No Time for Tears (57 page)

“Do I really need an invitation to visit my favorite cousin?”

“Yes, if it’s here. No, if it’s Tel Aviv.”

“I wish we were in Tel Aviv,” she said, and her voice was the voice of a woman, no longer a little girl … In the year he hadn’t seen her she had grown into an extraordinarily voluptuous young woman.

She walked over to him now. “Well, don’t I at least deserve a kiss for making your life worthwhile?”

He got up uncertainly, held her at near-arm’s length and gave her a cousinly kiss on the cheek.

“Is
that
the best you can do?” She pulled him nearer.

“Pnina, please … be a good girl and move into one of the women’s tents, I have a lot of work to do—”

“Am I being dismissed by my CO.?”

“You catch on quick. Now, I really mean it, I have to—”

She kissed him quietly and left quickly before he could call her a “girl” again. She’d show him…

The next day Binya Yariv was also a visitor of Reuven. Smiling—something Yariv rarely did—he said, “You did quite a job, Reuven. I think it’s time we move out, leave a token unit here and move on to Hanita, where we’ll set up the same operation.”

Yariv also noted the deep fatigue in Reuven’s face. “Tell you what, Reuven, suppose you take a few days off. Swim in the surf, lay on the beach, soak up a little sun.”

Reuven thought about it. He also thought about Pnina.

Next morning after breakfast he took Pnina aside. “I’m taking off a few days. Just a short holiday. Want to hitch a ride to Tel Aviv?”

“I wouldn’t mind,
sir
…”

“Okay, forget the sarcasm and get your gear together. Be ready in twenty minutes. That’s an order.”

And one she was more than pleased to carry out…

In Tel Aviv, Reuven registered, and took two rooms on two different floors. Then he took Pnina, out of uniform and now in a lovely frock, to dinner, and afterward they danced until two in the morning.

Next day, at the crack of dawn, Reuven’s phone rang. “Damn that Yariv,” he mumbled, what a thing to do to him … call him back into service after only twenty-four hours … “Hello—”

“You sound a little out of sorts,” Pnina said.

“Oh … it’s you … well, to tell the truth, I am. I sort of hoped this was going to be a holiday when I could get a little sleep for a change—”

“Oh, you can do that any time … Now, get out of bed, shower, shave, dress and I’ll meet you downstairs in a half hour… and
that’s
an order. Also, wear your swimming trunks.”

And they swam, then lazed on the beach, and whether it was the unwinding, or Pnina’s closeness, or both … Reuven didn’t know … he was distinctly uncomfortable … Pnina disturbed him, and
that
disturbed him even more …

That evening they danced and dined again, then walked along the shore of the Mediterranean, saying little until Reuven took her back to the hotel.

When they arrived at her room she opened the door, took his hand firmly and led him in. He did not resist … didn’t even try … much as he knew he should. Well, shouldn’t he?

He sat in a chair. She sat on the edge of the bed.

“Reuven, we have no guarantees for tomorrow. No more games—there’s no time for playing games, acting coy, pretending. I happen to be in love with you. I have been for a very long time … I can’t remember a time when I didn’t love you. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m proposing to you. Proposing marriage.”

Reuven got up, went to the window and looked out at the Mediterranean, its white caps gently caressing the sandy beach. Impossible … it was impossible … and wrong. Turning around slowly, he told her so.

“Wrong? Only if you don’t feel the same about me. Don’t you?”

“To be honest … and I admit I can be pretty dumb at times … I hadn’t thought of you … well, that way … as a woman. At least not until a few days ago. I was wrong … you’re a woman, all right … a magnificent young woman … but we have a problem—
”

“For whom?”

“For you. You’re eighteen and I’m thirty.”

“Reuven, darling, that’s stupid. For a sabra, age doesn’t count.”

“We’re also first cousins, and marriage means children … It really isn’t the best idea in the world—”

“My dearest Reuven, I’m not going to get scientific about this, but many first cousins have married and had perfectly beautiful, healthy children. My proposal stands. If you love me the way I love you … well, then I want us to be married as soon as possible.”

