To Be An Israeli: The Fourth Book in the All My Love, Detrick series

by Roberta Kagan

  “I quite agree. Begin testing as quickly as possible. How long is the flight from Israel to Uganda?” Defense Minister Peres asked.

  “Approximately seven hours, forty minutes, depending on the weather,” BG Shomron answered.

  “I think we should have the operation escorted by F-4 Phantoms for as long as possible,” Prime Minister Rabin said.

  “Yes, that is a good idea,” the generals agreed. Defense Minister Shimon Peres was silent, absorbing the details. The Prime Minister studied his defense minister and sometimes political rival.

  “Defense Minister Peres, do you concur?” asked Prime Minister Rabin.

  “We certainly can’t release any terrorists or pay any ransom. Yes, I concur.” However, we should continue to negotiate as long as possible so the terrorists and the Ugandans are not prepared.

  “Agreed. Well, gentlemen, let’s show them the Israelis are lions and not sheep.”

  By the following day, the plan was tested, and the timing was calculated. It looked promising.

  CHAPTER 76

  The terrorists took turns guarding the prisoners, three at a time while the others slept. Nina was sick to her stomach. She was thirsty, hungry, and exhausted, but she could not sleep. On the other hand, Elan was alert, his eyes darting around the room like a caged jungle cat. He did not speak, but his dark eyes kept close watch on everyone and everything.

  Every hour, on the hour, the lead terrorist would remind the group of hostages of how many hours they had left to live if Israel did not comply with their demands. At one point, one of the older women had become hysterical and consequently had been pistol-whipped by a terrorist. Elan could hardly breathe as he watched the horror unfold. He had to continue to remind himself that, if he acted rashly, all he would succeed in doing would be to get killed. Alone and unarmed, it would be impossible for anyone to overtake seven armed terrorists.

  So all Elan could do was lean against the wall with Nina’s head on his shoulder and pray that Israel had a plan.

  CHAPTER 77

  Thunderstorms erupted over Lake Victoria as they flew through, but the Israeli pilots pressed on. Nothing could deter them from their mission, not even when the lights were turned on unexpectedly at the Uganda airport, blinding them.

  LTC Yoni Netanyahu allowed his eyes to wonder around the interior of the aircraft and fall upon each of the young courageous men and women who flew beside him on the C130 Hercules. He knew they were afraid. He, too, was afraid. But fear did not stop Israel. Israel did not have the luxury of turning back. How many of these young people would not be on the return flight, he wondered. How many lives would be lost? And how many mothers, fathers, husbands, or wives would mourn?

  He noticed a young soldier, a boy of somewhere around nineteen years old, who had been watching him from the other side of the C130. Their eyes met. The boy reminded him of his younger brother, Bibi. Yoni loved his brother. They had grown up as the best of friends. Someone, somewhere, loved this boy who he was watching the same way that he loved Bibi.

  LTC Netanyahu forced a smile of confidence at the young man who sat proudly wearing his newly-pressed IDF uniform. The soldier returned Netanyahu’s smile. How brave these young people are, he thought, and his heart swelled with admiration, pride, and perhaps even a touch of sadness.

  The two C130s landed safely in spite of the blaring lights. Then as quiet as cat burglars, the soldiers boarded the waiting jeeps and the black Mercedes. Now in the dark of night, the caravan made its way into the interior of the airport.

  ***

  When they arrived, the soldiers silently surrounded the area where they knew the hostages were being held. After they received the go-ahead from LTC Netanyahu, they burst into the rooms in an explosion of gunfire. The terrorists were caught completely unaware by the attack, but the Israelis were organized. As the fighting between the terrorists and the soldiers continued, a separate group of Israeli soldiers began loading the hostages into the jeeps.

  Elan heard a scream and whipped around as he saw one of the hostages fall, shot and killed. A group of people were crying, but there was no time to stop. The crossfire continued all around them as the hostages were surrounded by sprays of bullets. Two more hostages were killed in the crossfire.

