The policeman walked away, leaving his protest hanging in midair.
Dovid was contacted, and several hours later appeared, not at all pleased with Reuven. “How could you have done such a stupid thing? Endangering not only yourself but Joshua and Zvi. You mean to tell me you went into Arab territory?”
“I know, abba, but you told me never to be afraid—”
“I also know that I told you never to be a fool.”
Dovid finally managed to free them, but not without embarrassment to himself as well….
When they arrived back home their exploits quickly became known to Reuven’s peers at Kfar Shalom and in spite of what Dovid, Ari and Dvora thought, Reuven emerged a young hero…
Thinking about those wonderfully exciting months, Joshua felt intensely his love and admiration for Reuven. He badly wanted to be a part of the youth group that Reuven was the head of. He longed to walk the length and breadth of Palestine to the sites of ancient battles and visit the tombs and the cities. He admired the traditional blue shirts and shorts the young people wore, and their songs about the homeland:
Who will build
Galilee?
We! We!
And the melodies of “Elijah the Prophet,” who called out:
Come unto us,
Come in our time.
Bring Messiah
Of David’s line.
The echo of that ancient chant reverberated in Joshua’s mind. He would, he determined, keep his promise to Reuven to come back, to dedicate himself to Eretz Yisroel too….
Julie and Moishe had now become proud parents of a lovely daughter named Laura. Chia and Lenny made up for lost time … they had the blessing of twins, a boy named Gideon, a girl named Aviva—since they had been born in April, Aviva, meaning spring, seemed especially fitting….
In Palestine Zvi had become, Reuven wrote, not only proficient in Hebrew, but devoted most of his time to the Zionist youth movement….
For Chavala, life had not stood still either. The year was now 1928. The country seemed to be flourishing. The stock market was climbing to untold heights, and so was Chavala’s business. Still, the demands on her had escalated too. Not just because the family had expanded. Palestine was in terrible need financially. Family … Palestine … they became one for her. She expanded her operation. The pawnshop on Mott Street was doing so well she spoke to the landsman and it was decided that five more shops in different areas should be established. By now the operation of Landau’s on Fifth Avenue had become totally respectable. Chavala bought wholesale from Mr. Leibowitz, and so was able to produce statements. She added to Landau’s on Fifth Avenue by opening a fine jewelry shop in Miami, and another in Los Angeles. Chavala Landau was a national enterprise.
Chavala was also on a treadmill, or so she felt. Time nudged her. She knew that Joshua had grown away from her. His needs had grown as consistently as Chavala’s business. And, unknown to Chavala, his determination to rejoin Reuven also grew….
In September of 1929, the world stopped spinning, fell apart. But not for Chavala. By the time the crash came, Chavala had amassed sufficient liquid assets to buy up properties at unheard-of bargain prices. She bought a six-story apartment house on Sixty-eighth Street between Fifth Avenue and Madison Avenue, two office buildings on Lexington Avenue, and a sizable parcel of land in Jamaica, New York, just outside of Manhattan. She set up trust funds for all the children, including Sheine’s little Erich.
The needs of Raizel and her sons were especially great. Since their capacity to earn was so limited, Chavala supported them. Raizel, frugal as she was, never, Chavala was convinced, used any of the money for anything as frivolous as, for example, a new dress. Chavala knew where it went … beyond the basic necessities of life her sister gave to charity and the shul. Well, if that was what her sister felt was most important, it was fine with Chavala … except she did wish just once Raizel would be a little selfish, do a little something for herself …
What especially pleased Chavala was that Ari no longer seemed to resent her contributions, she didn’t have to use subterfuges as in the past, thank God. He seemed to realize that without her help Dvora’s life would have been drudgery. He also felt no need to apologize to the rest of the chevra. The important thing was Dvora’s life, and to the extent Chavala could help lighten the load, he not only accepted it but was able to be grateful. Dvora had her new stone house with four bedrooms. Even more exciting was, when electricity came to Kfar Shalom, Dvora could have a new refrigerator and stove, and miracle of miracles, a washing machine.
