No Time for Tears (56 page)

Chavala herself signed two hundred affidavits.

In New York, for the first time Chavala noticed that the enormous strain of the past few months was written in Dovid’s face. The silver streak in his full black hair had widened. There were wrinkles around his eyes, it seemed to her, that had not been there even the day before. Looking at him, she realized that he was giving himself to a dream, a cause, that had become more precious to him than life itself.

She went to the bar and brought back two highballs. Handing one to him, she said, “Here, darling, I think you need this …
l’chayim
.”

They touched glasses. “
L’chayim
…t o life, and to you Chavala, for all you’ve done—”

“What have I done? …I only wish I could get Sheine out.”

“Well that, my dearest Chavala, I’m afraid is something not even you can do … Remember, she’s married to a German. We have to hope that will protect her.” He could hope but he didn’t believe, though he wouldn’t tell her and add to her anxieties.

“Yes,” she said uneasily, “we must hope. At least you’ve been able to help so many. Without you and others, who could we depend on?”

“Not the British,” he said bitterly. “They sacrifice us to appease the Arabs—”

“Drink your drink, Dovid darling, and try to relax for a while.”

He settled back and sipped slowly, but his mind did not stop working. “How do you plan to insure jobs for two hundred people?”

“Simple. When I signed those affidavits I had a plan … Since I arrived in the
goldeneh medina
things have changed. In those days the diamond district was down on the Bowery, Canal Street and Maiden Lane. It changed. The wholesalers moved uptown and took over Forty-seventh Street between Fifth and Sixth Avenue. Tomorrow I’ll show it to you … Unfortunately as a people we never had much
mazel
, but brains we had. Maybe we should thank the
goyim
for our knowledge. For hundreds of years the best diamond merchants, artisans and cutters in the world have been Jews. I’m going into wholesale manufacturing. There’s a building I want you to see. I have my dreams too, Dovid. By the time my
chevra
arrive, I’ll have the operation ready—”

“But Chavala darling, not all Jews have been in the diamond business—”

“True … those who don’t know will learn. If I could, why not them? Now, don’t worry. Trust me and everything will work out Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a few phone calls to make. I figure I can get a few hundred more affidavits signed.”

Dovid shook his head, and even allowed himself a laugh as he thought about the night Chavala had raised two million dollars. “Your Jewish gangsters have been indicted. I read the
New York Times
too, I know about Thomas Dewey, your district attorney.”

“I know about that
mamzer
too. Imagine, putting nice Jewish boys in jail. But in this case it so happens I wasn’t planning to ask them. I have a few friends in the trade. I can promise that every one of them will sign affidavits.”

Dovid put down his drink and reached out for her. “What would I do without you? What would
all
of us do without you…?”

Not wanting at the moment to deal with the full weight of what that really suggested, she only said, “Where is it written you have to do without me?” Smiling what she hoped was a seductive smile, she took him by the hand and led him down the hall to her bedroom….

After breakfast next morning Chavala introduced Dovid to Forty-seventh Street. His first look was from the corner of Fifth Avenue and Forty-seventh Street. It was not the jewels occupying the store windows that dazzled him, it was the street scene … For a moment he thought he’d been transplanted back to the ghettos of Russia and Poland. The noisy, crowded streets were lined with energetic bearded Chasidim dressed in black frock coats and wide-brimmed hats under which earlocks fell. They stood in groups of twos, threes and fours, quietly discussing their deals. Within their pockets were small packets which, if combined, would represent millions of dollars’ worth of gems. The exchanges seemed better suited to a village marketplace in the squares of Pinsk. The street was alive with people, hurrying, dealing, and talking with their hands. Hands reached upward in exasperation … hands clasped over an owner’s head in chagrin … hands shook one another firmly after a deal had been consummated, followed by a “
mazel und broche
.”

When those words were uttered the deal had been made—no contracts, lawyers, not a slip of paper as a receipt. A handshake constituted the basis of trust and faith. It was a commitment which encompassed the ethics of Maimonides, the Talmud and the Torah.

Weaving between the crowds, they made their way to the building Chavala was negotiating on, looked up from the store on the street to the top of the fifth floor. Smiling, Chavala looked at Dovid. “Well, what do you think?”

