by Evans, Mike
Over the next few weeks, our soldiers fought valiantly and retook major portions of the city. Chana and I swept out the café, and although electrical service was sporadic we did our best to be ready should anyone come by. Business was all but nonexistent in Jerusalem. Most people were doing all they could simply to survive. Being ready for our customers was our way of surviving.
Gradually, as calm was restored to our neighborhood, a few people ventured out on the streets and before long word spread that we were still there. A trickle of customers wandered in to marvel at our chutzpah and to sip from their cups of coffee. Then a soldier from Tobin’s squad arrived to tell us that Yohai was injured and being held in a field hospital on the road to Ramallah, north of the city. The location was near the heaviest fighting, but Chana insisted on getting him out and bringing him home.
Relatives came to take care of the café while a friend, Miriam Ohrenstein, drove us toward the front in her car. Troops were fighting all around us, and artillery shells exploded near the car, but we kept going and eventually came to a group of large white tents with red crosses on top. Soldiers guarding the road tried to prevent us from entering but we paid them no attention, and when they saw the car held only three women and a small child, they stepped aside to let us pass.
After a hurried search of the tents, we located Yohai languishing on a cot beneath a tent that covered a dozen others in similar condition. He’d been injured by shrapnel in his stomach. From the smell of it, I was sure his wounds were infected. Chana took one look at him and insisted on taking him home. When attendants and doctors objected, she turned on them.
“Why should I leave him here?”
“He is a soldier in the army,” a nurse explained. “We must treat him.” “You?” Chana roared. “You think you can save him? You can do nothing but watch him die!” She lowered her voice and pointed a finger at herself. “He is my husband. I know how to make him well.”
An orderly stepped forward to intervene, but as he reached out for her, Chana stopped him with a glare. “You would touch me?”
“Let her go,” someone said from across the way. We all turned to see a doctor just entering the tent. “She is right. There is nothing more we can do for him.” His voice had a hint of sadness, and I could see that though he wanted to help them all, he had very little medicine or supplies with which to work.
Two orderlies helped us lift Yohai from the cot and together we carried him to the car. When we arrived back at the café, we lugged him upstairs to the apartment over the café and put him in his own bed. Chana and I took turns looking after him, bathing his wounds and dressing them, wiping his forehead, and coaxing him to eat. He remained near death for several weeks but then began to recover. Two months after we brought him home, he was strong enough to sit in the café. As word of his recovery spread, friends and customers dropped by to see him.
Chana watched from the kitchen as he sat with them, drinking coffee. “See,” she beamed, “I know what to do for him. God hears me when I cry to Him on Yohai’s behalf.”
Business continued to pick up and before long we put Yohai to work out front while I operated the stoves. Being in back kept me busy, which took my mind off Eli, and it allowed me to care for David.
Late one afternoon, Yohai appeared in the hallway near the passthrough window. I could see from the look in his eye that something was wrong. As I came from the stove I saw an army officer standing with him. “I am sorry to tell you this,” the officer began, “but I have bad news about your husband.”
My heart seemed to stop. Tears filled my eyes and I put my hand to my face.
“It’s not that,” Yohai interrupted. He put his arm around me and drew me close. “He’s alive.”
“Then what is it?”
“I’m afraid he’s been captured.” “Captured?”
“Information we’ve received indicates he’s being held as a prisoner by the Egyptians.”
“Where?” “In Egypt.”
Chana heard him talking and came to my side. She put her hand on my shoulder. “Let us pray he is dead, rather than tortured at the hands of the Egyptians.”
I jerked away from her and shouted, “He is not dead! He is alive and one day you will see him right here in this very spot.”
Chana tried to comfort me, but I turned away and ran out the door to the alley. From behind me I heard David crying but all I could think of was Eli as a prisoner in an Egyptian camp. Images from the past flooded my mind and I saw again the squalid conditions of Mauthausen and the bodies in the mass grave, only now Eli was one of the prisoners.
* * *
As weeks turned into months and still we heard nothing more about Eli, people began to whisper that he was dead and had been so all along, only the army didn’t want to tell us. Yohai and Chana tried to be hopeful, but Yohai had seen the misery of war and the brutal way men fought. Inside I was certain he feared his son would never return.
Then Tobin Halutz appeared at the café. Dressed in his army uniform he looked sharp, trim, and handsome. He had seen documents confirming that Eli was captured but knew nothing more. For the next several weeks he returned each day at noon to eat lunch. Apparently, Eli had been captured by the Egyptians near Beersheba and taken to a camp in Egypt, where he was interrogated under British supervision.
Yohai was livid. “The British,” he fumed. “I knew someone was assisting the Egyptians. They never could have fought so well against us without outside help.”
I kept to my work in the kitchen and heard none of what Tobin said firsthand. Yohai and Chana brought me reports of their conversations with him. This kept up, with Tobin coming for lunch and Chana reporting on what he said, until one day she came to the kitchen and drew me from the stove to the hallway. Standing there, in plain sight, she pointed to Tobin who was seated at a table near the window. “Look at him,” she began. “Isn’t he handsome?”
