The Shield: a novel

by Nachman Kataczinsky PhD

  The station’s PA system came to life, announcing in German, “Please be patient. It will take us a while to open the cars. If there are people that need urgent medical care, please wave a handkerchief from the car’s door. You will be fed soon.”

  “High time for that,” Bohdan commented. “They promised seven days travel and it is eight by now. I’m starving.”

  “We all are,” several voices responded.

  The cars were opened in pairs. It took fifteen minutes before the car containing Jacob and his family was opened, spilling everyone out onto the concrete platform. Soldiers were busy opening the next car.

  “Follow me!” a soldier yelled to Jacob and the group from his car. “We need to clear the platform so that the others can be released from their cars.” The group followed him through a gate in the high wall and saw… another wall. They were now in a square surrounded by tall concrete walls and two gates, another opposite the one they entered and about fifteen yards to the right. Quietly, the group followed the soldier through the second gate.

  “This is amazing,” Jacob exclaimed when they left the concrete square. “This is unbelievable!” He was not the only one surprised. They were standing on the edge of a large plaza surrounded by tall warehouses. In the distance low structures were visible. A large flag with the Star of David and two blue stripes was fluttering in the sea breeze coming from a stretch of blue water visible in between the buildings.

  “A prayer shawl!” somebody in the crowd exclaimed pointing at the flag.

  “No,” a soldier corrected them in Yiddish. “It’s the flag of the Jewish state. Welcome home.”

  The crowd was confused. Some were crying, others staring in disbelief. They were startled when the soldier yelled at the top of his voice, “Please follow me. You will want to wash up and have supper. During the meal we will explain to you what will happen next.”

  They followed him into one of the buildings surrounding the plaza. Inside they found sinks and toilets, beyond that were several large halls with tables and benches and a cafeteria counter. The delightful smell of food greeted them. The soldiers accompanying each group directed them to one of the halls.

  The entire crowd from the train had been divided into groups of roughly 500 per dining room. After they had been served and were eating, a sergeant climbed on a podium by the food counter and introduced himself in classical Lithuanian Yiddish. “I am with the quartermaster company of the Palestinian Defense Forces responsible for Sector 3 of this repatriation facility. The guys next to me are my assistants who will do their best to answer any questions you may have and to help you. After the meal, please move up the staircase to the right - Anyone needing assistance, please assemble by the double metal doors. You’ll find showers and disinfectant on the second floor. We do not want lice and such in this facility. After cleaning up, you will be escorted to a dormitory. We will wake you up tomorrow morning at 7 am. Please assemble here for breakfast and further instructions. I hope that your stay here will be pleasant and not too long. As soon as possible you will board ships and be on your way to Eretz Yisrael. Any questions?”

  A pandemonium erupted with everybody yelling at once. The sergeant raised his hand and turned up the volume on the P.A. system: “Please quiet down. Raise your hand if you want to ask something.”

  “How about seeing a doctor?” “My wife is pregnant!” “I have a stomach ulcer!”

  “Every new immigrant needing medical assistance can see a doctor. On your way to the dormitories please knock on the door with the red Star of David. Inside you will find people to assist you. I will see you all tomorrow. If you have more questions or need help, please ask one of the soldiers.” The sergeant waved to them and got off the podium.

  “I don’t believe it,” Bohdan said to Jacob. “Jews took over Palestine? When did that happen? Why would the Germans deliver us to these Jews?”

  “Let’s go upstairs and pick up a brochure,” Jacob said to his family. “Maybe it will have some answers.”

  ***

  “153 please.” The uniformed guard in front of the glass door called the number of the ticket Jacob was holding. It had been given to him this morning when, after breakfast, his group entered the big waiting hall as instructed. To obtain the number he had to give his full name, the full address where he used to live as well as the names of the family members that came with him. Now he approached the guard, who checked the number on his ticket. “Are you alone or is your family here?” he asked.

  “My mother and sister are with me.”

  “Bring them with you, please, to room number 5.”

  “Thank you.” It had taken almost an hour of waiting for this short exchange, not that Jacob noticed the passage of time. The room was cool and well ventilated, though without windows. There were brochures explaining possible education options in Palestine as well as employment that might be available to them.

  The family went through a glass door into a long corridor with numbered doors on both sides, entering the room with a five on the door. It was a small office, with a desk and four chairs. The young man behind the desk rose to greet them, offering his hand: “Please sit. Would you like to drink something? Water, tea, coffee?”

  The Hirshsons took the seats offered but refused the drinks. Jacob was curious about the somewhat unusual desk – it had a glass surface with a darker rectangular area in front of the official.

  “Your names, please,” the civilian official asked politely.

  “Sara Hirshson,” Jacob’s mother responded, taking charge. “My son Jacob and daughter Sheina.”

  “And where are you coming from?”

  “Vilnius, Lithuania.”

  “What was your address there?”

  “In the ghetto we lived on Strashuna Street 19, apartment 9. Do you really need to ask all these questions? We answered them just an hour ago.”

  The young man smiled. “Sorry for the inconvenience. I’m just making sure that the guard sent me the correct people.

