Eli's Promise

by Ronald H. Balson

  “I’ll tell you something, Bernard. I’m going to catch up to Maximilian Poleski if I have to follow him to the ends of the earth. You have my solemn promise.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  FÖHRENWALD DP CAMP

  AMERICAN ZONE

  DECEMBER 1946

  Bulletins posted throughout the camp promoted next Sunday’s winter social. Come one, come all. Volunteers were sought for decorating the hall. Experienced and inexperienced cooks were earnestly invited to bake festival cookies and cakes in the camp kitchen. The posters also announced that Adinah Szapiro would be performing her vocal artistry on stage.

  Earlier in the week, Eli had received a message from Bernard. Regretfully, he would not be in attendance at the winter social. He asked that Eli stand in for him and convey his best wishes to all. Such a note was totally out of character for Bernard, and Eli feared that something was wrong. Bernard would never duck a responsibility, especially one so pleasurable. Eli decided to pay him a visit. Bernard lived in the easternmost section of the camp in a small four-unit structure at the corner of Illinois and Michigan Streets.

  A light snow had fallen and covered the walkway and stoop in front of Bernard’s residence, which Eli noticed had not been cleared away. He knocked on the door, waited and knocked again. He was about to leave when the door opened a crack. “I’m sorry, Eli, I’m not up to visitors today. I’m a little under the weather.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I received your note, and of course I will be happy to sub for you Sunday night, but it’s only Tuesday, Maybe you’ll feel better by the weekend.”

  “Perhaps,” he started to say, but he broke into a racking cough and couldn’t finish the sentence. In a hoarse whisper he added, “You should go now.”

  Eli headed straight to the clinic. He didn’t know whether Dr. Weisman was aware of Bernard’s condition. If he was not, Eli was going to make damn sure he found out. It was obvious that Bernard needed immediate medical attention.

  The clinic was crowded. People were standing in the waiting room. Babies were crying. Nurses and attendants, their faces covered with surgical masks, busily darted from station to station. “Are you ill, Eli?” the receptionist asked.

  “No, no I’m not. I wonder if I could have a few minutes with Dr. Weisman. It’s not about me.”

  She gestured to the waiting area with an outstretched arm. “We are really busy today. Dr. Weisman is in with a patient right now and others are waiting. Maybe, if it’s not an emergency, you could come back tomorrow, but I have to say, it seems like every day just gets busier than the one before.”

  “Can I wait? Does Joel take a lunch?”

  The receptionist smiled. “Never.”

  Eli sighed. “What time does he go home?”

  Again, a smile, this time with a touch of sadness. She pointed to a room. “There’s a bed in that room. Sometimes he doesn’t go home at all.”

  Eli shrugged and turned to leave. “You might try coming by at eight tonight,” the receptionist said.

  On his way home, Eli stopped by Daniel’s apartment. “Did you know Bernard was sick?” Eli asked.

  He nodded. “I was with him on Shabbat. He did not look good. He asked me if I could handle some of his duties this week. I told him that he should ask you instead. You’re better with crowds. It’s easier for you to talk to them. I haven’t seen Bernard in three days.”

  “I was at his home today. He’s really sick, Daniel. I’m going to track down Joel Weisman tonight and make sure he knows. Somebody should be taking care of Bernard. He lives alone.”

  Eli returned to the clinic at eight and there were still a few patients waiting. He took a seat and picked up a copy of the Bamidbar. The receptionist walked over and handed a mask to him. “Please put this on. It helps to minimize exposure. Droplets in the air do not penetrate the mask. Better safe than sorry.”

  The last of the patients was seen forty minutes later, and Dr. Weisman emerged from the double doors. “Eli, are you okay?” Eli nodded and said, “Can I walk you home?”

  The doctor grabbed his winter coat and they headed out the door. “I went to visit Bernard Schwartz this afternoon,” Eli said. “He’s sick.”

  “I know. He’s in quarantine, Eli. You should avoid contact with him.”

  “He has TB?”