Smiling back at her, he said, “I think it will do.”

“I’m glad … Now, my plan is this … the street store will be strictly retail … with a little wholesale only to the
goyim
, which really means in the trade that
goyim
pay retail, and then some … Why not? What, they’ve been so good to us? Then, for now, the first three floors will be used for manufacturing. After that, as we get more affidavits, we’ll take over the rest. You approve, Dovid?”

He merely nodded, still smiling.

“In that case,” she said, “you are now looking at The Landau Building on Forty-seventh Street … Not so bad for a couple of greenhorns who left Odessa with a little wagon filled with pots, pans and bedding, and you leading a goat. You’re a big
macher
in the cause of our people, I’m a little
macher
in the diamond business. Not so bad …”

Late afternoon of the next day they arrived at the Airport just in time for Dovid to board. As he kissed her, she said, “We have the best long-distance marriage in the world. For Chanukah I think I’ll buy you an airplane.”

“Thank you, and I’ll call it Chavala, the Angel of Eretz Yisroel.”

Just before boarding, her cheerful facade rapidly failing, she managed to say, “Give my love to the children,” and then she kissed him, quickly turned and went for the exit.

Dovid stood looking after her, then, shaking his head in admiration, turned and hurried down the ramp for his plane.

C
HAVALA’S CONCERN FOR SHEINE
the day she had asked Dovid if it were possible for Sheine to leave Germany was more terribly well-founded than she could imagine.

Stormtroopers, their numbers growing, resounded through the streets of Berlin.
Wenn vom Judenblut das Messer spritzt dann geht’s noch mal so gut, so gut
, boomed out so that every word would penetrate deep inside the houses of those they intended to impress. Houses also in the best neighborhoods, houses of rich Jews … the house Sheine lived in, lived in growing apprehension for her son Erich …

The effort it took to hide her anxieties, to go on as though the events surrounding her had no relationship to her grief, was almost unendurable. She envied those Jews she’d known who had left. She was aware of the plight of the thousands of beleaguered, abused Jews in eastern Berlin, but she was helpless to do anything about it … she was married to a German, it was imperative for her own and her son’s safety that she maintain the social posture of Mrs. Herr Doktor Gunter Hausman. …

As she dressed this evening, her head pounded with the thought that she and Gunter would be the guests of one of Berlin’s most extraordinary hostesses, Erica von Furnstein.

Frederick von Furnstein’s family controlled some of Germany’s most prestigious banking firms. For two hundred years his had been a family of assimilated Jews, turned Christian, and not for one moment when he heard songs about the spilling of Jewish blood did he consider that his own life was in danger. He was not only a convert but married to a Christian wife, and he was an important board member of Gedächtnis Kirche, the oldest church in Berlin. His home was graced with the most important government leaders. Whatever happened to the Jews would certainly not effect him.

Sheine wandered through the rooms, listening to the fragments of conversation … “allegiance to Germany above all … the Jews must not continue to corrupt and demean us …”

By evening’s end Sheine went home sick to her stomach. Next morning she felt worse … In the papers there was an account that during the night Frederick von Furnstein’s house had been broken into by a group of youths, among whom were those that had sung in the streets about spilling Jewish blood. If one had a drop of Jewish blood, it would drip from their daggers. Late that night von Furnstein was dragged from his house and thrown down a narrow stone stairway into a cellar sour from years of neglect. He was stripped naked and beaten until he fell to the ground. “
What have I done?
”

“
You were born a Jew
.”

“But you’re wrong, I’m a Christian—”

“A Christian?” The gang leader proceeded to beat him further with chains.

The train became so terrible he now pleaded, “Kill me, for God’s sake, kill me.”

“Not quite yet.”

He was kicked and battered until, finally, his head rolled to one side. Just before dying he whispered, “Dear God, the God of my people, forgive me for my sins.”

