No Time for Tears

by Cynthia Freeman

  That night, after the first burst of urgent passion, they lay quietly, feeling the closeness of one another. Then Dovid took his wife again, this time unhurriedly. In that sweetness no war existed, no hate, nothing at all outside nurturing walls, only love. The world ceased….

  In their short time together not a word was said about how Chavala had survived, the fear and anxiety she felt every moment for Dovid’s safety. Nor the clawing loneliness. Nor did she ask about Zichron. She did not want to know, in fact.

  The night before he left she cooked a very special dinner and refused to think about tomorrow. Life was made up not of days, months or years, it was the moments that counted … only the moments.

  When he prepared to leave in the morning she smiled as though he would return that evening.

  She sent him away with a box of homemade bread, cakes and cookies. “And give this box to Aaron. Thank him for the gift he sent.” The parting was swift … with no tears. In their precious few moments together there was no time for tears.

  In July, Absalom managed to leave Beirut on an American warship. Equipped with a Spanish passport—the Sephardim were useful even if they were snobbish—he made it past the ports and border checks without serious incident, although he nearly forgot at one point not to speak English but words of Spanish he’d been carefully drilled in. Finally he arrived in Alexandria, but he was prevented from disembarking by the British authorities, who questioned his passport.

  Absalom decided the best approach was a direct one. He requested to be brought to British Intelligence headquarters immediately so that he could identify himself. The port officials were unimpressed. The man’s English was good but his story farfetched. He decided then to return to Greece and try again. As he miserably walked the deck he met a Jewish student and told him his real name. “They’re going to let you go ashore?” Absalom asked him.

  “Yes… and you?”

  “The British refused me entry. I must get into the country. I’d like you to do me a favor.”

  “If I can …”

  “You can. I’m going to write out a note for you to take to the manager of the Anglo-Palestine bank in Alexandria. He can identify me.”

  The deed was done and the note served its purpose. Actually the connection had been set up through a connection in America, a prominent Jewish scientist who had been impressed by Aaron’s research and had been contacted by Aaron to help. He in turn called a British colleague who was a brother of the manager of the Anglo-Palestine bank. Shortly thereafter Absalom was permitted to disembark.

  He was far less successful in arousing the interest of the British. Once again, their arrogance overwhelmed their self-interest

  That night Absalom returned to the hotel a frustrated and bitter man. After brooding half the night he decided the only possible way to get the attention of the British was to publish an article in their newspapers. Maybe they’d believe their own.

  He wrote the rest of the night, then hurried to the Egyptian Gazette with an article, signed by Anonymous, about the weakness of the Turkish regime and its armed forces. Together with provocative details on the size of their army.

  The next afternoon he waited for the newspapers to come out, bought one and hurried to the Pharaoh Cafe, where he ordered coffee and scanned the paper. And there it was:

  It seems ludicrous that a people which boasts that the sun never sets on its empire was unaware that the Turkish army was almost nonexistent in Palestine and Syria during the Gallipoli campaign, since most of its units were deployed to defend Achi Baba and Constantinople. Only a small garrison had been left to defend Palestine and Syria. If the British had been less inclined to continue with the tradition of high tea at four, that small piece of real estate could have been taken with little or no effort.

  But what should one expect when a nation supposedly as strong as Great Britain did not take the offensive during the attack on the Suez Canal. During that disorderly retreat the Turks almost tripped over one another. The time to have taken the initiative was then.

  It makes one ponder where British Intelligence was when, right out in front of God and king, the Turks were building the new military highway along the Gaza. How simple it would have been to dispatch a small squadron of planes and bomb the site. Imagine the surprise the Turks would have had if a small sortie flew over during the inauguration.

  It now seems a second attack on the Suez is close at hand. Perhaps Providence has given Britain another chance to prove herself. Perhaps it is still not too late if the British will consult with and consider the wisdom of those whose knowledge can, to say the least, supplement theirs.