  Dr. Weisman shrugged. “He has symptoms. We’ll see if he rebounds. Either way, it’s likely he’s contagious. I warned him about going out in public or performing his function as camp director until we’re sure. It’s unhealthy for him in his weakened condition, and we certainly don’t want to expose anyone else to a disease.”

  “He’s such a strong director. I don’t know anyone who could fill his shoes.”

  * * *

  Despite the snow on Sunday afternoon, the Föhrenwald winter social began right on time with a series of games for the children. Eli welcomed the crowd to the festival and invited everyone to take part in the planned activities. “Bingo begins sharply at four. Buffet dinner at five thirty and musical performances start at seven,” he announced. “Many of you were here last month when Adinah Szapiro sang Yiddish favorites. She’ll perform again tonight, and everyone is invited to sing along.” Eli looked down at Izaak and winked.

  Camp socials were popular events, and they drew big crowds. The residents shared a common bond; they had all come through hell, unimaginable circumstances, but they were the survivors, the Sh’erit Hapletah! The Nazis had taken away their citizenship, their passports, their identification papers, and now that the war had ended, many were no longer welcome to return to their prewar villages. They had truly lost any sense of nationality—they were a stateless people. Despite it all, they stood tall, undefeated, optimistic about their future and determined to rebuild their lives and reconstitute their community, no matter what it took. Föhrenwald was their platform, their steppingstone.

  A buzz went through the crowd as 7:00 p.m. approached and people scrambled to find a seat. The piano accompanist bowed, nodded and took his place. Finally, a spirited Adinah stepped onto the stage in a bright yellow dress with a lively bounce to her step. No shyness, no hesitation. Was this the same Adinah? Whatever the reason, the enthusiasm of the crowd added to her energy. She sparkled.

  She began by briskly walking back and forth across the stage, rhythmically clapping and inciting the crowd to clap along with her. When she had the audience loudly clapping in rhythm, she began a rousing “Hava Nagila.” The audience rose to sing along, and many danced at their places. One traditional song was followed by another. In the middle of her program, she held up her hand and asked for silence.

  “This next song,” she said, “was first sung in the Vilna ghetto. It spread to the other camps, to the labor camps, to the concentration and the death camps. It became an anthem, our anthem. A song of defiance and survival. All of you know the song I’m talking about. It was written by Hirsh Glick in tribute to the Warsaw ghetto uprising. A song of triumph. I sing for you now, ‘Zog Nit Keyn Mol.’ Sing along with me, please.”

  Everyone stood. Though tears filled their eyes, though words caught in their throats, they stood arm in arm. Their chests were puffed in pride. The Yiddish lyrics were poignant and powerful:

  Never say that there is only death for you,

  Though leaden skies may be concealing days of blue.

  Because the hour we have hungered for is near,

  Beneath our tread the earth shall tremble: we are here!

  From lands so green with palms to lands all white with snow.

  We shall be coming with our anguish and our woe,

  And where a spurt of our blood fell on the earth,

  There our courage and our spirit have rebirth!

  We’ll have the morning sun to set our day aglow,

  And all our yesterdays shall vanish with the foe,

  And if the time is long before the sun appears,

  Then let this song go like a signal through the years.

  [Englis
h Translation]

  When the song had finished and the proud audience had retaken their seats, Adinah winked at Izaak. “It is time for our duet, young Mr. Rosen.” With her index finger she beckoned Izaak to the stage. He glanced at his father, and his face displayed more than just a little trepidation. Eli shrugged and said, “Now or never, my boy.” Izaak bit his bottom lip, popped out of his chair and walked up to the stage. Adinah put her arm around his shoulders and nodded to the pianist. With smiles on their faces, Adinah and Izaak sung “Oyfn Pripetchik,” and when they had finished, the audience gave them a hearty round of applause. Adinah leaned over and kissed Izaak on the cheek. He blushed from ear to ear.

  No social event could end without the compulsory cake and ice cream. Adinah, Eli and Izaak were enjoying their dessert when Dr. Weisman approached. “Lovely duet,” he said, “I enjoyed it very much.” Then, turning to Eli, he said, “May I have a moment?”