Chavala was also grateful to Julie and Moishe, and to Chia and Lenny, for allowing her to make available for them apartments in her new apartment house on Sixty-eighth Street. Without apology she lived in the penthouse. It was, she thought thankfully, a good deal of family under one roof. Family…
But if Chavala’s life seemed to be fulfilling itself, one of the main sources of her inspiration, indeed, her calling, was coming onto harder and harder times.
The year 1929 was not only the year of the crash of the world’s economy, it was a time when Palestine was besieged with turmoil, betrayal and revolt. The emergence of the dynamic kibbutzim had sparked a cultural revival of Jews … School systems emerged, political affairs were managed through the Jewish Agency, of which Dovid was a prominent official, and independently of the Arabs—and increasingly of the British. The Arabs, made nervous by the higher living standards of the Jewish community in Palestine, as well as its tendency to act like a separate nation, felt the Jewish institutions were somehow alien intrusions. Not surprisingly they worried that the Jewish example might spark unrest and rebellion among the fellaheen masses—whose standard of living hadn’t changed materially in a thousand years. The Yishuv’s progress was seen with bitterness and suspicion.
As for the British, they were caught between conflicting promises made to Jews and Arabs. But it was the Arabs that they saw as their allies, the Jews as their threat. The Arab world was increasingly discontented, and so it had to be appeased. The British proceeded to make it illegal for the Yishuv to own weapons—despite that the Jews had always supported the British. The British, experts at rationalization, reminded them that they had, after all, allowed Jewish settlements … Besides, Jews owned land, but the Arabs owned oil.
The British would welcome an Arab leader, one to emerge from the inner squabbles of the Arabs. The most powerful effendi family was the El Husseinis, who had inherited Transjordan, a state invented by the peacemakers after the First World War. The most feared of them was Haj Amim el Husseini, a former supporter of the Turks, who saw a power vacuum and proceeded to fill it. The Ottoman Empire was kaput. The British were nervous about the Jews, who had taken the Balfour Declaration seriously and proceeded to try to secure a homeland—even, it seemed, create a Jewish state. The British embraced the doctrine of divide and rule. And into the breach came Haj Amim, backed by over a dozen Arab leaders, to grab off what he could of Palestine and proclaim himself mufti of Jerusalem. If there was violence between the Arabs and the Jews, the British could protest they were doing their best to put it down, at the same time looking the other direction when Haj Amim seized power, and proceeded to stir up the fellaheen.
On the birth date of Moses, when the Moslem holy day was also celebrated, he inflamed the fellaheen against the Jews, ranting that the Jews were stealing their land, desecrating their holy places … Not surprisingly, blood flowed. Kibbutzim able to defend themselves were avoided. But in the holy cities of Safed, Tiberias, Hebron and Jerusalem pious old defenseless Jews were murdered.
The British, seeing too much of a good thing, needing to swing the pendulum, for show at least, a bit in the other direction, brought Haj Amim el Husseini before a British commission of inquiry, where he was chastised. And then pardoned. And once the pardon had been granted the British Colonial Office restricted Jewish immigration. Arab goodwill at all costs … it was mandatory for the British in retaining their control of this hugely oil-r
ich area.
Something had to be done for the Yishuv, or it would perish.
The Zionist Settlement Society called a secret meeting. From London to Palestine flew Chaim Weizmann. Dovid Landau was there, as was Yitzchak Ben-Zvi, David Ben-Gurion, and Binya Yariv. Many felt that Yariv, a large, impressive man of the Third Aliyah who had come to Palestine with an impressive war record from the Russian army, was a most likely candidate to lead the Jewish defense.