He took her in his arms. “You know, Pnina, you’re a lot like my mother. She never gives up on anything, either. Never takes no for an answer—”

“Bravo for Aunt Chavala. May I take it you’ve
finally
said yes?”

He held her closer, led her to the bed and eliminated any possible doubts he might have had that he would be marrying a
woman
…

In the morning the first person they called was Dovid, who not surprisingly was at first shocked, feeling the misgivings Reuven had had in the beginning. But, loving them both as he did, his shock soon gave way to pleasure …

The next phone call was to Dvora and Ari. They too were concerned, but gave their blessing…

And the next call was overseas. Chavala shared none of the negative thoughts. Uppermost for her was that they were keeping the family within the family. Reuven had no time for honeymoons or family weddings. Two days later they were married, and he proceeded to get on with his mission….

The trail of murderers and saboteurs led back to Led el Awadin, and so the Haganah ordered Reuven to capture the
mukhtar
head of the village, dead or alive.

Reuven’s plan called for the Haganah men to disguise themselves as British soldiers, complete with uniforms, helmets, English cigarettes and British army bully beef. They drove up to Led el Awadin in army trucks, giving orders in English, and gathered all the men of the village onto the threshing floor. When the unit arrived, Reuven ordered, “Take your positions and surround the house.” The two-story house was demolished, and the
mukhtar
was killed.

Haganah was no longer only defensive. It was a force the Arabs would learn to reckon with.

And the British too. British raids were made on the Yishuv at the kibbutzim in search of “illegal” arms, and if any were found the custodian of those arms was immediately thrown into Acre prison. The Yishuv now found itself in perhaps its darkest moment so far. The Yishuv appealed once again to Whitehall, and the reply, not unexpectedly, was that, terribly sorry, nothing could be done.

Jewish militant factions could no longer be restrained. They lashed out in a series of raids, bombing British offices, clubs, attacking Arabs. They demolished British arsenals, ambushed convoys. Leaders of the Yishuv Central and former raiders were thrown into Acre jail.

Still, the plea went out from Ben-Gurion to the Yishuv to once again use its wisdom and restraint against the British. He denounced the terror tactics, and with the help of Binya Yariv, most militant factions in the Haganah were held in check. For the moment…

But in Germany there was no moderating force. Even the formerly most self-deluded German Jews knew what their fate would be if they stayed. The British, though, had made it as difficult for German Jews to get into Palestine as it was for Palestinian Jews to leave.

Orders came from the Yishuv Central to Dovid that he must try to get into Germany. The Germans were exploiting the visa market literally for all it was worth … the more desperate the Jews became, the higher was the price of their freedom charged by the Reich. Whole fortunes were given for a single visa. They were stolen, forged. Visas meant life. Without them death was certain.

Dovid managed to slip over the Lebanese border and on foot proceeded to Beirut. There, using a forged passport, he caught a boat for Marseilles and, in another week, showed up in Berlin.

Now Dovid was faced with terrible decisions—who received visas and who did not. In fact, he was threatened, offered bribes. He listened to desperate pleas and heard the cries of those he had to refuse … the lives of the children had to be saved at any cost.

Next on the essential list were scientists, doctors, professionals. Dovid was able to get many of the children as well as the others out through the underground Aliyah Bet, from where they were eventually accepted in France.

He actually went into negotiations with the Gestapo to try to sell them on the idea of issuing more permits. He argued that since Britain and Germany were competing for Arab favors, it would surely harass the British if German Jews, en masse, were to hit the shores of Palestine. Negotiating with the Gestapo? He’d buy from the Devil himself if it meant getting the visas. And the Devil himself, in the form and shape of one Adolf Eichmann, issued five hundred visas in exchange for thousands of American dollars. Later this same Eichmann would provide a “final solution” for the Jewish problem. Today he would profit from them … as long as he couldn’t kill them. His time, and theirs, would come. He could afford to wait…

Time was running out, and Dovid received his orders to return to Palestine. But first he had to try to help Sheine.

No one had heard from her during these last terrifying months. There was no way for him to know that she lay sick in her bed, terrified more for her son, her Erich, than for herself.