  They stepped to the side and the doctor produced an envelope. “This is from Bernard,” he said quietly.

  “How is he?” Eli asked.

  “Not well. I have cleared a place for him in our sanitarium.” The news hit Eli like a punch in the stomach. He sat down hard, opened the envelope and read the letter.

  My good friend Eli;

  I’m afraid my time as director is finished. When or if I recover, I will not be strong enough to carry on the business of our camp in the days ahead. I am recommending that the UNRRA Administration hold elections for a new director. The camp needs a strong leader, and I know of no one better suited than you. You command the respect of our community and you have the wisdom to govern. Please consider putting your name into consideration. Daniel will help you, but he lacks the confidence and background to assume the mantle. My staff at the office has all of the records and will assist the new director in whatever capacity he needs. May God bless your efforts.

  One more thing—though I am ill, our quest for Max must not abate. We must find him and put an end to his criminal activities. I have spoken with General Lucius D. Clay, Chief Administrator of Occupied Germany in Berlin. He directed me to contact Colonel Bivens at the U.S. Army Garrison in Garmisch, the chief military officer for our region. I sent a request for a meeting two weeks ago. I just received notice that he will grant us a meeting next Wednesday. I am unable to go with you, but I am supremely confident that you will do whatever is necessary to bring about the arrest and conviction of the black marketeer.

  Finally, I pray for you and Esther, that you will find each other, that the two of you will be reunited and that you will live long, healthy, happy lives together with your son.

  May God bless you, my friend, now and always,

  Bernard

  Eli’s expression conveyed it all. Adinah and Izaak knew the letter contained sad news.

  “I have to go to Garmisch on Wednesday,” Eli said to Izaak. “You’ll have to manage on your own for a while. I’ll probably be home very late.”

  “I will stay with him,” Adinah said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  FÖHRENWALD DP CAMP

  AMERICAN ZONE

  DECEMBER 1946

  There was a soft knock on Eli’s door at 6:00 a.m. The sun had yet to rise, yet Adinah was standing there, a white cable-knit hat pulled over her golden hair and a smile on her face. “Am I on time?” she said softly.

  Eli stepped back to let her in. “My goodness, Adinah, you didn’t have to come this early. Izaak is still asleep.” Then he caught himself. “I’m sorry, what I really meant to say is thank you very much for coming this morning. I know Izzie will be happy to see you. Just make yourself at home; the house is yours. Izzie goes to school at nine and to basketball practice in the gym after school. He probably won’t be home until five. I may be home by then, but I’m not sure. Bernard informed the colonel I was coming today, but there is no set appointment time. Depending on the colonel’s schedule, I could be home late. So if I’m not here when Izzie gets home from school…”

  “I’ll fix him something to eat. Don’t worry.”

  “I don’t want to keep you too late, Adinah. You were very kind to offer, but you have your own responsibilities and your own plans for tonight. If I’m not here, Izzie can go to bed and you can leave.”

  “Please do not worry about me or my plans. I have no place to be tonight. I live alone and I have no responsibilities. So take whatever time is necessary to finish your business. Believe me, I will enjoy spending time with Izaak.”

  Bernard had arranged for a jeep, and Eli pulled out of Föhrenwald just before the sun rose. The route to the U.S. Army garrison took him east to Munich and then south to Garmisch. It was a two-hour drive through the German countryside. The weather was clear and the roads were dry. Soon the tall peaks of the Bavarian Alps came into view. The largest mountain in Germany, Zugspitze, a ten-thousand-foot snow-capped peak, rose majestically behind the alpine village of Garmisch.

  The army garrison lay on the outskirts of the village and was surrounded by a security fence. Eli stopped at the guard post, showed his U.S. DP identification card and waited while the sentry called Colonel Bivens. The young corporal put down the phone and said, “The colonel’s adjutant confirms that you are on his calendar, but the colonel has not come in yet. You are welcome to wait at the commissary.”

  “Did the adjutant say when the colonel would be in?” Eli asked.

  “No, sir.” A smile crept across the sentry’s lips. “Welcome to the army, sir.”

