The Shield: a novel

by Nachman Kataczinsky PhD

  “Please do that. Our mutual friend doesn’t want to lose any time. We were lucky to find anybody that is even remotely suitable.”

  Next Hirshson tried to call Snyder in Rome. It took almost an hour to get through. After the fourth ring, a woman’s voice answered in heavily accented English: “Press office. How may I help you?”

  “Mr. Howard Snyder, please,” Hirshson said in his Israeli accented English.

  “Just a moment, I will see if he is here.”

  Less than a minute later a man came on the line: “This is Snyder.”

  “My name is Hirshson. I am calling you back, as promised, from the Palestinian Refugee Organization. How can I be of help?”

  “Thanks for returning my call. You people took your time but no matter. I guess no harm was done. I’d like to come to your refugee base or camp or whatever it is you call it and take a look at your operation.”

  “You are welcome. Please don’t forget to get a pass from the Italian police. Without it, the Italian guards outside the facility will not let you in.” Hirshson checked the note in front of him. “You need to see an Inspector Giovanni Poncetti at the central police building in Rome. It will take you at least three days to get the pass. I suggest that we meet this Thursday.”

  ***

  Jonathan Brown and Dan Levine stepped out of the Boeing 727 onto the Brindisi landing strip. The weather was pleasant, though the wind was picking up and promising a storm. Light clouds raced across the sky. Jonathan, on his first visit to the 1941 world, looked around curiously. He saw non-descript concrete buildings, fairly new judging by the old warehouses next to them, and a long landing strip – also concrete. There were people everywhere. Most were in army uniforms, taking care of heavy construction equipment parked under curiously constructed sheds. There were also guards.

  Dan led them through a door in a tall fence made of pre-cast concrete pieces. They were challenged by guards on both sides of the fence. Dan’s ID was apparently good enough to let them pass.

  On the other side of the fence were more buildings – a mix of new and old Italian construction. The large plaza was teeming with civilians in what looked to Jonathan as somewhat shabby and old-fashioned clothing. It took him several minutes to realize that most of these people were lined up to board a ship moored at a pier of the Brindisi harbor. The ship carried a Nazi flag as well as a Palestinian one – a gold Star of David on a divided white and blue field. The combination looked incongruous to Jonathan.

  Finally they arrived at their destination: a concrete building at the edge of the plaza, next to a tall concrete wall.

  Inside they passed through a long corridor and arrived at a suite of offices. Hirshson greeted them in his office and offered refreshments. “Gentlemen, I have arranged your meeting for tomorrow. I’ll greet Snyder and immediately transfer him to your tender care. I have no need or desire to know what’s going on. Lieutenant Aviva Bashan will show you around the parts of this base that may be shown to our guest. Please learn them well – you’ll be on your own tomorrow and are supposed to make Snyder believe that you are ‘natives’ here.

  “Just to make sure: I am Ephraim Hirshson and I work for the Palestinian Refugee Organization – no mention of military titles or Israel. All personnel have been instructed not to speak to this guy, to pretend not to know English. The refugees will be free to say whatever they want – don’t interfere with them. Last thing: on no condition will you take him to the other side of the wall – where you landed.”

  ***

  Howard Snyder arrived at the external gate at noon. The Italian guards admitted him and he went on to the inner gate – guarded by the Caliph’s troops. For this occasion they were armed with old British Lee-Enfield rifles and dressed in British uniforms. The uniforms came from old IDF stores – they had been used by the Israeli forces as late as 1967. They looked well worn and mended, as befitted a poor Palestinian community.

  One of the guards took Snyder to Hirshson’s office. On the way Snyder got a glimpse of a refugee train pulling into the special station, but the guard kept moving and he had no choice but to follow him.

  “Mr. Snyder, welcome to our modest installation. I am Ephraim Hirshson of the Palestinian Refugee Organization.” Hirshson extended his hand.