  “Did you leave any family behind in Vilnius?” the young man asked, looking at the glass surface of his desk.

  “My brother-in-law Chaim and his family are in the ghetto. I sincerely hope that they will follow us soon. He’s stubborn. I wish I could send him a message from here.”

  “Jacob Hirshson,” the young man asked, “are you a scout for the Revisionist movement in Vilnius?”

  Jacob was startled and defensive. “Yes, is something wrong with that?”

  “No, nothing wrong, but you understand that we have to make sure that you are who you say you are.”

  The young man was again looking at the desk surface in front of him. “Did any of your friends come on the same train?”

  Jacob hesitated. “Arye was supposed to come with me but was taken ill at the last moment.”

  After a somewhat longer pause the Palestinian said. “Is this Arye Levitan you are talking about?”

  “Yes.”

  “What are your dates of birth, starting with you Mrs. Hirshson?”

  Sara recited her birthday as well as those of her children.

  The man finished tapping on the keyboard, then picked up the phone on his desk and dialed a number. He spoke in fast Hebrew and the family caught only a couple of words.

  “Please follow me,” he said to the Hirshsons. “The commander of this facility wants to meet you.”

  “Is there a problem?” Jacob asked.

  “No, no. No problem whatsoever. Please come.”

  They followed the young man into a new, one story building that was obviously a military facility. Soldiers hurrying in all directions; a big, glowing map of Europe filled one wall, with strange symbols scattered all over it.

  The family stopped in front of a desk. “Sergeant, these people are here to see the chief.”

  “Yes, I’ll take care of them.” The woman got up from her desk, smiling at the family: “Please follow me. The boss is busy with some unexpected stuff. There will be a short delay. I
n the meantime, please make yourself comfortable.” She opened a door and led them into a comfortable sitting room complete with a sofa, several armchairs, and a coffee table.

  “Please feel free to take anything you want,” the woman told them, pointing to a large credenza with food laid out. “A bathroom is through this door.” She showed them around and then left.

  Jacob looked at the room. It didn’t have windows but was lit by several skylights. Five minutes later a door they hadn’t notice before opened. A man in his early thirties came in. He was wearing a uniform similar to the others but had small, silver wings on his chest and three brass oak leaves on a red background on his shoulders. His face was smoothly shaven and he had a receding hairline.

  “My God! Ephraim!” Sara gasped.

  “Yes, I know,” the officer said with a big smile “The resemblance is there. I am Ephraim Hirshson, but not your husband. We are related, though I am somewhat at a loss to pinpoint how.”

  The room was silent for a while. Ephraim was examining his family and they were too stunned to say anything as they stared at him.

  Jacob was the first to recover. “We are related? I don’t recall anybody from our family going to Palestine.”

  Colonel Hirshson sighed. “I’m not an expert in genetics, but it seems certain that I share some genes with you – otherwise why the resemblance?”

  Sara smiled. “I think I know where the resemblance to my Ephraim, may he rest in peace, came from. He told me that when the Great War started his first cousin decided to go to Palestine rather than enlist in the Russian army. He went the long way, through Turkey, and Ephraim never heard from him again. You must be his descendant.”

  They were interrupted. “Sir, we have an intrusion alert.”

  “Again? Who and where?”

  “Messerschmitt fighters, five of them approaching low over the water. About 250 kilometers and closing.”

  “Excuse me. This is the second time this week. The Germans are very persistent and don’t learn.” He left the room after giving a stunned Jacob a quick hug.

  “You have a funny look on your face.” Sheina was smiling at her brother. Being seventeen and adventurous had its advantages, among them a willingness to accept strange stories at face value. She recovered her composure before her elders did.

  “Yes. Very funny,” her brother responded. “He looks like family and I was a bit surprised.”

  “He looks exactly like your father,” Sara exclaimed.

  “Well, mama, not exactly. But the resemblance is there.” Jacob hesitated. “At least we will have family when we get to Palestine.”

  By the time colonel Hirshson returned, the family was mostly recovered and immediately started questioning him about Palestine and about his family there. They had a lot of questions, which the colonel tried to answer without lying or disclosing the truth – speaking to his young grandfather was confusing enough. After a while Hirshson asked to speak to Jacob privately in his office. “Zionist business, you know.”

  “OK, Jacob I know that you are a scout for the Revisionist group in Vilnius. They gave us a list of people to expect. There was supposed to be another one on yesterday’s train, but he didn’t come – ill, I understand?”

  “That was Arye. He came down with a bad case of food poisoning. Not surprising given the stuff the Nazis are feeding us. I decided to go by myself.”

  “I’m glad you did. We’ll let you and the other scouts from Vilnius examine this facility. Everything will be open to your group, except some of the military installations. Your group will be allowed, if you wish, to board and examine the ship that is waiting in port to pick up the next contingent going to Israel, er, Palestine.