Arguments went far into the night … the British were too important to be sidestepped … the British were devils, replacing the Ottomans only in uniform and diplomacy since both were exploiters. Many favored retaliating against the British now, while Ben-Gurion, Dovid Landau and Binya Yariv, with others, counseled a more middle-of-the-road strategy. They agreed the need for arms was pressing, but to ensure a positive world opinion legal means were preferable. But one thing was agreed on—the Yishuv could not be left defenseless. Arms would be obtained. A militia would be formed, in secret. The militia would be used for defense only. Yariv was voted to head the new, secret organization, and so with this army of self-defense, the Haganah was born.
Dovid was best-known for his success in developing the settlements, but now there was an even greater challenge for him. His experience with NILI well qualified him—to find where arms could be purchased. A supply of arms was literally a life-and-death matter for the Haganah.
Given the Yishuv’s shortage of funds, Dovid quickly proceeded to the benefactor he was closest to. That night he took the late flight out of Lydda Airport. Destination, New York City.
Chavala never thought the day would come when he would ever ask for her help. At long last, she could perhaps believe her reasons for having left him. For all these years she had often been at war with herself … well, but now there was an even greater war to be fought. A war for not only her family but the whole Jewish family…
When Dovid, sitting in her living room in Manhattan, finished telling her what was happening, she simply asked. “How much money will help, Dovid?”
He wouldn’t even mention the enormous sums it would take to protect the Yishuv. “At this time, as much as we can get our hands on. Put it that way.”
Without another word she got up and used the telephone. Nervously she waited for the ringing to stop. When she finally heard, “Hello,” her heart jumped. Thank God her friend the landsman was there on the other end. “This is Chavala.”
“Chavala.” He was delighted to hear the sound of her voice. “You want more goods, this time of the night?”
In spite of the tense situation she laughed. “This time it’s not goods that I need. Just money … only this time I mean a lot of money.”
“So by you, what would be considered a lot of money?”
“Two million dollars, maybe. Give or take.”
The landsman stared into the phone. When he recovered his voice he asked, “What do you want it in, nickels and dimes? … Chavala, where would I get two million dollars?”
“Tomorrow morning I’ll come to see you, and then I’ll tell you how.”
Dovid was in shock. “Chavala, that’s insane. Not that we couldn’t use it, but two million dollars?”
“Have a little patience. If things work out my way, it won’t seem so much.” She went to her desk drawer, took out her checkbook and handed Dovid her own personal check for $200,000. He sat there, staring down at the six figures. And this was the little girl from Odessa who’d never given up a dream. She was the giver, and he, in fact, was somehow the taker. Her love of Eretz Yisroel was just as great as his. It had only taken a different direction. Come from a different direction, source … love of her family …
Next morning, as the two sat in the landsman’s basement, he adjusted his yarmulke on his sparse head of hair, adjusted the wire-rimmed glasses and said, “I’m afraid to ask, Chavala, because I know you. I know your plans and your schemes and your determination … but still I’ll ask. Now, where will I get two million dollars?”
After explaining Dovid’s mission, Chavala said, “Obviously, knowing you, you’ll make a good-sized donation. But two million dollars I don’t expect. But from your association, with your friends … it should be no problem …”
“Listen, Chavala, kosher I haven’t been, but then on the other hand, I never got mixed up with gangsters in New Jersey. Not even Jewish gangsters.”
“But you’re intimate with—”
“Intimate?” He shrugged. “I knew them when they were little kids, just starting out. So what do you want me to do?”
“Call a meeting tonight.”
He sighed. “What, you think it’s so easy to pick up the phone and call Bugsy Siegel, or Harry Teitelbaum and say, ‘Come over tonight and we’ll break a few matzohs together.’ … Chavala, you don’t understand, they’re not ordinary people, face it, they’re gangsters—”
“Yes, but they’re Jewish gangsters … who would you expect me to go to, the Italians?”
The landsman shook his head, shrugged and gave up. When Chavala had a plan, nothing would stop her. “All right, already, let me see what I can do. Oy vay, Chavala, the things I do for you.”
She laughed. “That’s what friends are for, and tomorrow night you’ll come to dinner with Dovid and me … Now, darling, get on the phone.”