  Snyder’s handshake was firm: “Thank you for inviting me. I’m sorry I was a bit short on the phone the other day. Had nothing to do with you, just a problem with the Italians that got me annoyed.

  “I have a ton of questions for you and I would like to see and interview some of the refugees.”

  Hirshson smiled apologetically: “I am a bit busy just now. We are short on people and have lots of refugees to deal with. In any case, I probably wouldn’t be able to answer most of your questions. I am only a local manager. There are two people here that know the operation better than I do and they also speak English much better that I do.”

  A knock on the door interrupted Snyder’s reply. Jonathan and Dan came in. Hirshson introduced them as Dr. Jonathan Brown, a medical doctor with the Organization, and Dan Law, a senior manager based in Palestine. The two led Snyder out and into an office down the corridor.

  “Mr. Snyder, would you like something to drink? A sandwich maybe?” asked Dan.

  Snyder smiled. “I feel at home already. We didn’t say two words and here you are trying to feed me. My grandmother did that all the time. My mother too. Thanks. I’ll take a cheese and turkey sandwich, if you have it, and a cup of coffee.”

  “Sorry,” Dan shrugged. “We are kosher here, so it’s either cheese or turkey but not both and if you get turkey you don’t get cream with your coffee.”

  “Oops, it is just like home. Okay, turkey sandwich then and black coffee.”

  “Are you Jewish?” Jonathan inquired. Not being a trained operative he was not given access to Snyder’s file for fear that he might let on some information they were not supposed to know and alert Snyder.

  “Oh yes. My father came to the States from Russia and quickly changed his name from Schneider to Snyder. He was hopeful that an ‘American’ name would let him more easily get into the printing business, which is what he was doing in Russia.”

  A young woman wearing a baggy British style uniform came in carrying a tray loaded with meat sandwiches, mayo, mustard and a pot of coffee. She put the tray on the table in the middle of the room, smiled at the three men and left.

  “That was quick service.” Snyder remarked.

  “Just the time it took to carry the stuff from the kitchen. We feed thousands of people every day, so three more are not a problem.”

  After lunch they toured the facility, at least the part that Snyder was allowed to see. He interviewed several of the refugees. These were mostly from Holland and were happy to have left the Dutch concentration camps.

  By four in the afternoon they were done with the interviews and Snyder was preparing to leave for the train station.

  “Mr. Snyder, may I ask your impressions of this installation?” asked Jonathan.

  “Dr. Brown, I am very impressed. I’m especially impressed that both the Germans and the British are cooperating. Maybe you could even negotiate a peace between them.”

  “You think that would be wise?” Dan asked.

  “Well, I don’t really know. I’m just a lowly reporter for the New York Herald. It seems to me that preventing bloodshed is always a good idea, though in the case of the Nazis I do have doubts.

  “At any rate, I will write a report of my visit here. It will be as glowing as I can make it and will either not be published or will appear at the bottom of page 17 on Sunday. But that’s life. Jews are not very high on America’s list of priorities.”

  “Mr. Snyder,” Dan began.

  Snyder interrupted him: “Please call me Howard.”

  “Okay, Howard, Dr. Brown and I are going to the U.S. and could use the help of someone like you.”

  Snyder thought for a moment. “There are lots of people I could introduce you to but yo
u probably know most of them. There are Jews in America that support the Palestinian cause. As a matter of fact I myself am a Labor Zionist.”

  “That’s not the kind of help we need. Jonathan needs to discuss an important matter with a U.S. physician that is also a Vice Admiral in the Navy. We are looking for an introduction.”

  Snyder was quiet for a long while. Finally he said: “What is it that a Palestinian doctor would want with a Navy Vice Admiral?”

  Dan responded carefully: “I’ll tell you but you have to promise that the information will stay with you until I give you permission to expose it, and that may be years from now or never. Exposure of our mission will not only harm Jews but will also harm the U.S. and you personally. Are you sure you want to know?”