  One of the soldiers stood pointing the way. Elan nodded as he passed, letting the soldier know that he understood the command.

  Then Elan put his arm over Nina’s head, and the two of them ran toward the jeep. His heart was pounding. At any moment, either of them could be shot. His Nina could be shot. He held her tighter and pulled her faster. They ran for what seemed like forever but, in reality, it was only a few minutes. Then finally, his legs shaking and his knees weak, Elan pushed Nina first and then followed.

  Now he and Nina were in the jeep. Elan brushed the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and allowed himself to look through the back mirror at the battle behind him. Almost all of the hostages were on board, and from what he could see, he was pretty sure that all of the terrorists were dead. The hostages were safe. It was over. Thank God, it was over.

  Then Elan’s heart was crushed when he looked back and saw LTC Netanyahu laying dead in a pool of blood on the tarmac. Israel had lost a good man, a very good man and a good soldier, but he had not died in vain. His mission and his bravery had saved all but three of the hostages from certain death. Elan felt tears well up in his eyes. This was Israel!

  CHAPTER 78

  On the way back to Israel, the plane had to stop for fuel, but the passengers were they were given food and water and made as comfortable as possible. Nina and Elan slept for most of the ride back home. It had been a grueling experience for both of them.

  Two weeks after they returned, Nina went to the doctor and discovered that in fact, she was pregnant. They decided that they both wanted to retire. They would move out to the countryside up near the Golan Heights and just live a quiet life. At least that was their dream…but of course, that was not possible: they were Israelis…

  CHAPTER 79

  ISRAEL 1981

  Ima Zaltstein sat on a bench at the bus stop waiting for the public bus. She’d missed the school bus, so she had to walk four blocks to catch the city bus that would take her close to the high school she attended. She carried her books in one hand and her purse in the other. Her long golden curls were caught up in a high ponytail, and her long, shapely legs were crossed at the knee. How long would it take for this bus, to get here? If she didn’t hurry, she’d miss homeroom.

  Maybe she should go back home and spend the day with her grandmother. Her mother would be mad that she missed school, but her grandmother never got mad. Ima considered the possibility of taking the day off. Her mother would not be home. Ima knew that her mother would be busy with the organization she’d founded for the widowed wives of soldiers.

  Her mother was consumed with women who’d lost their husbands in service to Israel. It was the only thing that seemed to matter to her, and Ima resented everything about it. Ima’s grandmother loved her, she knew that, but her grandmother was getting older, and Ima felt that she didn’t understand what was going on in the world today.

  Ima would have liked to go to Jennifer’s house and read movie magazines and talk about boys and fashion. But first, she’d have to get to school to find Jen, and then they could both skip out and go back to Jen’s house. Jennifer’s mother was rarely home. She was one of the members of Katja’s group of women who’d lost their husbands in the Six-Day War. However, unlike Katja, Ima’s mother, Jen’s mother had been left without much money. So she was working two jobs to make ends meet. This made Jennifer’s house the perfect place to go when they cut school. There were no adults.

  Sometimes, Ima and Jen had boys that they knew from school come over to Jen’s house. They’d sit in the dark and neck, drink cheap wine, and play rock & roll. Ima had gone to second base, but she was scared to go any further although she wondered what it would be like to do the real thing. There was so much talk
about how wonderful it was, but whenever she came close, she was terrified.

  If she cut school today, she would miss a math test. She’d have to make it up but so what? Mr. Shelton had never called her mother when she missed his class, so she figured she could probably get away with skipping.

  What the heck was going on, and where was the bus? It was ten minutes late, and she wanted to find Jen before homeroom. If they were both to skip, it was easier not to get caught if they took off before going to homeroom. If they were marked as present in homeroom and then did not attend their other classes, it could raise a red flag, and someone from the office might call the house to verify the absence. Then Ima would have to explain everything to her grandmother. She knew that her grandmother, Zofia, wanted her to get a good education. “Make something of yourself,” her grandmother always said. “Get yourself a career, something to fall back on, in case you need it later.”