  Eli took a seat in the commissary and spent the next few hours reading magazines and back issues of Stars & Stripes. Every so often, Eli would ask the desk sergeant if he wouldn’t mind checking on the colonel’s availability. A call would be placed, and the answer would always be a polite, “Not yet, sir.” After Eli’s fourth request, the sergeant said, “Mr. Rosen, the colonel’s adjutant knows you are waiting here, and he will give me a call as soon as the colonel can see you. Sorry for the inconvenience, sir.”

  At four thirty, Eli got the high sign from the sergeant. “I’ll take you back to his office now, sir,” he said.

  Colonel Bivens, a decorated officer with white hair and a square jaw, was seated behind his polished desk. Over his left shoulder was a picture of General Eisenhower and to his right was a picture of President Truman. Colonel Bivens wore a crisply pressed uniform with four rows of service ribbons. He did not get up to greet Eli.

  “Take a seat, Mr. Rosen,” he said flatly. “What brings you down to Garmisch?”

  “Thank you, sir. I live in the Föhrenwald Displaced Persons Camp. I’ve lived there since I was rescued from the Buchenwald concentration camp by the American forces in 1945. Like all of the Föhrenwald residents, my son and I are waiting for a visa to go to America.”

  The colonel had a confused expression on his face. “And you came to me to get a visa?”

  “Oh, no, sir. My name is on the waiting list, like everyone else. I came here because there is a man, I believe his name is Maximilian Poleski, who is attempting to sell American visas on the black market.”

  A disbelieving grin appeared on the colonel’s face. “United States immigration visas? He’s selling them? Hmph. Impossible. They’re issued through the immigration office in Washington and distributed through consulates. No one sells visas.”

  “With all due respect, sir, this man is selling visas for six thousand Swiss francs apiece. And we believe they are genuine.”

  The colonel sat back in his chair and his smile disappeared. “You know, when people disagree with me and they say ‘with all due respect,’ I wonder what the hell that means. I don’t think that phrase is respectful at all. I think it’s pejorative. Due respect? What does it mean, Mr. Rosen, when you say you’re giving me due respect?”

  Eli started to apologize, but Bivens cut him off. He pointed to his chest. “You see these service ribbons? They were awarded to me by the United States Army. These ribbons demand respect. Not some vague ‘all due respect,’ but real respect. See this
one here, the red one with the blue stripe and the star? That’s a Bronze Star, Mr. Rosen, awarded for meritorious service in a combat zone. Do you think that commands respect?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “You better believe it.”

  Eli paused and took a breath, wondering how to get the conversation back on point. “Well, sir, getting back to the visas, the man who calls himself Max is going from one American DP camp to another and selling these visas, and people are giving him money and property. The administration at Camp Föhrenwald wants to put a stop to it.”

  “Then go ahead. What do you want me to do about it?”

  “We don’t have the authority to arrest and prosecute the man. We need to enlist the assistance of the U.S. Army, which has plenary jurisdiction over the camps in this district. Not only do we want Max prosecuted, we want to know who is providing him with the visas.”

  Bivens nodded and pursed his lips. “Hmm. Well, let me tell you something about my priorities, Mr. Rosen. My job here is fivefold.” For Eli’s benefit, he counted the priorities on his fingers. “One, the elimination of Nazism, which is still very strong here in the Munich area; two, to seek restitution for people who have unjustly been deprived of their identifiable property; three, to assist in rebuilding the local economy, banking, foreign exchange and currency; four, to reestablish a system of justice in these parts; and five, to provide security for German citizens and for your DP camps. So to be honest, Mr. Rosen, if some twerp is scamming the system and letting a few people skip ahead in the line, I frankly don’t give a shit.”

  Eli stood. “Well, thank you for your time, sir. I will report the results of our conversation to General Clay.”

  “You’ll what?”

  “General Clay sent me to you.”

  Bivens sat up straight. “Lucius Clay directed you to talk to me?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, damn, why didn’t you say so? What does Lucius want me to do?”

  “Well, as I was saying, sir, he wants Max arrested, charged and tried for black-market visa sales.”