Authors: Anita Diamant
But instead of a storm, they heard someone singing “Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree
with Anyone Else but Me.” All heads turned as a teenage boy in a dusty school uniform
appeared—seemingly out of thin air. “Hello, comrades!” he called.
The Palmachniks surrounded him. “Where the hell did you come from?”
“Haifa. The news about the siege of Beit Oren is all over town,” he said. “When I
heard what was going on, I ditched school and got a ride on a truck headed south.
I jumped off, climbed up the hill, and slipped through the fence near the barns. But
where are all the others? I figured there would be a big crowd by now. The schools
are going to be empty, and the unions are sending busloads.
“Soon, there’ll be so many of us here that those assholes won’t be able to tell who’s
a refugee, who’s a kibbutznik, and who’s from town.”
Shayndel watched the way his message erased the tension that had darkened their faces
just a few moments before and wondered if the British had noticed the sudden rash
of smiles and whispers of anticipation.
Within the half hour, thirty or forty students—girls as well as boys—emerged from
within the kibbutz and joined the ranks lining the fence. Some arrived by foot, hiking
the mountain, but most of them had crammed into cars and trucks that dropped them
off in the woods nearby.
A factory crew in coveralls turned up and strolled through the compound as though
they were on a coffee break, slapping kibbutzniks on the back and shouting greetings
as even more of their comrades arrived from the city. Each new group was met with
a louder and bolder welcome. When a shift of hospital nurses in white uniforms materialized
like a mirage, they were met with a burst of applause.
At one o’clock, Shayndel counted at least five hundred
demonstrators, and more kept coming. The young men yelled through the fence at the
soldiers and made rude hand gestures, daring them to try something. A group of students
played soccer with the kibbutz children. Some of the men carried a table into the
shade, where they played cards, passed a bottle, and argued.
“They won’t do anything to us now,” said a man wearing greasy overalls.
“Don’t kid yourself. They’re capable of anything,” said a fellow who had taken off
his jacket and tie and rolled up his sleeves. He shuffled the cards and said, “Look
what they’ve done to our people, to these very immigrants—the tear gas and beatings
on boats within sight of Eretz Yisrael. And then locking them up in a concentration
camp? Don’t talk to me about the British.”
“Still, they don’t want an incident here. There are too many civilians, too many women
and children.”
“You give them too much credit.”
“Not at all. This is politics, pure and simple. They don’t want to antagonize the
Americans. They need the Yanks to help them rebuild London.”
Tedi and Leonie could not follow the rapid-fire Hebrew, but Shayndel and Zorah listened
intently.
“What do you think?” Zorah asked.
“I’m not sure,” said Shayndel. “But if there was going to be a battle, I think it
would have happened hours ago.”
“I still think we should take the children inside,” said Zorah.
Shayndel was about to agree with her when a busload of students and workers pulled
up right to the front gate, singing “The Internationale” at the top of their lungs.
They tumbled out of the door and arranged themselves in a line facing
the English soldiers in a spectacular display of arrogance and courage.
“For now,” Shayndel said, “I think we are safe.”
The showdown ended quietly and without fanfare in the middle of the afternoon. Soldiers
climbed back into their trucks and vans and pulled away, with the officers in their
car right behind them. Their departure was met with a roar of catcalls and insults
so loud, a flock of startled birds added their own screech of “good riddance” as they
drove off.
As soon as the last vehicle disappeared around the bend, the gates were pushed open,
and everyone rushed out into the dusty clearing, stamping their feet to reclaim the
ground, cheering, “Victory!” Shouting, “The Jewish people live!”
The men shook each other’s hands, hugged, slapped each other on the back and pinched
each other’s cheeks. The girls kissed and laughed. Hats were thrown into the air.
It was D-day, New Year’s Eve, and the coming of the Messiah.
Someone started to sing, “A new day is dawning, come brothers, join the circle.” Raucous,
almost tuneless, the song swept everyone into a circle and no one was permitted to
stand apart. Tedi and Leonie dragged Zorah into the giddy vortex, and Jacob pulled
Esther, who danced her first hora, laughing and crying and kicking as high as anyone.
