No Time for Tears (40 page)

“Oh, he’s sort of a Hebrew professor?”

“I suppose you could say that.”

Just then the door opened and Lazarus walked in with two of his four small sons trailing him. They were inches apart in height diminutive replicas of Lazarus. All that was missing was Lazarus’s black moustache and beard.

Lazarus greeted Dovid and welcomed Reuven in Yiddish. Although his Hebrew was impeccable he refused to use it in conversation …to do so would be sacrilegious. As he spoke to Dovid, Reuven looked at his father and with his hand over his mouth he asked through clenched teeth, “What did he say?”

Dovid said, also sotto voce, “That you should learn to speak Yiddish.”

Fortunately Raizel was now back in the living room, wiping her hands on her white apron. “Good
Shabbes
,” she said to her husband and sons.

“And a good
Shabbes
to you.”

She turned to her sons. “This is your cousin, Reuven.”

In Yiddish they responded in unison, “Good
Shabbes
.”

Reuven said, “
Shalom
.” He was grateful when Aunt Raizel asked them all to be seated. Putting the shawl over her head, she stood in front of her mother’s silver candlesticks that Chavala had given her. She lit the candles, placed her hands over her face and made the Sabbath prayer.

Lazarus then said the
motzi
, the blessing over the bread: “Blessed art Thou, O Lord our God, King of the universe, who brings forth bread from the earth.” After saying the benediction, he cut the bread and handed a piece to each person at the table.

Soon the plates were being passed back and forth, and no one was more grateful than Reuven. Since he could not talk with his cousins, he felt distinctly uncomfortable sitting across from them, just staring.

They too were staring, all eight eyes, in disbelief. Their mother had said that this was their cousin, so they believed her. But he was very strange, without any earlocks. Uncle Dovid was clean-shaven, but at least he spoke Yiddish.

But Raizel asked her sons to take their cousin into their room and visit. Sighs of dissent in both Yiddish and Hebrew as the five boys walked down the narrow hall to a back bedroom.

When the table was cleared away the three adults sat around the dining room table. Raizel handed her husband his third glass of tea, then sat down. “Well, Dovid, you must be very proud. Chavala writes that the new baby … Joshua … looks just like you.”

These were difficult moments for Dovid. Who wanted to be reminded that he would miss time seeing his son grow up? … “Yes, of course, I’m very proud, Raizel.”

Raizel quickly changed the subject. “How is Moishe?”

“He’s very happy in the
goldeneh medina
.”

“And tell me about Chia.”

“Do you remember when I bought a goat so that we could bring her home from Manya’s house?” It seems like yesterday… and today Chia’s growing into a beautiful young woman.”

Raizel smiled. “Oh, she should only have a good life. I’m sure she will—”

“I hope so, Raizel … well, it’s getting late and tomorrow m taking Reuven to the Galilee to see Dvora. Thank you for a wonderful evening …”

On their way back to Dovid’s apartment, little was said between father and son. Little needed to be said. They both sensed each other’s thoughts …it had been a strained evening, and both would have been happy to see Aunt Raizel alone next time, without the intimidating presence of those holy five…

In the morning Dovid took the road from Jerusalem that led through the Valley of Rephaim, on past Rachel’s Tomb near Bethlehem and south through the hills of Judea. Finally they came to Hebron, a city second only to Jerusalem … It was here that Abraham’s wife, Sarah, died, and it was here that the patriarch bought the field of Ephron for a family burying place. They drove on past the Dead Sea until they came to the fortress of Masada, a place that Dovid wanted his son to see.

Reuven’s eyes scanned the red-brown rocks of Masada as his father told him of the courage that had become a symbol of freedom for Jews for two thousand years. It lived in the heart and sustained the spirit when Jews for centuries thought everything was lost, reminded them that no matter what the catastrophe, they were destined to survive….

His arm around his son’s shoulder, Dovid said, “I know it has been very hard on your mother, Reuven, but I am glad you asked to come with me. I am glad you feel about this land the way I do …”

Reuven felt a bond with his father as strong and powerful as the fortress that lay before them. There was no need for words…

I
N SPITE OF ALL
the struggles, the winter storms, the blistering summer heat, Dvora wouldn’t change what she had at Kfar Shalom. She and Ari had been one of twenty-five families housed in black tents bought from British army surplus. Pnina, now two, was born that first winter in the midst of a howling wind. By summer in that first year of her life Pnina was stricken with malaria, and only devoted ministration by Ari and Dvora of quinine and love pulled the child through.