  Snyder didn’t hesitate. “Yes, I want to know, but I’ll keep your secret only if it doesn’t involve treason against my country. This is also a condition for me to help you.”

  Dan looked at Jonathan who said “It’s really simple: we discovered, purely by chance mind you, that we may have a cure for some of the ills that plague President Roosevelt. The Admiral in question is his personal physician and an introduction to him may ease our mission of helping the President. No treason there.”

  Snyder got up from his chair and was now pacing back and forth. After a while he said: “I am somewhat skeptical that a medic from the land of camels and sand dunes would be able to cure what the best minds in America can’t.”

  “Why not?” Jonathan sounded offended. “I graduated from the one of the best medical schools, did my internship and residency at the Montefiori Medical Center in New York – I’m a good doctor. Don’t forget that the Hadassah Hospital in Jerusalem attracted the best Jewish doctors from Europe. In Palestine we have a unique combination of American and European knowledge.”

  Snyder stopped pacing: “Okay, let’s assume you persuaded me. I’m easy. And let’s assume that I may be able to give you a couple of names in D.C. I don’t know your Admiral but I think I know people who know him. What will you do next?”

  Dan answered “We would get to Washington as soon as possible to meet with him. I’m positive that after he hears what we have to offer he will be glad to accept our assistance.”

  “And what’s in it for you?” Snyder inquired in a somewhat calmer voice.

  “Very soon we will have close to six million new Jewish immigrants in Palestine. We need resources to support them for a while. It won’t be long before our economy will flourish, but in the interim we will need assistance. The U.S. can help us. Roosevelt has showed us no great friendship up to now. We think that if his health improves and it is attributed to our help, he could be much friendlier and give us some of what we need.”

  Snyder thought for a short while. Finally he pulled out a pocket appointment book: “Can you make it to New York by November 13th? That will be Thursday.”

  ***

  Amos Nir got up from his desk when Ahmad Mazen entered. The Prime Minister shook hands with the Palestinian Chairman and gestured for him to sit in one of the easy chairs around a coffee table. He asked for tea, Mazen wanted coffee. They were silent until the refreshments were served and the door was closed.

  “I am gratified that you want to resume our peace negotiations,” Dr. Mazen said. “It is the right thing to do for both our peoples. I take it that your government changed its position on releasing our prisoners and removing settlements.”

  “That’s not exactly why I invited you,” responded Amos. “I think that we should abandon the charade of peace negotiations. After all, you were more than happy to let the Nazis drop an atom bomb on us.”

  Mazen moved uncomfortably in his seat. “That was just talk. We need to calm the extremists. There is really nothing to it.”

  “Ah, but that statement isn’t accurate.” Amos smiled. “Tell me, Ahmad, do you consider yourself a Palestinian refugee?”

  “It’s not a question of what I consider myself. I am a Palestinian and my family was expelled from Lod. So, by definition, I am a Palestinian refugee.”

  “But you personally were not expelled from anywhere. You were born in a refugee camp near Ramallah, under Jordanian rule. You were not even a glimmer in your father’s eye when our war of independence happened.”

  “You just said it yourself, Prime Minister: I was born in a refugee camp among other refugees and so I am a refugee.”

  Amos Nir sipped his tea for a moment looking at the Palestinian Chairman. He seemed to be satisfied with his righteous response. “Dr. Mazen, you are a historian with a Ph.D. in the history of the world war we are in the midst of. Can you give me an example of another group in history that had third and fourth generation refugees? The twentieth century will be more than satisfactory.”

  Amos Nir kept sipping his tea, giving Mazen ample time to respond.

  “I don’t understand your question, Prime Minister. Every group of refugees that has children…” Mazen trailed off.

  He started again: “If refugees are not exterminated, they multiply, have children, the children have children and so on. I still don’t understand what you are saying.”