Shayndel threw her head back and looked up at the sky as she was carried along by
strong arms on either side. Her heart beat time in Hebrew, I am
here
. I am
here
.
They danced until they were dizzy and sang until their throats hurt, and they did
not stop until the Palmachniks started
waving and pointing toward the gate, where a line of empty trucks and buses was pulling
up.
“Time to go back,” they called, “before it gets dark.”
Some of the students walked past the vehicles, their arms around each other’s shoulders.
“We’ll hike it,” they cried, drunk with success and unwilling to let go of the moment.
Others crammed into the vehicles, eager to return home and brag about how they had
faced down the British Empire. From the windows they shouted, “Shalom, good luck,
B’hatzlacha
.”
Among the last people waving them off were the twenty refugees from Atlit who had
stayed in Beit Oren. The mothers with little ones lifted their toddlers high and shouted
their thanks. “
Todah rabah,
” they cried. Zorah was the loudest of all.
When she caught Tedi watching her, Zorah dropped her hand and said, “You know,
Todah rabah
does not just mean thank you. It means
great
thanks. Big thanks. Many thanks. Thanks of rabbinic proportions and of all-encompassing
magnitudes.”
Tedi put a hand on her shoulder and said, “Thank you,
professora
.”
Shayndel and Leonie decided to explore the kibbutz grounds before dinner. They walked
slowly, careful of Leonie’s sore feet.
“We’re like a couple of old ladies,” Leonie said, remembering the story Shayndel used
to tell about their lives lived side by side in Palestine.
“I know,” said Shayndel, wondering if they would ever stroll the Tel Aviv boulevards
together.
A short bleat disturbed their thoughts. “Did you hear that?” Shayndel asked and pointed.
“It sounds like it came from over there. Come on.” She dropped Leonie’s arm and raced
ahead.
When Leonie caught up with her, she was inside a pen, scratching a small white goat
between the ears.
Leonie said, “I’ve never seen you look so happy.”
“I don’t know what it is about goats.” Shayndel laughed. “I like them better than
dogs. Do you want to come inside and pet her?” Leonie wrinkled her nose. “I’m sure
she’s very nice, but no.”
Shayndel kissed the goat on the nose and latched the gate behind her.
“I do feel much better,” Shayndel said shyly, as they started back. “When you found
me in the woods this morning, I was exhausted. But today, after what just happened,
I have hope again. How can I help but hope among such people? And what about you?
Aren’t you glad we finally got out of that miserable Atlit?”
“Of course,” said Leonie. “But unlike you, I did not grow up thinking of myself as
part of this project, this Palestine. I have so much to learn, it’s a little—”
“There you are,” Tedi cried, running toward them, breathless and beaming. “They’ve
put out a lovely meal for us. And oh, my dear, dear friends, there is ice cream!”
In the dining hall, a tall girl brought over a platter of bread and hard-boiled eggs.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “but it seems that the salad is gone.”
Tedi and Leonie burst out laughing.
“Forgive them,” said Shayndel. “Some of us are amused about the local passion for
chopped salads morning, noon, and night.”
Nina came to their table with a bowl of vanilla ice cream. They each took a spoonful,
but passed it along so that Jacob could have the lion’s share.
He sniffed it cautiously and asked Esther, “Will I like this?”
“Don’t tell me you have never had ice cream before,” Tedi gasped.
After one tentative spoonful, he smiled at the five watching women and said, “This
is good.”
He inhaled the rest while they interrupted one another debating the merits of flavors
he had yet to taste: chocolate, strawberry, coffee, caramel.
But after he licked the bowl clean, Jacob declared, “This is my favorite, forever.”
They sat in the dining hall long after everyone else had finished eating, until there
was no one left but the people mopping the floors. Jacob fell asleep with his head
on Esther’s lap. Their conversation meandered from ice cream to the beauty of the
mountains to the courage of the people who had filled the kibbutz that afternoon.
They worried about Leonie’s feet, but they said nothing about what might happen tomorrow,
and eventually they stopped talking and fell to sighing.
“I can’t believe I woke up here this morning,” said Tedi. “It feels like a week ago.”
“Last week we were in Atlit,” said Shayndel.