Once the baby recovered Ari told Dvora he wanted her and the children to go to stay at Raizel’s for “just a little while.” When she protested, as Ghavala had once done to Dovid, he told her that the children had already been subjected to typhus and malaria, and that at last night’s meeting it was agreed that the wives and children would leave until they had cleared the swamps.

“But we’ve survived our first winter and summer and well go on surviving until we have a house…”

The next winter the influenza was at its worst. The storms became so violent that the family tents blew away, and the men were constantly having to secure the communal tent Still, they survived, and when summer came Dvora saw the first building erected on their own piece of ground—it was the barn, a beautiful sight. A new beginning…

Until the terrible day when the shots rang out. Quickly, Ari grabbed up his rifle from its rack and ran to the side of the barn, peered around and saw five Bedouins on horseback. He waited until they rode past, aimed, pulled the trigger and hit one in the shoulder.

The shots had so frightened the baby she began to cry uncontrollably. Ari dove to the ground just before another bullet crashed into the wood siding. From a crouched position he watched as another Arab came closer to the entrance, took aim and managed to wing him in the arm.

Finally they galloped off, but they’d be back. Ari knew it. Now, once and for all, the women and children had to be taken to safety….

Although Nazareth was an Arab city, it could still be a refuge for the women from Kfar Shalom. Arab religious and political nationalism was still in its latent state, and there was some cooperation between the city’s Christian Arabs and the Jews of the settlements. Actually, the Arabs of Nazareth and the Bedouins were often at odds … in contrast to the Bedouin dislike of the Jews, the villagers of Mahalul accepted the settlers, especially when they realized that the new Jewish settlements would be good for them … the Jews bought goods in the Arab shops.

It was hard for Ari to leave his children, harder still to part from Dvora.

Dvora walked out to the truck with her husband.

“How long will we be here, do you think?”

“Until we get the settlement secured.”

“That will take months.”

“Well … if it does, at least in the meantime you’re safer here.” Jews, as they both knew, were never safe.

Ari took her lovely face between his hands. “I love you and I’ll miss you.” He kissed her and without another word, walked to the truck, started the motor, and was gone.

As the truck chugged up the hill to Kfar Shalom, Ari was welcomed by the charred remains of his barn. Quickly he ran across the barren field and saw the men of the moshav still trying to put out a few last dying embers.

Too furious to speak, he could only stand and watch the black smoke rise. When he finally recovered from the initial shock he asked, “What happened?”

Isaac Levy shook his head. “They rode in at five this morning and started shooting and hollering like wild men—”

“Was mine the only building they burned?”

“Only yours.”

“Well, the next time I’ll be ready for them.”

He didn’t have long to wait. Like locusts they came riding up into the hills. This time the men were prepared. From behind a large boulder, Solomon’s eye followed his rifle and he hit one in the hand. Chaim went for the ankle. The counterattack was so unexpected that the Bedouins turned and started to ride off, but Ari’s shot rang out and hit a stallion’s right hoof. The beast shook violently, then reared, knocking the rider to the ground.

Fraternity not being a virtue among Bedouins, the other three rode off without looking back.

Ari came from behind the boulder and grabbed the Bedouin around the neck.

The man immediately invoked Allah, divine mercy and love of mankind in his behalf. Also he didn’t want to die. “It wasn’t me …on my father’s name I swear. We were forced—”

“Who forced you?”

The fear in the man’s eyes was apparent. He would be killed if he told, he would be killed if he didn’t.

“You’re the one who instigated the raid—”

“
No
.”

“Then who?”

“Sheikh Abdullah Radar.”

Ari stood up and looked at the man cringing in the dirt. “Where’s the camp?”

“Near Metullah.”

And Ari, mostly because the man sickened him so, let him go. One didn’t kill helpless vermin.

“So what good is it, now you know?” Chaim asked.