  That was the first in a series of articles he bombarded the British with. To his delight, the articles brought about the desired reaction. At long last, the British were recognizing him…

  On August 8, almost a month after he had arrived, Absalom finally met with Major Niecomb in the major’s office.

  “Now, sir, you’ve been rather bothersome with those articles. I confess they’ve caused us embarrassment, and quite honestly I don’t understand what your reasons are, nor how they can benefit you—”

  “The truth is, Major Niecomb, they can benefit both of us,”

  “How so?”

  “You failed in the Suez campaign because you had no intelligence network in either Palestine or Syria. If you had it would have been relatively easy for you to have pushed forward …”

  Niecomb grimaced, knowing that there was more than a little truth in that statement. “So what are you suggesting?”

  “Major, we have formed an espionage network in Palestine, to be put at the disposal of Britain—”

  “Of Britain? For no other reason?”

  “Of course. The more information you have the faster you can take action in Palestine. And we Jews would naturally benefit from that.”

  Niecomb lit a cigarette. “And what would we have to pay for this intelligence?”

  “Major Niecomb, I haven’t come here to sell you secrets. I’ve come in the name of my people, who believe that by helping Britain we will help ourselves. I’m not a mercenary, nor is this offer made out of altruism. We have something that can be of great help to you—”

  “And how large is this network?”

  “It’s small and secret, but very effective.”

  Small … and secret … and no rewards … Niecomb was not impressed by Absalom, whom he regarded as a radical Jewish romantic, a dangerous, troublemaking sort looking for some grand adventure. Well, he was not about to be taken in by this Hebrew zealot. Lord, they surely were pushy … they really took seriously that nonsense about being the Chosen People.

  He ordered Absalom to leave Egypt immediately, and made a call that resulted twenty-four hours later in the dismissal of the manager of the Anglo-Palestine bank.

  Dovid and Aaron awaited anxiously for Absalom to return, or for a message from him about the link with British Intelligence headquarters.

  Weeks passed without any news.

  Dovid became especially impatient. “I’m sure Absalom must be having trouble getting back … well, we can’t wait any longer. This is too important, I’m going to look for some way to get to Egypt.”

  “I suppose that’s the only answer,” Aaron said, shaking his head. “Now, what route are you thinking of? If you go by land that means crossing the Sinai. Aside from the time involved—it’s just too dangerous.”

  “So that leaves the sea …” Dovid was not unaware that such passage was also a part of Absalom’s plans, but, of course, not having heard from Absalom, he had no way of knowing whether it had succeeded.

  In Haifa a Christian Arab, Tioufit Butaj, who had less love for the Jews than fear of his fellow Arabs, and had decided it wise to support the Jews who might at some point soon be useful to him in saving his own neck, expressed his willingness to take Dovid to Egypt in his small boat—for a fee, of course. Saving one’s neck should not obscure commerce. But the British blockade made that transaction q
uickly obsolete, and so there was nothing left for Dovid except to once again enlist American contacts and procure passage on an American warship dispatched to evacuate people from the war zone. Appropriate papers were prepared and Dovid boarded the ship.

  When he arrived in Egypt he went to the president of the Anglo-Palestine bank—the manager (thanks to Absalom) had been compromised, apparently, by collaboration with the Jews, but the president was still above suspicion; actually, he welcomed the opportunity to get back at the British, and the British, in their fashion, never imagined that a Jew who had reached such exalted position as president of a bank in association with the British would ever endanger himself or his position by going against their wishes. After Dovid established his identity with a letter written by Aaron, Joseph Neiman was most receptive. Aaron considered Neiman the one remaining dependable link between Athlit and Cairo.

  As the two men sat in Neiman’s office, Dovid said, “It is imperative that I meet with the top-echelon British officer in their intelligence establishment.”

  Born an Egyptian Jew, and occupying the position he did, there were few people in high positions that Joseph Neiman did not know.

  “I think that can be arranged. I’ll make the contact for you. Where will you be staying?”