  “I hope that you’ll be done with your inspections quickly. It’ll take us some time to show you some documents of the Nazis’ plans for the Jews of Europe; these are most convincing. Families of the other scouts are on their way here, and we’ll meet with them later in the day. We would like you and the other scouts to return to Vilnius as soon as possible, but I have to be absolutely certain that you are convinced that the best thing for Jews now is to come to Palestine. It’ll be up to you to make our people come here. We have limited time before the Germans lose patience and revert to their original extermination plans. After that happens all hell will break loose.”

  Jacob was thoughtful. “I have to return, but my mother and sister do not. Will they go on to Palestine by themselves?”

  The colonel smiled. “That would be entirely up to you and them. If they want to wait for you here, we’ll provide them with a private apartment. Or they can leave on a ship sailing today and reunite with you in Palestine at my father’s house. The families of all scouts will have to decide where to wait.”

  ***

  “So, your name is Boruch Katzenelson, from Lutsk?” the clerk asked. She was probably in her thirties, but he couldn’t tell for sure. He was too nervous.

  “Yes, this is my name.”

  “And you survived the Lutsk massacre?” she asked.

  “Yes. I ran into the fields and hid in the grain.”

  She was making notes as he was speaking. He couldn’t see what she was seeing in the desk’s glossy surface and it worried him a little.

  The woman smiled at him. “Don’t be so nervous, you are among friends now. Can you tell me how you got to the Vilnius ghetto?”

  “Yes. I was picked up by a Ukrainian guard patrol when I tried to look for my family. They transferred me to the Germans and the Germans put a bunch of us on a truck to Vilnius.”

  “Did you befriend anybody at the ghetto?”

  “Actually a good friend of mine, Jacob Hirshson was in the same car with me when we arrived here.” He hesitated. “His sister is really nice and I think likes me. I like her too.”

  “Very good, Boruch. Please take a seat in the next room. It won’t take long.”

  Bohdan sat on a padded chair in a small room with no windows, brightly lit by invisible lights. There were a number of newspapers on the table in the corner, but they were all in either Hebrew or Yiddish – not knowing how to read either he couldn’t tell the difference. He was worried. The Germans told him that he would encounter a bunch of Palestinian Jews or, maybe, a bunch of German allies. One of his assignments was to determine who was running this operation and report to his masters. Something was wrong. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was. Maybe the Palestinian soldiers didn’t behave the way he expected Jews to behave or maybe it was the fact that their rifles seemed to him more advanced than the weapons the Germans were carrying. He was ready to accept that these Palestinians were really something else. Maybe the allies the Germans mentioned. That seemed wrong too; they spoke Hebrew and Yiddish and treated the refugees like family.

  After the door to the waiting room was securely shut, the clerk, otherwise known in the Israeli Internal Security Service as a Talker, picked up the phone. “I think I have a live one here.”

  “I’ll be there in a moment.”

  A few minutes later a short, skinny man came into her office. He was in his forties and had many years of experience interrogating people disinclined to give out information. When they did talk, they mostly tried to deceive. He didn’t rely on his experience and instinct alone. An array of electronic stress measuring equipment was at his disposal.

  “Dahlia, I would like to see the recordings from your interview with this Boruch character.”

  He looked at her computer monitor. “The guy is stressed and lying. He has no clue what the Hebrew and Yiddish signs say, completely uninterested in the newspapers. I don’t think he knows how to read. What about his story?”

  Dahlia pointed to the display: “The holocaust database has a Boruch Katzenelson, who died in the massacre in Lutsk. The dates match our guy’s story as does his description of his family. The problem is that he was among the 300 that were murdered there several months ago. I think that he’s not who he says he is. Shall I check with Jacob Hirshson? Maybe they are goo
d friends and something is wrong with our records?”

  “Don’t bother. I can see he’s lying. The Boruch Katzenelson of Lutsk went to a heder for several years and was on a Soviet list of religious Jews. What are the chances he didn’t know how to read Hebrew?”

  The short man knocked on the door of the adjacent room and entered without waiting for a response. “Come with me,” he ordered Boruch, who jumped up from his seat.

  They exited the room through a different door, one that opened only after the short man pressed his thumb to a plate by the lock. After walking through several corridors, Bohdan found himself in front of a heavy steel door that opened when they approached. Inside, several guards, seemingly unarmed, looked him over after nodding to his companion. Then the two of them entered a room with only a table and two chairs. It had a mirror on one wall and was lit by a luminescent ceiling.

  “Please sit. If you tell me the truth, you will be fine. If not…”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong. Why am I here?”

  “I haven’t accused you of anything.” The man switched from Yiddish to German. “But I need to have truthful answers to the questions the nice lady asked you. You see, I am not nice and I don’t like people wasting my time. So, what is your real name?”

  “I told her already, I am Boruch Katzenelson.”

  “Right. And you are from Lutsk.”

  “Yes.”

  “You must have known everybody there?”

  “Well, not everybody, but yes, I knew lots of people.” Bohdan was recovering a bit. These people seemed to be what they said they were: Jews. How dangerous could Jews be?

  “Do you remember the names of those who were with you in the heder?”

  “Some. It was many years ago, before the Soviets took over, in 1922, I think”