After hearing about von Furnstein’s brutal murder, Sheine knew even her son was not safe. Lying in bed with a high fever, Gunter sitting at her side, she took hold of his hand … “Save me, save my son, our son … send me away.
Please
… I can’t live this lie any longer …”

Gunter understood her fears, of course, but honestly believed they were misplaced. Taking her in his arms, he held her tight and stroked her hair … “Dearest, you are in
no
danger, you must believe me. You’ve nothing to fear. You are my wife … the mother of my son … nothing, no one will hurt you. You are Elsa Beck Hausman … Now please, my dearest, remember what I have told you. As soon as you feel better I will take you and Erich on a holiday to Switzerland.”

Gunter’s holiday plans would be indefinitely postponed.

I
F HITLER EVER HAD
a natural ally, it was Haj Amim el Husseini. What could be more convenient than having the mufti of Palestine to fuel the propaganda machine?

The scenario could not have been written better by Goebbels himself … The Jews were stealing Arab land under the control of British imperialism … Hitler would one day rule the world, Haj Amim el Husseini was convinced. Hitler was his answer to how he could seize control of the whole Arab world … In Cairo, Germans drank with the Arab friends in cafés. In Baghdad and Damascus they joined hands in treaties committing them to ousting the British oppressors along with the Jewish conspirators.

As the clouds of war gathered, the Yishuv knew it had only one weapon … the Haganah. Its membership had grown to over thirty thousand men, women and children. This was an army unlike any other. Except for a handful of paid full-time officers, it was made up of civilians molded into one of the most efficient striking forces ever. In a large and real sense, the Yishuv was the army.

Within the Haganah there was a superior intelligence organization. The British knew it … and Haj Amim knew it. Every kibbutz and moshav was a part of the network. One encoded signal was sufficient for a thousand men, women and children to hide their arms caches within moments. Scarcely a decade old, the efficiency of the Haganah was enough to make the British envious, and increasingly worried.

Seeing Britain’s growing inability to play the Jews and Arabs against each other and thereby control both, Haj Amim made his own move for control of Palestine.

Encouraged by him, in the spring of 1936 a new series of riots erupted. It began with the repeated charge, “The Jews are stealing our lands, desecrating our holy places, with the British lackeys’ consent.” The carnage began in Jaffa, it then spread from city to city as the customarily defenseless old orthodox Jews of the holy cities became victimized.

As the atrocities continued to increase, the head of the Haganah, Binya Yariv, called Reuven into his office. His face was grim as he sat at his desk and looked across at Reuven. “Haj Amim intends to stop at nothing. His people are coming into Palestine from Lebanon. I want you to take command of a unit and start a kibbutz.” He took out his map, and his pointer fell on Tel Amal.

Reuven took a unit to establish a new addition to traditional kibbutzim—tower and stockade. The first stockade was built of double wooden shelves filled with pebbles, surrounded by a court of 35-by-35 meters containing four cabins that became the observation posts at the four corners. At a distance from the wall, barbed wire was laid in the middle of the court. An observation tower with a searchlight was put up. A small generator in the tower provided the energy, and water was stored on top of the tower to supply the camp.

In the morning hours, after the tower had been erected, the camp was ready to confront the Arabs. Reuven had dispatched twenty-two boys to stand watch during the night, their weapons fourteen grenade rifles and a small number of hand grenades.

On the fourth night the attack came. A thousand Arab riflemen flanked with machine guns poured fire into the stockade. For the first time the Arabs used mortar fire. Reuven’s unit lay low and waited for the Arabs to begin their assault.

As the Arabs now came, belly-to-the-ground, knives between their teeth, a half dozen searchlights darted out from the stockade to sweep the field, partially blinding the Arabs. Reuven’s people then sent out their counterfire—killing some ninety Arabs in the first burst. Reuven then led half his force out of cover of the stockade. Dead and wounded Arabs littered the hills of battle. Those who survived fled back to high ground.

Despite murderous counterattacks, the armed kibbutz became a permanent fixture, and Reuven was largely responsible.

As he sat in his tent now, contemplating his next maneuver, the flap of his tent opened and, to his amazement when he looked up, he saw Pnina, dressed in the uniform of the Haganah. After the past weeks, seeing her was as wonderful as it was surprising. “Pnina, I can’t believe you’re here—” and then he reminded himself that he wasn’t … or shouldn’t be … so happy she was in Tel Amal. The danger was too great. “What are you doing here? This isn’t a place you can just walk into—”