  “At the Royal Hotel. I’m registered under the name of Dovid Nadar.”

  The two men shook hands, and Neiman said, “I’ll be in touch.”

  The next day Dovid went to Alexandria, where he tried to find out about Absalom. The most he could ferret out was that Absalom was trying to get back to Palestine, but so far with little success. Hardly encouraging or enlightening news.

  Dovid then hurried back to Cairo and waited, not daring to leave his room. Finally the phone rang … it was Joseph Neiman.

  “I believe I have located your man. Go to British headquarters at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. You might ask for Lieutenant Wooly.” He hung up without waiting for Dovid’s response.

  Dovid was already more fortunate than Absalom … though he had no way of knowing it … Lieutenant Wooly had replaced Major Niecomb only a week before.

  When Dovid was brought in to Lieutenant Wooly, he found him in appearance and manner the epitome of a British officer. He also spoke like one … with rather obvious suspicion of Dovid.

  “I understand that you have been asking to see me.”

  “Yes. I’ll get to the point, sir. In Palestine we have been gathering a very large amount of information that we believe you can use…”

  Dovid took out a small black notebook and handed it to Wooly. Wooly could hardly believe what he saw … Turkish and German army movements in Syria, evacuation of forces and equipment, an in-depth survey of prices of supplies, sizes of crops, military plans of the Turks, including the one Dovid had seen on Jamal Pasha’s desk.

  Wooly maintained a British cool he hardly felt. “This is quite remarkable. Tell me, how were you able to gather such information?”

  Dovid didn’t miss the mixture in his voice of cautious hope and skepticism. He told the whole story, from the inception of NILI, and Aaron Aaronson’s involvement, with his reputation, added credibility. Still, only after nearly two hours of close questioning was Wooly able to convince himself of Dovid’s legitimacy, and thereby that of his material.

  “All I can say, Mr. Landau, is that this is truly remarkable. I will submit it to the high command in London. Thank you for coming to see me, we’ll be in touch.”

  Dovid waited for two agonizing days before he was summoned back to see Wooly. This time he was greeted with open enthusiasm.

  “Well, sir,” said Lieutenant Wooly, “I believe we can say we have an agreement. Now I think we should discuss how contact can be made.”

  In a briefing room with four other intelligence officers Dovid said, “The harbor at Athlit will accommodate a small craft. I believe that the information could be handed over to the British by our men at NILI, who would, of course, encode. And I suggest we use light signals. They’re simple and fast.”

  The discussion went on until midnight. Finally, when all was arranged, Dovid was returned to Palestine on a small craft belonging to the British, disguised with Arab insignia.

  It was midnight when the boat slowly moved into a cove beyond the huge shoals of Athlit. The lieutenant stood by the rail and shook hands with Dovid. Dovid climbed down into the dinghy. He was rowed as fast as it was thought safe, then stripped off his clothes, tied them into a waterproof sack and jumped into the ice-cold sea. He swam until he came to the familiar rocks. A large wave rolled over his head, the rocks were slippery with slimy green moss, but he somehow managed to hold on, reach the seawall and pull himself up.

  He was home.

  Shivering from the cold that went to the marrow of his bones, he slipped back into his clothes and moved stealthily through the night. He listened to the sounds of soldiers walking along the roads. He heard their laughter, and he held his breath as he lay in the high grass. He darted from place to place … until finally he reached the hills of Zichron, and from there to Aaron’s door.

  Aaron looked at a soaking wet Dovid, a broad grin on his face. “My God … Dovid, you did it.”

  “I did it… yes, I did it.”

  Embracing Dovid, Aaron said, “Now go change, put on one of my robes and I’ll fix a pot of coffee.”

  As the men sat at Aaron’s kitchen table, eagerly Dovid was pumped to tell everything, from the very beginning.

  “Everything would take the two weeks I’ve been away… and before I begin … have you heard from Absalom?”

