Authors: Anita Diamant
“How do you know my last name?”
“Darling,” Nathan drawled, “I know everything.”
“Weitz? Is this the great beauty that Meyer told us about?” Uri asked, and winked
at her.
Zorah took a sip from her mug, hiding her reaction to Meyer’s name. It had been three
weeks since she had last seen him, on Yom Kippur. It had been eight days since his
second letter arrived. Both of them had come to her in official-looking envelopes,
handed over discreetly by Goldberg, the Jewish guard.
Meyer’s first letter had been utterly formal and so bland, it might have been written
by a dutiful nephew to a maiden aunt, inquiring about her health and the weather.
But in the second, he had described a sunset over the Mediterranean, sprinkled tobacco
crumbs into the folds of the paper, and signed it
M
.—which had seemed wildly romantic to her.
“Miss Weitz is blushing,” boomed Nathan.
“Leave her alone,” shouted Jacob, who jumped up and punched at Nathan’s arm.
“Meyer has a competitor.” He laughed, picking the boy up and holding him over his
head.
“Put him down,” said Esther.
Zorah glared at Shayndel, who chimed in, “Enough, Nathan. Put the boy down.”
“Aren’t you the lucky one,” he said, sitting Jacob on the table, “to have so many
lovely women in your corner.”
Jacob frowned at him, his hands still clenched into fists.
Francek appeared at the front door and shouted, “They’re here.”
Everyone ran outside and toward the front gate, where two dun-colored buses were parked,
their blacked-out windows shut tight, as a dozen British soldiers were climbing down
from a flatbed truck behind them.
Nathan cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Let them out of there, you pigs.”
As the troops surrounded the buses, Francek cried, “English Nazis.”
The other men took up the phrase, chanting, “English Nazis, English Nazis.”
Bryce surveyed the scene from the doorway of his office: the shouting inmates, the
nervous soldiers, and his own men standing at attention. He walked across the road
and stood with his back toward the gate, watching as a British staff car sped toward
them.
The two officers seemed surprised by the jeers and catcalls that greeted them as they
got out of the car. They returned Bryce’s salute without enthusiasm and followed him
to his office.
The crowd quieted, waiting to see what would happen next. The Jewish guards—Goldberg
and Applebaum—were summoned into Bryce’s office, fueling another round of angry speculation
about their role in a place like Atlit. But as time
passed and the sun grew hotter, the insults and chanting resumed.
A stone sailed over the fence with enough force to hit one of the soldiers, who slapped
at the back of his neck and cried, “Shit.”
“Shit, shit, shit,” echoed a delighted chorus of little boys, who were hushed only
when Applebaum and Goldberg reappeared and hurried across the road and through the
gate.
“Comrades,” Applebaum called as he waved for people to gather. “The colonel has ordered
that all male internees must return to their barracks before the men can be unloaded.”
“Screw them,” Francek exploded. “Why should we agree to that? We’ve never been locked
in during the day.”
“My friends,” said Goldberg, “think of the poor men inside those buses. They are exhausted
and hungry and I don’t have to tell you how hot it must be with the windows closed.”
Francek put his finger on Goldberg’s chest. “Shame on you,” he said, poking hard.
“You are a collaborator, a lackey, a stooge. The both of you.”
“Stop it,” said Shayndel, worried that Francek’s antics would somehow jeopardize the
escape plans. “Our brothers are suffering and we have to do whatever we can for them.
Even you, Frankie,” she said, pinching his cheek as if he were a child.
“Let’s go,” she said, and started walking back toward the barracks.
Leonie took her arm. Tedi and Zorah followed, and the rest of the women fell in. Finally
the men started to move, too, until only Francek was left, yelling and poking at Goldberg.
Nathan and Uri grabbed him under the arms and carried him off, kicking and sputtering.
It took nearly thirty minutes before the last of the Atlit men disappeared. Meanwhile,
the women stood in small, quiet groups within sight of the buses, watching until a
soldier walked out of Bryce’s office and gave the order.
The men staggered out, their faces dripping with sweat, their shirts soaked through.