From the day of his birth, Sheine’s mother-in-law had taken him in hand, made him her charge. He loved his mother, her quiet sweet gentleness, but he had grown up a German and became active in the Nazi Youth movement. Being a champion soccer player helped make him especially popular in the Hitler Youth. Besides, it was difficult for a young boy not to be carried away with the mood of marching bands, flying banners, stadiums roaring with
sieg heils
to the führer. Erich was a German boy who believed along with all good German boys that Hitler, their führer, was God.

Listening to him glorify Hitler, rail against the Jews, Sheine wanted to die, but she held her tongue … as she had on and since the day of his birth. Germans whose records allegedly showed that somewhere back three or four hundred years they had had a Jewish antecedent were taken off, never to reappear. Erich, half-Jewish, was in greater danger than they, Sheine knew…

During the dread-filled summer of 1939 Dovid had accomplished a great deal. Now he faced his greatest personal challenge.

He called Gunter Hausman.

Gunter was shocked to see Dovid in Berlin. Well, there was no time for amenities. Dovid quickly told Gunter why he had come to Berlin, that the lives of a handful had been saved but even if it had been only one it would have been worth the effort … But now he was on a personal mission … “I’ve asked you here, Gunter, to warn you that your wife, my sister-in-law, is in great danger. Her only hope is to leave at this moment. I will see to it that she and Erich get into Palestine, and when this madness is over … well, you can be together again—”

“You, a Palestinian, know more about my country than I do? I thank you very much for your great concern, but you must remember that I am married to
Elsa Beck Hausman
, not Sheine Rabinsky. No one here knows her background. If I thought for one moment that her life were in peril, loving her as I do
and
my son, do you imagine that I would not have suggested her leaving? Believe me, Dovid, Elsa is one of the few who has nothing to fear. These are bad times, I apologize for the behavior of the Third Reich. But the Third Reich is not Germany. It is a temporary government of thugs, hoodlums, addicts. A crazy house-painter sits at its helm. Now, Dovid, will you please get on with your most important mission, and leave Elsa and Erich in my hands?”

Dovid shook his head, but there was nothing more he could say. Gunter meant well, no question about it, but he sadly underestimated the men he’d spoken against. At least Sheine was married to a man who realized the injustice being done to her people, but was that enough…?

The two men shook hands, and in parting Dovid said, “I pray to God, Gunter, that you are right.” And to himself … Because if you aren’t, your wife and son are already dead …

Dovid left Germany two days before Hitler invaded Poland, touching off World War II. As he reached the shores of Palestine, and home, in Berlin Jews were being beaten unmercifully by crowds of hoodlums. Windows were smashed, books were being burned. An all-out reign of terror had descended on the Jews. Old bearded men were commanded to fall to their knees. The hairs of their beards were torn out They were ordered to bark like a dog.

The world had gone mad. That night marked a new beginning for the rise of German barbarism—
Kristallnacht
—the night of the broken glass, a night that gave the signal for the extermination of six million Jews…

Gunter sat in his overstuffed chair reading a humorous short story by Guy de Maupassant. Life was so grim these days, he detested even looking at the newspaper. His mind strayed for a moment when he realized that he’d been giving Elsa increasingly larger doses of medication to calm her nerves, but her tensions were so great it seemed the only way to help her function at all.

He tried concentrating again on his reading—the doorbell rang. He glanced at his watch … 11:35. An odd hour for a social call. He got up and went to the door. When he opened it, standing in front of him was Klaus Stein, dressed in a long black leather belted coat, his cold blue eyes emphasized by the black felt hat which he’d pulled down to his forehead. Klaus Stein, an officer in the dreaded Gestapo, reporting to Adolf Eichmann.

Gunter swallowed hard, tried a cordial greeting. It was not returned. Stein only said, “You are Herr Doktor Hausman?”

“Yes, and what may I do for you?”

“I believe you have some information of importance to us.”

Gunter knew too well why Stein had come. He tried to rally himself, and invited Stein in. Other
Schutzstaffeln
men remained outside while Stein followed Gunter into the living room.

“May I get you brandy, Herr Stein?”

“No. This is not a social call. Tell me about your wife.”

“My wife, Well, she’s quite beautiful, what every lovely German woman should be—”