  “He’s home. I’ll tell you more about that later. Please go on, Dovid…”

  “I have to give credit where it’s due. I was damned fortunate. This Lieutenant Wooly was more eager to work with us, if possible, than we were to make contact. The arrangement is that the contact will be made through a ship. We decided upon light signals. A boat will land near the Crusaders’ Castle and from there the materiel will be collected. Now, I think we must decide on dividing our roles. Aaron, you pick the men you feel best suited for gathering information … I would like to work with Lieb Schacham, he’s a great swimmer, which for a landlubber like me could be a saving grace.”

  The date of the arrival for the first contact by sea had been set when Dovid was in Alexandria.

  On the appointed night Dovid and Absalom waited but the ship did not arrive. “What do you think happened, Dovid?”

  “Maybe they were spotted. One thing we know, if they haven’t come by now, they won’t. It’s almost dawn.”

  Night after night they lay in the bushes, waiting. On the fourth night they heard the low murmur of the ship passing, but it could not come in close enough to anchor because of the foggy weather. And during the next four nights it could not approach because of the storm-driven rains.

  Dovid’s trip to Egypt had apparently been for nothing—which he couldn’t accept. He would go to Egypt once again.

  In the laboratory at Athlit Dovid met with Aaron and Absalom. “How would you like to go on a hegira through the Sinai, Absalom?”

  “Since I’m practically an Arab, I might as well … After all, I’m something of an expert at it by now. It’s the way I survived and got back from Egypt after the British turned me down. The British may say they’re against the Arabs and the Turks, but the real enemy …at least that’s the way they made me feel… is the Jews.” Absalom had regaled Aaron and later Dovid with fairly harrowing accounts of his long journey home, including one encounter with an Arab man and his woman which he refused to talk about, except to say that at the time he wondered if the price of survival was worth it… “What is your plan, Dovid?”

  “We’ve got to make contact Never mind what you and I may think of the British, they are the only hope we have. We must get to them with our information.”

  “Dovid, how would you get through the border patrol?” Aaron said.

  “There’s no other way. All the American escorts by now have rescued the n
eutral citizens. There’s no alternative. But with Absalom’s knowledge of the desert, and his ability to speak the language, we have a good chance of making it. Do you agree, Absalom?”

  “Agreed…”

  Disguised as Bedouins, they left Zichron. As Aaron watched his two best friends go off in the distance he prayed that they would make it safely. A man could stand just so much loss in his life…

  In Chan-Hunes they were stopped and questioned. Absalom explained that they were representatives from the experimental farms at Hadera and Athlit, and that they were tracing the origins of the locusts.

  The local army commander accepted their explanation and, in fact, offered them the use of a telegraph.

  Dovid cabled Aaron: “The locusts have not yet been traced.” The double meaning was instantly clear to Aaron.

  The border was now so close that Dovid and Absalom were sure they’d make it. Their enthusiasm was short-lived.

  Near El-Katharan, only a few hours’ walk from the front line dividing Turks and British, they were arrested by a border guard. Each man was subjected to a relentless barrage of questions … there were no locusts in this area that the interrogators knew of, and if they were the locust officials they claimed to be, then why hadn’t they been equipped with a vasika, a free access permit?

  No story or excuse helped, and they were transferred to Beersheba for further interrogation. When they arrived the German officials were as unconvinced as the border guards had been. They were taken off to jail.

  It was clear that the authorities strongly suspected that they were spies, and once again the end of a rope seemed an almost inevitable end.

  Within the Yishuv there were eyes and ears everywhere, but to save them immediate action was necessary … Max Ben-Eliezer, a Shomer in Ruhama, the most southern village in the country, became the courier between Dovid and Solomon Bartov. At risk to his own life, Bartov went every day to collect the notes and scraps of paper which Dovid dropped from his barred windows. From his hand the notes were then passed on to Nathan Eliav, who rode to Zichron, where Aaron finally learned of the imprisonment.