What’s the target?”
“I’ll give you the details another time,” I said, “when we’re alone.”
He nodded and went back to Hebrew, and Magda was happy to resume control over the conversation. Misha took her hand and stroked it. Though her overbearing attitude wasn’t really to my liking, he was in love with her, and she took good care of him.
ALEC WASTED NO TIME IN preparing for his revenge against Meir Federbusch. He purchased two leather whips in the Old City, and on Friday morning, we waited for the informant behind one of the bushes in the open field.
About an hour later, we saw him approach, with a bagged challah in his hand. We jumped out from behind the bush to confront him. He turned pale and started to tremble.
“Remember me, Meir?” Alec asked.
“S-sure, I do,” Meir stammered. “You disappeared. We didn’t know where you were.”