  Grandma Zofia was a little weird, Ima thought. Grandma would never throw anything away. Even junk, like paper bags from the grocery store. She always had small stashes of trash stowed away in the most unlikely of places. Sometimes, Ima would find a block of cheese with mold on it and toss it into the garbage can. Then later that day, Grandma Zofia would say, “Where is that cheese? What happened to that cheese?”

  “I threw it out, it was moldy,” Ima would tell her, trying not to lose patience.

  “It was perfectly good cheese. All you had to do was cut off the mold. Don’t be so wasteful,” Grandma Zofia would say, “you never know what you are going to need.”

  Ima knew her grandmother had survived the Holocaust, and Katja had told her that Zofia had starved, but Ima was sure that she was getting a little senile. After all, they had plenty of money. Her father had left them very well off. So Ima had no idea why Grandma Zofia was so strange about things.

  Ima glanced down the street, no bus in sight. She sighed and plopped back down on the bench. Just then, a black automobile stopped by the side of the road. A man leaned over and opened the window. He was an older man, forty maybe, with a shiny bald head surrounded on all sides by thin, dark hair. From where she was sitting, Ima could see that he was a large man, not only tall but big boned and heavyset.

  “Hi,” the man said, in a friendly enough voice. “Has anyone ever told you that you should be a model?”

  Ima turned away. Her mother had told her not to talk to strangers since she was a child.

  “I am an agent for fashion models, you know, for magazines? And I wouldn’t have stopped and bothered you except I have been out searching for a girl, to be the next top model, and you are just what I have been looking for. You’re tall and blonde and very beautiful like an American movie star.” He smiled. “I would like you to consider doing a magazine shoot. It’s for a new designer that has just come out with a line of clothing. You would be the perfect girl to be the spokesmodel for this. I’m telling you; this designer would love you. And he would pay good money to have a girl like you representing his line.”

  Ima took a deep breath. She’d always wanted to be an actress or a model. She loved movie magazines and fashion. Was it really possible that this could be her chance to make all of her dreams come true?

  A tiny voice in her head said; don’t pay any attention to him. You’re in danger, run home, now. She pushed the voice back as far as she could in her mind. This could be the opportunity of a lifetime. Everyone would be so envious.

  “You really think I could be a model? In a magazine?”

  “I know just by looking at you that you would make the cover,” the man said with confidence.

  Ima smiled. “Really?”

  “Of course, do you think I stop every day on the corner of the street and talk to strange girls? I have better things to do, but you…you are something special. You have what it takes to make it really big in this business. By the way, what’s your name?”

  “Ima, Ima Zaltstein…”

  “Ima,” he repeated, “even your name is perfect for a top model. Get in and I’ll take you to the studio. You can see what we do and how we do it. There is a shoot going on today. I’m sure you would enjoy watching the other girls do their work. It would give you an idea of what is involved.”

  “I don’t know,” Ima said, feeling a chill run up the back of her spine. “I mean, I don’t really know you.”

  “Of course, I understand. If you would rather not do this, that’s fine. It won’t be easy, but I’ll keep looking until I can find another girl,” he said and began to roll up the window.

  Ima could see the bus coming down the street. Get on the bus, a little voice inside her head said, go to school.

  “Wait,” Ima said to the man, “what’s your name?”

  “I’m Dan Hoffman. So do want to come to the studio or not? I have to get going. I have a lot of work to do.”

  Ima hesitated, but only for a minute. Then she opened the car door and climbed inside.