It was no easy task to convince the boys he’d known in their youth to meet at Chavala’s apartment, but he talked and he talked and he talked and explained and explained and explained that for old times’ sake they should do him this favor.
When he’d hung up, Bugsy Siegel said to Waxey Gordon, “You think it’s a setup?”
“With the landsman I doubt it… in fact I’m sure it’s not. But where the hell is Palestine?”
Chavala knew that God was on her side, and even if the world was against them, and they never had a friend, God was also on the side of Eretz Yisroel. She knew it the moment she opened the door and in walked the landsman and his boys, formerly of the Bowery.
Chavala didn’t know whether Jewish gangsters were the same as just ordinary Jews, but she’d bet they could be reached, that a Jew was a Jew, whatever his profession. Or so she hoped. She put in a supply of whiskey she’d got from the landsman, which he’d gotten from his bootlegger. The table bore an assortment of bagels and lox, cream cheese, kosher dills, chopped liver (formed, God forgive her, in the shape of a Jewish star), as well as platters of corned beef and pastrami.
In the beginning, there was a distinct reserve on the part of her guests. But soon Chavala put them at ease with her mimicry and jokes. Even Jewish gangsters laughed … Well, she thought, if she could get them to laugh, maybe she could get them to give. The source wasn’t important. Now when the British had turned their back. As they always had, the Jews would survive, by whatever means left to them.
When the table was cleared, silence prevailed. Chavala looked from left to right: Doc Stacher, Bugsy Siegel, Harry the Lip Teitelbaum, Lepke Buchalter, Big Greenie Greenberg, Shadows Kravits, Dopey Shapiro, Little Farfel Kavolick, Little Hymie Holtz and Waxey Gordon. Next she looked at Dovid for moral support, and also to God that he should put the words in her mouth. To mention the money would be the kiss of death, she knew. No, the approach was to the Jewish heart that beat beneath their bulletproof vests. Standing to her fullest stature, she said, “You cannot believe the honor I feel this evening, that you gentlemen have agreed to come here.”
They looked at one another, wondering just exactly what it was that made the landsman persuade them.
Chavala continued, “All of your parents escaped the pogroms of Russia and Poland and other places. We have all been cut from the same piece of cloth, and because your dear parents had the wisdom to come to this great country, you have been given the opportunity to become prosperous men. I’m sure that all of you are aware that only in this country could such a miracle occur, that you men who came off the streets of the East Side were able to avail yourself of the great freedoms and gifts that this country of
fered us. But Jews all over the world are being killed, annihilated, thrown out of one country to another. For them there is no hope. And those Jews that live in the land of our ancestors have been deprived of the right to defend themselves. Deprived of weapons, guns”—she emphasized the word, knowing it was one they’d understand. “The British are the worst mamzerim in the world. To the Arabs they give guns, yes. But to our people, they give drek. If we don’t help them, our very own, who can they depend on, Lucky Luciano? Capone?”
Mention of the Italian competition was a masterstroke. Quickly she forged ahead to take advantage of it. “We must help our own, and the only way we can do that is to supply our Jews with the ammunition to fight all our enemies. You are as much involved as myself … and my husband. (Forgive me, Dovid.) Jews fight for Jews, and we will win the battle with the help of God, and your money.”
Little Farfel Kavolick’s parents had barely escaped the pogroms. “How much guns do you need?”
Chavala thought she would faint. “That, my husband will answer in just a few moments, but at this moment I’m giving three hundred thousand dollars, because it’s more than guns we need, we need big equipment … tanks, an airplane or two…”
Bugsy Siegel looked closely at this wisp of a woman. It had almost become a game, and Bugsy loved gambling. “I’ll double your ante,” he said.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She’d stretched the truth a little, but it was working.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Siegel.”
“Call me Bugsy. Now, what are the rest of you guys gonna come up with?” He had now taken up the lance. This was for his people.
Nobody outdid Big Greenie Greenberg. What would it mean? A few more boats of illicit booze coming in from Canada. “I’ll match you.”
No Time for Tears Page 42