“Yes,” I agreed. “He makes a fine appearance in a uniform.” “He is an officer now,” she added with enthusiasm.
“I know,” I gestured over my shoulder. “There’s a pot on the stove. I need to see about it.”
“Forget about the stove,” Chana snapped. “Listen to me. Tobin is a good man. He’s an officer in the army now. A respected man. His wife died last year when an artillery shell hit their house. He was interested in you once, and I think he’s still interested in you now.”
I was astounded by what I heard but I knew she meant well. “I’m married,” I said with a dour voice.
“He comes here almost every day,” she continued. “You should talk to him.”
“You think Eli is dead?”
Her eyes were full. “It has been many months,” she said softly, “and we have heard nothing new about him.”
“We knew nothing of Yohai for months, either. Did you give up on him?”
“It was different with him. I knew in my heart he was alive.” “Do you not have that same assurance about Eli?”
Chana looked away. “I know things.” She was on the verge of tears. “I can see. You need a husband. And your son needs a father. Perhaps it is time for you to move on.”
“You talk to Tobin Halutz if you wish,” I groused. “And comfort him in the loss of his wife. I am married. My husband will return soon.” Then I stepped back to the stove and continued to work.
* * *
A week or two later, I was busy in the kitchen when someone tapped me on the shoulder from behind. I glanced back, expecting to see Yohai or Chana. Instead, I saw Eli. He was much thinner than before and he had a scar on his forehead, but when he smiled at me I felt like crying. He put his arms around me and pulled me close. “Did you miss me?”
“Everyone thought you were dead,” I sobbed.
“Did you?”
“No. I told them you would come back.”
I wiped my eyes on his shirt and kissed him until smoke from the pan on the stove filled the air.
In the spring of 1949, Ben-Gurion and the Isra
eli government reached peace agreements with our neighbors. That same year, I turned thirtynine years old. I still wrote every day, continuing to preserve now in multiple notebooks all the things I remembered about events from my past, but doing justice somehow seemed to require more. None of the missing Nazis had been caught and there was still nothing new about Adolf Eichmann or the location where he might be hiding.
That spring, a customer at the café had a brochure announcing the establishment of a law school at Hebrew University. When the customer finished eating, he left the brochure behind. I read it and remembered Uncle Alois, the difference he made in the lives of so many people, and the things Rabbi Meir said to me about the quest for justice being my primary motivation, perhaps even a motivation from God.
During a lull in work that afternoon I found Eli at a table in the kitchen reading a book. When I asked about it, he closed it and showed me the front cover. “Just a book by a rabbi,” he explained. “Doing some reading to pass the time.”
I took a seat at the table and laid the brochure in front of him. “I found this out front.”
He glanced at the brochure, then looked over at me. “I heard about it. That would be a good thing. New country needs its own lawyers.”
“You think so?”
“Yes,” he said enthusiastically. “Of course. We need good lawyers to help us build a society that stands on the law.”
I caught his eye and pointed to the brochure. “I want to do it.”
A frown wrinkled his forehead. “You want to attend law school?” “Yes,” I nodded.
Before we could say much more, Yohai appeared. “What’s this talk about lawyers?”
“Just talking.”
He glanced down at the brochure, snatched it from the table, and quickly scanned through it. Then he tossed it on the table and looked down at Eli. “Don’t you have to finish college first?”
Eli shook his head. “It’s not for me.”
“Oh.” Yohai looked puzzled. “Then who’s it for?” “Sarah.”
Yohai looked over at me. “Law is a profession for men. It’s not a job for women.”
“Learning isn’t just for men anymore,” I argued.
“Women should study things that are useful in the home,” he countered. “In my day, you would have not even been permitted the education you already have. You should be glad.”
“Those days have passed.”
“Not in my house,” he stated emphatically.
“Show me where it says in Torah that I can’t learn.”
“You have a family to care for,” Yohai’s voice was getting louder and louder. “And you have a job. Right here.” He jabbed the table with his finger for emphasis.
“But I—”
“I forbid it,” he snapped. Then he turned aside and walked away. Eli said nothing in my defense, so I rose from the table and stalked out of the kitchen. For the remainder of the day I did not speak to either of them.
Later that night, I approached Eli. He was seated at the kitchen table, reading the same book he had earlier at the café. I entered the room and scooted a chair close to him, then leaned my head on his shoulder. “Do you share your father’s opinion of my interest in law school?”
“You really want to be a lawyer?” “Yes,” I nodded. “I really do.”
“Well, okay,” he grinned. “Find out how to enroll.” I sat up straight. “What about your father?”
“I will take care of things with him.”
“What if he throws us out of the business?” “It won’t come to that.”
“But what if it does?”
He put aside the book and took my hand in his. “Then I will find work elsewhere.”
“You’re sure?”
“You apply to school. I’ll handle Papa.”
The following day I called the school and then paid it a visit. While I was there, I applied for admission. That summer, shortly after my thirty-ninth birthday, I learned I had been accepted for the first term in the fall. I was the only woman in the class, but not the oldest.