They blinked into the bright light, trying to get their bearings as British soldiers
surrounded them and waved their rifles toward the front gate, where Goldberg and Applebaum
offered greetings and encouragement in Hebrew and Arabic.
Shayndel counted thirty-nine prisoners. They were all young men, black-haired and
olive-skinned. None of them had seen a razor for days and their faces bristled.
The soldiers herded the new inmates back toward the barracks. “Doesn’t everyone have
to go through Delousing?” asked Leonie. “Why aren’t they taking them for a shower?”
“I don’t know,” Shayndel said, “but I don’t like it.”
It was a strangely quiet parade. No one shouted family names or hometowns; it was
clear that none of these dark-skinned men was from Poland or Lithuania or any place
these girls once called home. The men seemed to wilt before their eyes; their shoulders
sank, their heads dropped.
“This is terrible,” Shayndel said and called, “Be strong.”
“I don’t think they speak Yiddish,” said Zorah.
Shayndel changed to Hebrew, shouting, “Welcome, friends. Shalom! Shalom!”
A dozen heads turned toward her. White teeth flashed against brown skin. Fingers were
raised in a V for victory.
Tedi smelled cumin and onions. “
Shalom aleichem,
” she cried.
“
Aleichem Hashalom,
” several voices replied.
The girls clapped and waved, and started to follow along on their side of the fences
that separated the women’s and men’s quarters.
Tedi started the singing.
As long as the Jewish spirit is yearning deep in the heart,
With eyes turned toward the East, looking toward Zion,
The dark-eyed men threw back their shoulders and joined in.
Then our hope—the two-thousand-year-old hope—will not be lost.
Voices rose from inside the men’s barracks, where faces were crowded close to the
windows.
To be a free people in our land,
The land of Zion and Jerusalem.
As soon as they reached the end of the song, they started over, but louder and much
faster. By the third repetition of “
Ha Tikvah,
” the melancholy anthem had become a marching song, a hoarse demand for action. The
last man to enter the barrack turned and raised his fist before a guard shoved him
inside.
The singing stopped when the door slammed and the men inside the other barracks began
calling out, “What is happening?”
“Nothing yet,” shouted Tedi. “But we are watching.”
After a short time, six soldiers marched in formation to Barrack G and took six of
the new inmates to Delousing.
“Why are you so tense?” Leonie asked Shayndel as they waited for the men to emerge.
“I’m not tense.”
“
Chérie,
you are chewing your lip, tapping your foot, and drumming your fingers on your own
arm.”
Shayndel could not think of a lie to cover up her nerves. She felt as though her senses
were stretched to their limits, as keen as they had been in combat. But she was also
unfocused and anxious to find out more about the escape plan. Luckily, the doors to
Delousing opened before Leonie could press her any further.
All attention shifted to the clean-shaven men, their wet hair glittering like onyx
in the sun.
“How handsome they are,” said Tedi.
“I wouldn’t have thought you’d find that sort attractive,” Leonie said.
“You think I’d go for that Australian fellow?”
“He’s tall and blond like you. And good-looking, you have to admit.”
“Not my type,” said Tedi.
“Don’t you two have anything better to talk about?” Shayndel grumbled.
“Not at the moment,” said Leonie.
“What should we be talking about?” Tedi asked, wondering why Shayndel suddenly smelled
like burning leaves.
“Well, I’m going to go chop some onions before my mind turns into glue.”
The men waved and saluted as they were rushed back to the barrack. “Come tell me if
anything interesting happens,” Shayndel said.
“What could happen?” Tedi asked.
“Maybe you should ask one of them to marry you,” Leonie said, poking Tedi in the ribs.
“I’m done with you two,” said Shayndel, and she tried not to run on her way to the
kitchen. She was determined to force Tirzah to tell her something before she lost
what remained of her self-control, but she found the cook in a rage of her own.
“Those monsters aren’t going to let them come to the dining hall,” she fumed, filling
a basket with hard-boiled eggs, olives, and bread. “They are going too far,” she said,
thrusting a water pitcher at Shayndel just as Applebaum arrived.
“Can’t we manage something besides water for them to drink?” he asked. “Tea at least?”
“This is a question for your commander,” said Tirzah, without meeting his eyes. “I
would need permission.”