  “Okay, I’ll explain.” Amos picked up a cookie. “You know that in our timeline after the end of this war about 13 million ethnic Germans were expelled from Eastern Europe. They became refugees. Can you point out to me where their refugee camps were located in, say, 1980.”

  Mazen was shaking his head: “Amos, you know that there were no refugee camps for them. They were allowed to resettle and live normal lives.”

  “True, but they were not allowed to resettle in the countries that expelled them. They were absorbed by either Germany or Austria. Some went to other places, but it is telling that there are no accurate records of who went where.

  “Let me ask you another question: In 1948, after Israel declared independence, the Arab countries started expelling Jews. The final number of Jewish refugees was close to eight hundred thousand. In which camps were they housed in 1980?

  “In 1947 Pakistan separated from India. Millions of Hindus and Moslems became refugees. In which camps were they housed in 1980?

  “These are just some examples out of many. If you give me the name of just one such place, we can arrive at a peace agreement in an instant.”

  “You know that none of these people were in refugee camps in 1980.” Mazen was angry now. “What is the connection between all these people and the Palestinians?”

  “None really.” Amos was smiling now. “Except that the general rule emphasizes the exception. The Palestinians are unique in their status. They remained refugees, living in camps on UN handouts, for generations. The same UN also did nothing to help them move to other countries and, in fact, discouraged them from moving. A clear violation of their human rights.

  “I have to remind you of another piece of history: Israel was ready to accept the UN partition plan; The Arabs, including a great majority of those living in Palestine at that time, refused and attacked. The Arab side lost the war. I don’t want to get into the question of whether your people were expelled as you claim or left at the urging of their leadership as our historians claim. It is immaterial why they left. What is important is what happened next.

  “There was no difference either ethnically, linguistically or culturally between the Arabs of Palestine, Jordan, Lebanon, Syria or any other neighboring Arab country. From this it would follow that your people could be absorbed by those countries and you would have been born a citizen of Jordan. No second, third and umpteenth generation of refugees, no misery and living a hard life being fed by the UN.

  “The problem was that your Arab brethren hated Israel so much that they made your people into a tool of war. There was also some tribal hatred and fear of competition, but that was a side issue. Preserving them as refugees was vital to keeping up pressure on Israel. The UN cooperated. They set up a unique institution just to take care of you. I am saying ‘you’ because the term ‘Palestinian’ didn’t apply to Arabs until the l
ate 1960s – as you know the Palestinian national identity was invented by Arafat, an Egyptian himself. Very few of your people were granted citizenship in the Arab world and you were always treated as pariahs there. Your people were cruelly abused by the other Arabs and left to their own devices. Those Arabs would do it again. That calamity started only seven years from now and was perpetuated by the forces in power now in the Arab world.”

  Mazen jumped out of his armchair. “What you are saying are partial truths mixed with lies. I don’t have to listen to this.”

  “Mr. Chairman, please calm down. I’ll be done in a minute and then we have to discuss a number of important issues, but the historical background is necessary.”

  Amos waited for the Chairman to sit back in his seat. “There is just one point left that I can’t resist making: in the timeline we came from you claimed you wanted to set up a state that was supposed to live in peace with us. You know that that was impossible for a simple reason: the four or six hundred thousand original refugees multiplied into many millions. Only a fraction of these lived in the territories under your control and there was no way to absorb the others without massive help from the other Arabs. That help was not forthcoming – They gave you money to fight but never really wanted you to build a healthy economy. But I am done with this, and unless you want to add something, I suggest we move on to the real reason for this meeting.”

  “Mr. Prime Minister, I don’t agree with most of what you said, but it would be a waste of time to argue. I don’t see why these issues have to be discussed now.”

  “Mr. Chairman, I wanted to present to you the background before attempting to arrive at some kind of agreement. In your discussions with the other fractions - you know what discussion I’m referring to - you considered leaving for Jordan. Is this still on the table?”

  Mazen looked surprised. “I will have to think about this and confer with my colleagues. Would you consider such an option?”