  The automobile sped away. Ima reached over to lock the door but found that the locks were missing. Then she looked down for the door handle and saw that it had been removed. She felt a lightning bolt of fear shoot through her body. Then Ima looked over at the driver. He was smiling. She tried to roll down the window, to scream for help, but the handle had been removed, too. Who was this man? He’d prepared his entire automobile for a kidnapping. Oh, my God, Ima thought, Mama, Grandma…help me…please help me, God, someone, help me…

  CHAPTER 80

  Katja Zaltstein shook the rainwater from her newly-styled, mid-length, blonde bob. One of her best friends and the treasurer for her organization had convinced her to cut her hair like Princess Diana. Sometimes she missed her long curls, but she had to admit that this hairdo was much easier to take care of. Katja had been food shopping, and the bags she carried in were wet. She began removing the groceries that she purchased for dinner. Then she got a towel and dried her hair as much as possible. Even though she’d had it straightened, as soon as it got wet, her natural curls popped right back into place.

  As usual, she was home late. Something had come up at the office. And even though her foundation was one hundred percent charitable, she still put all of her time and effort into making it work. Katja figured her daughter, Ima, was probably in her room doing her homework, and her mother, Zofia, was probably taking a nap. She’d get dinner started before she went to their rooms, to greet them. It was a little past seven o’clock, and she was sure that everyone was starving.

  Her foundation was her life. All of the love she might have given to her husband, had he survived, she now put into her work. The best part about being busy was that it kept her from thinking, kept the memories at bay, and gave her a sense of fulfillment, a sense of purpose. At least she was doing something worthwhile when she was giving comfort and financial support to other women who’d lost loved ones in the service of Israel.

  Today the fish had looked very fresh at the market. The eyes were bright and clear, and the skin was smooth and shiny, so she’d bought three pounds. They would have plenty left over, and Ima could take the rest to school for lunch the following day. Opening the white paper package, she looked down at the fish. Fry or boil? Fried tasted better, but boiled was healthier. Katja bit her lower lip in contemplation. Boil, I suppose, she thought as she took out a bag of fresh carrots and another of celery.

  After washing her hands, she began to peel and chop. At least fish was quick to prepare. First, she would boil the vegetables then add the fish, and everyone would be eating in less than an hour. Once they’d finished eating and she’d cleaned up, she would have a little time to luxuriate in a hot bath and wash her hair. She placed the vegetables in the pot with boiling water and set the table, then went to the back of the house to let Ima and Zofia know that dinner would be ready soon.

  “Mama,” she whispered at Zofia’s door, knocking softly so as not to startle her mother out of her sleep.

  “Shalom,” Zofia whispered, her voice groggy.

  “I jus
t started dinner. It should be ready in less than an hour.”

  “All right, I’ll be right out to help you make the salad,” Zofia said.

  Then Katja knocked softly on the door to Ima’s room. “Ima, sweetheart, dinner is almost ready.”

  No answer.

  “Ima?”

  No answer.

  Katja opened the door. Ima’s room was empty. The bed with its pink chiffon bedspread was perfectly made, just the way Ima left it every morning. In the center sat the stuffed bear that Ima had won the previous year at a carnival. Her vanity table was cleared except for the three lipsticks she’d arranged in front of the mirror. On the wall were pictures of famous movie stars, both male, and female. Tucked into the mirror were two different pictures of Ima and her girlfriends. But the room was deathly quiet. Ima was not there.

  Katja felt a cold chill run up her spine. I’m sure she must be at Jennifer’s house, Katja told herself, trying to stay calm. Ima never stayed out this late without calling first. Katja went into the kitchen where the rotary phone sat on the counter top. She felt her hand begin to sweat as she picked up the receiver to place the call.

  “Hi, Joan,” Katja said to Jennifer’s mother, “Is Ima there with Jen?”

  “No, Kat. Jen’s in her room alone.”

  “Can you please ask her if she has any idea where Ima might be?” Kat asked. Katja’s hand was trembling, and she felt the hair on her arms raise with goose bumps. Something was not right.

  As Katja stood there, frozen, with the phone in her hand, the pot of water and vegetables began to boil over. Katja watched it mindlessly as it spilled onto the stove.

  Zofia walked into the room. She was wearing her housecoat over a nightgown. She saw the pot spilling over, so she took the top off and turned down the fire on the burner. Then Zofia studied Katja, who was still holding the telephone.