“I’m going to use a little diplomacy.”

“You’re going to make a goodwill call?”

“No, but my brother-in-law Dovid is very good at this. I’m going to see him….”

Ari could get to Tel Aviv faster by horse, cutting across fields, galloping over hills past the Arab villages. At midnight he hitched his horse to a lamppost and ran up the stairs to Dovid’s apartment

The men embraced, then Dovid asked, “What brings you to Tel Aviv?”

Ari quickly told him.

“And you’d like me to help?”

“Yes, Dovid. I know where the camp is, I know the leader’s name.”

“That helps. But what would help more is if you had a harvest. They’d cut your throat for a few sacks of flour.”

“So what are the alternatives, Dovid?”

“To bluff… but be so believable that you convince yourself. You have to think in terms of your own life. Let me show you what I mean.”

Dovid went to his bedroom, came back to the kitchen, and without a word hurled a 1914 German grenade out the open door onto the balcony.

Reflexively Ari dove to the floor, waited with his arms over his head. Then, recovering, rolled over and looked at Dovid. “What did you do
that
for? I could have had a heart attack.”

Dovid smiled. “As I told you before …if you’re going to bluff it has to be
very
convincing.”

“You convinced me. Just anticipating the sound of the explosion was too damn much—”

“That’s what we have to hope for.”

“What about real weapons?”

“We’ll hide small ones in our abas, but they won’t do us much good if our bluff doesn’t work.” He went out onto the balcony, brought back the defused grenade and handed it to Ari.

“It looks so damned innocent. I’m not going to say this doesn’t seem a little crazy to me … but if you think it will work, let’s try it…”

“I can only tell you I think we have a chance, Ari. I remember during the war, when Yehudah Meir commandeered a ship with a pipe instead of a gun. Fear can be a lethal weapon, Ari. It makes no difference what your color is, or what gods you pray to, a life is a life and no one wants to lose his.
That’s
our best weapon.”

“When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

Dressed as Arabs they rode into the hills of Metullah.

It was dusk when Dovid spotted the encampment “Look to the left, Ari. Now, let’s take a closer look.”

From a hillock above they could see twelve black goatskin tents which encircled the camp.

“At this hour they should be eating, Ari, but with that many tents we can expect quite a reception. Are you ready?”

Ari nodded, then shrugged. Which was to say, yes and no.

When they rode in, the women dressed in black robes and coin chains covering their faces ran from the sight of strangers.

Dovid and Ari had just dismounted when twelve men appeared, their rifles aimed directly at Ari and Dovid. Soon after, the flap of a large tent opened and Abdullah walked out, dressed in black robe and headdress. Two jeweled daggers hung below his waist. He stood, hands on his hips, demanding to know what they were doing in his camp.

Dovid had managed something like this once before with Jamal Pasha. He’d survived the torture of the Turks. It would be a waste to die in the hills of Metullah. He didn’t intend to. “Much less,” he shot back, “than you were doing in our village. How many barns did you burn down today?”

Folding his arms across his chest, his hand inside the aba, he caressed the grenade and waited, but the dialogue ended when Abdullah signaled to have the men brought to his tent. First he would break their spirit, then he would mutilate them, then kill them. A holy trinity all his own…

As the men raised their rifles and started to move toward them, Dovid and Ari quickly brought out their grenades, holding them up, poised as if to throw. “There is enough dynamite to blow up Metullah,” Dovid said quietly.

The men froze. From the look on Dovid’s face, Abdullah quickly concluded he was not bluffing, but in any case he would not risk finding out “Who are you, what’s your name?”

“Dovid Landau.” He spoke with more confidence than he felt.

Abdullah decided he’d been right about this one. He’d heard of him … he’d been the head of NILI. Abdullah, a sensible man about his own life, cautioned himself to be careful, not even show his hatred. No telling what this Jewish assassin had planned…

“What is it you want?”

“For you to stay away from our village.”

“It is
not
your village, it is our spring grazing land.”

Dovid handed Ari the grenade, then walked closer to Abdullah. “No longer. We paid for it, we
worked
it … It belongs to us now. If you or your men come back to Kfar Shalom, we will kill you. I promise you that.”