“That was yesterday,” Zorah said. “We were in Atlit yesterday. Last night, in fact.”
They stared at each other, shaking their heads in disbelief.
“I wonder if we will ever be together like this again,” Tedi said sadly.
“Maybe,” said Leonie. “Do you remember Aliza, the nurse in the clinic? She was always
telling me what a small country this is. She says that she runs into people from her
childhood all the time, even people she hasn’t seen in years.”
“It’s possible,” Shayndel said.
“Who knows,” said Zorah.
Esther, too tired to sit up any longer, rested her head on the table.
“That’s it, my friends,” said Shayndel. “Time for bed.”
They walked outside to say good night.
Leonie kissed them all, cheek after cheek. When she got to Tedi, she whispered, “What
do you smell?”
Tedi held her close and said, “Pine trees and lavender.”
Tedi lifted Zorah off the ground in a bear hug.
Esther put her forehead to Shayndel’s and said, “Bless you.”
Shayndel hugged her and said, “Enough, already. We will see each other in the morning.”
Esther led Jacob away, serenaded by a melancholy chorus of “Good night.”
Shayndel and Leonie, Tedi and Zorah walked back to their room and dropped into bed
like leaves falling from the same tree. Even Zorah slept like a child, soundly and
deeply throughout the night. And each of them saw wild and dappled visions in her
dreams.
Shayndel floated on a wooden raft in the middle of a lake surrounded by willow trees
and birches. She dipped her finger in the sweet water and brought it to her lips.
Zorah soared in a white winter sky, like a hawk, weightless on the wind. Then, suddenly,
she was on the ground watching as a great bird flew into the distance.
Tedi sat at a table piled high with fruit that glistened like polished stones, far
too beautiful to touch, much less eat. She saw a loaf of brown bread and bowed her
head.
Leonie walked into a quiet room with a child-sized bed. Her name was carved on the
headboard, and when she lay down, she found it fit her perfectly and fell into a second
dream of open windows and sunlight.
Shayndel smiled blankly at the handsome young woman who sat down across from her.
It took her a few seconds before she recognized the girl in the dark green blouse.
“Is that really you?”
Zorah’s hair had been smoothed into a chic little bun that revealed a pair of high,
round cheekbones. Her eyes, the circles and shadows erased by a good night’s sleep,
shone like polished onyx. “I look ridiculous, I know,” said Zorah, “but this girl
pulled me into her room and refused to let me out until she, well, until this.” She
waved her hands around her head as though she were shooing gnats.
“You look beautiful,” said Tedi, as she and Leonie joined them.
“Don’t be silly,” said Zorah.
“Not at all,” Leonie exclaimed. “Did you see yourself in a
mirror? Whoever chose that blouse for you is an artist. From now on, you must wear
only that color.”
Esther shrieked when she saw Zorah. “I knew it.”
As they settled down to eat, Shayndel asked, “Did you sleep well?”
Esther answered, pronouncing the Hebrew words as precisely as she could, “I do not
remember so good a sleeping.”
“Me as well,” Zorah said. “Better than ever.”
“Yes,” they all agreed and filled their mouths with bread and salad to avoid talking
about the rest of the day.
A thin man with powerful forearms stepped into the dining hall waving a newspaper
over his head. “Seligman,” cried the people at the other tables. “What does it say?”
“Comrades,” he announced, “we are on the front page in the
Palestine Post,
so that even the English know what’s up. And here, my friends, is what
Ha’Aretz
has to say.
“Two hundred and eight Maapilim Were Freed by Force from Atlit,” he read.
Cheers erupted. Seligman—the kibbutz administrator who was rarely seen without his
clipboard—pursed his lips and waited until they settled down.
“‘Wednesday, close to midnight, the interned refugees at the Atlit camp broke out
with the help of forces from the Jewish settlement. One hundred and eighty-two immigrants
who went through the horrors of the concentration camps were imprisoned in Atlit;
in addition, there were thirty-seven refugees from Iraq and Syria, who had received
deportation orders, leading to high tension in the camp.
“‘A Christian woman died from suffocation while she was tied up.’”
Zorah glanced over at Leonie, Tedi, and Shayndel, who stared intently at their plates.