Attending class meant I was not at the café, and studying each day kept me busy. I was soon immersed in study, and other than taking time out for Eli and David, I lived in my own world. About three weeks after classes began I came to the café with David late in the afternoon. As I stepped through the door, Yohai called to me from across the room, “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting tables for weeks by myself with only Chana to help.” Then I realized Eli had not talked to him. I felt like I’d been hit in the pit of my stomach and for an instant wondered why Eli had let me down.
Yohai came toward me and from the look in his eye I knew he wanted an answer. My mind reeled as I tried to think of what to say. Then Eli appeared from the kitchen.
“She’s in school, Papa,” he said calmly. “School?” Yohai was confused. “What school?”
“Law school.” Eli looked him in the eye and said it without flinching.
Yohai was beside himself. “I forbid it!” he shouted, right there in front of the customers. “I told you already. This is my house and I forbid you to go to that school!”
“Papa,” Eli used the same even tone as before, “she is my wife. My family.”
“Your family?”
“Sarah and David are my family.” “And you think that gives you—”
“Papa,” Eli interrupted, “she and Mama kept this business alive while we were fighting the war. They didn’t run and hide. They stayed right here. When you were dying in that field hospital, Sarah came with Mama to get you.” By then he was face-to-face with Yohai and he lowered his voice even more. “And when everyone thought I was dead, she never gave up hope.”
“But I—”
Eli cut him off again. “She had faith in me, Papa. And I have faith in her. Don’t you think she can do this?”
“That’s not the question. Of course she could do it. She can do anything she sets her mind to.”
“Then what is the problem?”
“I … I don’t know,” he stammered.
“Okay, then.” Eli put his hand on Yohai’s shoulder. “You’re going to show a little faith in her, too. I don’t know where this is leading us, but Sarah needs this and I’m going to help her do it.”
Yohai picked up the dirty dishes from a table and walked to the back. I watched as he disappeared into the kitchen. When he was out of sight, Chana appeared in the doorway and smiled.
I asked Eli later why he hadn’t told his father earlier that I had enrolled in school. He said, “If I told him earlier, he might have called someone and tried to prevent it.” I’m glad he handled it that way and I was proud to see him stand up for me.
* * *
For the next two years I worked harder at school than I ever worked at anything in my life. I wanted to do well, to prove that Eli’s faith in me was well placed, to take the next step forward in my life, wherever it led, and to learn what it meant to “do justice.” Perhaps because of that and because I came to law school for a purpose greater than simply entering a profession, my test scores ranked me at the top of the class.
As I entered my third and final year of school, several law firms expressed an interest in hiring me. They had much to offer, including a salary that would have dramatically altered our lifestyle, but I wasn’t sure I wanted that kind of professional life. I wanted to help people, to make a difference, as Uncle Alois had done. And, as impossible as it seemed, I wanted to find the people who shot the Averbuch children and hold them accountable.
* * *
Late that year, Youssef Kastner, one of my professors, took me aside after class. “You are doing well,” he said with pride. “Many did not think it was possible for a woman to do this, much less reach the top of her class.”
“It didn’t come easy.”
“No. I’m sure it didn’t. You worked hard and your grades show it. Now you have opportunities opening before you.”
“But they seem to offer me only a professional
career.” “You had more in mind?”
“Much more.”
“Perhaps I can help,” he suggested. “If you want to make a difference, there’s someone I think you should meet.”
“Who is it?”
“I would rather introduce him to you than give you his name. Could you meet tomorrow afternoon?”
“I have a break from two to three.” “Good. I’ll set it up.”
The next day Kastner sent a note telling me to meet him at the coffee shop across the street from the campus. When I arrived, he was seated at a table in back. Sitting beside him was a man of medium build. Not quite six feet tall, he had a balding head and intense eyes that were alert and bright, as if seeing everything at once. He was dressed in a dark gray suit and when I saw him I was certain I had seen him before. They both stood as I approached, then Kastner introduced his companion as Reuven Shiloah, and I knew then why he looked familiar.
When we were seated, Shiloah looked across at me. “You know who I am?”
“I’ve seen your picture in the newspaper.”
“I am the director of the Institute for Intelligence and Special
Operations.” “Mossad.”
“Yes,” he nodded. “Mossad. Your father-in-law is Yohai Cohen?” “Yes.” I was puzzled that he knew Yohai. “How do you know him?” “We are acquainted from the war. I have been in his coffee shop many times.” He glanced around, then back at me. “It’s much better than this one, frankly. But we could not risk meeting there. Too many prying eyes.”
“I have a class in about an hour,” I checked my watch. “What did you want to talk about?”
“We are putting together a team of young lawyers. We think you would make a good addition to that team when you graduate.”
“At Mossad?” “Yes.”
“What kind of team?”
“As you are aware, after the war in Europe came to an end, the Allies captured and put on trial several key Nazi leaders. They got the big names, but finding the second-tier leaders—the ones who actually put into effect their final solution—has proved a tedious task. Allied interests have been diverted to other issues. No one is pursuing the people we would all like to see brought to justice.”