He answered with undisguised contempt: “Perhaps the request would be met with success
if you asked him yourself.”
Tirzah met his gaze. “No need,” she said icily. “I’ll get it ready.”
Applebaum shrugged. “I’ll come back for it.”
“Son of a bitch,” she muttered under her breath.
After helping Tirzah prepare the baskets, Shayndel slipped outside to look for Nathan,
who, she was certain, knew how the arrival of the prisoners fit into the plans for
the breakout. She found him standing near the eastern fence, deep in conversation
with Bob and Uri.
“They asked each of them how they got over the border,” said Nathan. “They wanted
to know who helped them, if they had contacts in Baghdad.”
“It’s good that none of them knows anything.”
“About what?” Shayndel demanded. “Why are these men being treated so differently?
Why are they locked in?”
“You’re a smart one. Can’t you figure it out?” said Nathan.
“Are they being sent somewhere else?” Shayndel guessed.
“Not if we have anything to do with it,” Bob muttered.
“So this escape plan is all about rescuing them?”
“You see,” Nathan said. “I told you she was a smart girl.”
“What about the rest of us?”
“Listen, comrade,” said Nathan, draping his arm around her shoulder, “we are going
to start a new calisthenics class this afternoon so it will appear that my friends
here have an official purpose in Atlit. Bob will be making a special class for the
girls, so see to it that we have a good showing.”
“Does that mean we’re all going?” Shayndel insisted.
But Nathan only chucked her under the chin and walked away.
Tirzah had put off her visit to Bryce’s office as long as she could. She dreaded the
place, and not only because of the photograph of his wife and sons. She hated the
old British map of Palestine on the wall, the locks on the filing cabinets, and the
width of his desk, which seemed to measure the gulf between them. She forced herself
to stand tall and pretend not to see the knowing glances—real or imagined—cast at
her by the soldiers at the prison gate and then by the sentries at the administration
building.
She relaxed a little at the sight of Bryce’s unfailingly polite clerk, who seemed
young enough to be her own son. Private Gordon got to his feet and said, in halting
Hebrew, “Good afternoon, Mrs. Friedman. He is telephone. He will be with you in moments
five or six.”
Tirzah smiled. “Your Hebrew is improving.”
“Thank you. It is difficult with me. I study and talk in Haifa shopping. Here, no
one will talk.”
Bryce’s voice grew loud enough to be heard through the wall. Tirzah and Gordon glanced
at each other uneasily. A few minutes later, he opened the door, his neck and ears
flushed.
“Mrs. Friedman,” he said, surprised to see her. “Is there some problem? Do you have
everything you need by way of supplies?”
“I have run out of salt,” she said. “I would like to use the telephone to order more.”
Private Gordon got to his feet. “If you don’t mind, Colonel, I need to round up some
more envelopes. Shall I send someone in my absence?”
“No need,” said Bryce.
She followed him inside the office and sat down. “It is not only the salt,” she said.
“My son needs to see the dentist tomorrow. I wish to make a telephone call to make
sure the appointment can take place as scheduled.”
“Of course,” he said, turning the phone around and pushing it toward her. “Tomorrow,
you say?”
“Yes. The only time he can be seen is at night,” said Tirzah. “He is to arrive rather
late, in fact. During the half hour after the second watch.”
“I see.”
“I believe tomorrow is a night that Goldberg is usually posted at the front gate.”
Bryce nodded. “Yes, that is correct.”
Tirzah took the receiver and asked the operator to place the call. They waited in
silence for several minutes, their eyes fixed on each other’s hands.
“No one answers,” she said.
“Would you like to wait and try again?”
“It is not necessary. Is it?”
“Would you like me to ask Gordon to bring you a cup of tea?”
“No, thank you,” said Tirzah.
Tirzah and Bryce stood up. She smoothed her skirt. He moved the telephone back to
its customary place.
They both realized that these might be their last few moments alone. The breakout
would change things in Atlit. Bryce was risking his career. Tirzah might be assigned
elsewhere. There was no way of knowing.
Bryce broke the silence. “I will miss seeing Danny.”
“Colonel,” she said, switching to English. “I wish to thank you for your concern for
my boy.”