Everybody liked "The Ship." Officer Schiff *, Officer Shlomo Schiff, the Chief of Police for Tel Aviv and its district, was the official name of the officer whom everyone liked. But the rank and file, the Jewish policemen, the civil guards and their direct commanders, translated his name, and they werent exaggerating. A thick, hoarse voice, a maritime foghorn, striding like a laden ship sailing among dwarf boats. His other nickname was also affectionate, but also a bit fearful: "Ginger." If you were a dwarf boat, and if you were a patrolman or even a sergeant in the Palestinian Police, youd better watch out. Ginger had a short fuse, and when the fuse was lit, youd better not be around.
He was always in uniform, the most senior Jewish officer in the police, happy Ginger, Ginger pleased with himself. They liked him because he never lied. His word was his bond no one disputed that. The ones who called him "The Ship" clearly meant it as praise, and they said something else that was serious in his praise: "Even when he farts, he means it."
On the first night of the festival of Hanukkah, the 24th of Kislev, December 1941, he lit a simple wooden candelabrum, and he himself recited the blessing for the miracles and wonders, bungling the words but without shame. He began singing the Hanukkah anthem, Maoz Tsur ("Rock of Ages") and sang off key, also without shame. In the holiday spirit that puffed him up like a family smile when you finish a school year, the spirit in which he engulfed the classroom at the meeting of the district officers and NCOs in the murmur of conversation that arose among his men he pounded on the table, shook the candles, and said, "Listen!"
He stood there opposite dozens of the best men of the Jewish community, police officers and civil guards, with the black kolpak on his head, the officers Sam Browne belt crossing his chest from shoulder to stomach, and on his legs uniform trousers with enough cloth to make a tent for two. He knit his albino eyebrows and immediately relaxed them, fixing his subalterns with a green gaze.
"Gentlemen, there are no latkes and no ponchikes.** Not tonight. I brought you to Kfar Saba this evening for something not at all sweet. If people ask you, I briefed you on the situation. If you ask me, I gave you the order of the day. Thats it, listen and understand it well!
"Who are the Maccabees these days? We are. Not them. You, not them. They proclaim that theyre the heirs of the Maccabees. They talk. Maybe they want to be. But its a lie. Theyre not Maccabees. Theyre not the redeemers of the nation. Theyre simply killers. Villains. Is there anyone who doesnt understand who Im talking about? When I say that there are Jewish criminals who kill ordinary Jews in the street, rob them, the way the Stern Gang does is there anyone who doesnt understand who Im talking about?
"They say its a revolt. For the sake of the people. Thats a revolt? Thats no revolt, its murderous terror. Its for the people? Its against the people. Its not just cowardice and nastiness that theyre doing and planning more of, if theyre not eliminated its not just stupidity and not just insanity. Its a crime. Theyre a gang of criminals. Theyre a gang of robbers. Theyre a gang of murderers. And until when?
"They wont stop unless we stop them. Us. Nobody else. Not even the English. Because its our problem. Because its our disease."
"Why do I say that its worse than stupidity or madness? How stupid can a person be, so as not to know that a wars being fought in the world, and that the German Satan is trampling and destroying and hes getting near us? How crazy does a person have to be not to know that the whole civilized world is involved in a world war? A week after Pearl Harbour, a week after America declared war on Japan, and then immediately both Germany and Italy within a week declared war against America so anybody who doesnt know about that is just crazy. Or hes a criminal who collaborates with the Nazis and stabs a knife into the back of the countries who are fighting against them, into the back of England, whos fighting for her life, whos absorbing terrible blows at home, in her capital city even the words crime and murder are too weak to describe... to describe... No, I cant find the right word for it. Because theyre murdering us, the small Jewish community here. Every shot they fire hits us right in the heart.
"I went to Morton the day before yesterday, on some business of ours, Ill tell you in a moment. They wouldnt let me go in. Whats the matter? He was crying. Morton was shut up in his room, crying. What was the matter? Hed just got the news. The Japanese had sunk the Prince of Wales, and the Repulse in Singapore. No, you dont understand. Not because Singapore is now the British Pearl Harbour. Its clear, the Japanese wiped out the British naval force in the Far East overnight. But the Prince of Wales! The pride of the Royal Navy! The Crown Vessel! Their Crown Prince. The last word in naval technology... Then he came out to us, Morton, with his eyes red. He wasnt ashamed. He didnt cry about London that way. He didnt mourn for Dunkirk that way. But the Prince of Wales... Then he turned to me, and I saw the shame in his eyes... the insult... and he said to me: Tell me, friend, tell me in times like this, when my house is on fire... when with a single Japanese bomb they slaughter five thousand officers and men in days like this does some little mosquito have to come and bite me? Is that what I deserve? We have to wipe out that mosquito. With one blow. To crush him. To crush him Your star, Stern! you must crush him!
"Do I hear any whispering here? Do I sense that somebody here doesnt believe me?"
He did hear somebody whispering there. And there was somebody who didnt believe it. Who could it have been?
"Gentlemen, now I demand your full attention and your full concentration. You know as well as I do that theres no order that I receive that doesnt get confirmed by the people who are meant to confirm it high up on our side. On our side. On our side they count on me, and they count on you. Theres Jewish discipline, and its above all other discipline, and we know who were protecting, and the dangers were facing. I tell you that today the greatest danger is a man whose name is Avraham Stern and the gang that calls him Yair. Today, at this moment there is no man more dangerous than him, not to the British, and not to the Arabs, but to the Jews... Gentlemen, Im going to tell you something very serious..."
Shalom Smoler, for example, didnt really believe it. He sat there in the last row, an inconspicuous sergeant, in the mounted police entirely by chance. The horses were standing outside in the school yard, tethered, masticating fodder from the bags hanging around their necks, and Sergeant Smoler saw his horse, closest to the gate. He just saw it in his memory, the way he had tethered it, and now it was clear to him why he was seeing it, the horse, standing there, tethered and chewing. The Ship kept shouting, and he wanted attention, because he was about to tell them something serious.
"We have to put an end to this, gentlemen. He said it to me. Morton. In so many words. He told me there yesterday. Save yourself, he said to me, Save your yishuv.*** He already knows our terms. Because if you dont hand over Stern, dead or alive, he said, if you let him go on, well see it in only one way: that youre all members of the Stern Gang. Your whole bloody yishuv is one big terrorist and well destroy your lives. Its you or him. Well destroy whole cities of yours. Youll curse your day. Basta! I want you to leave here with just one goal to catch that criminal Avraham Stern, and bring him to me dead or alive!"
Who rode out that night, on the paths of muddy sand, who rode west from Magdiel to Ir-Shalom, which is Ramat Hasharon; who was the horseman who carried the frightening message?.
Shalom Smoler. At every opportunity the English would laugh, "Smoler? Smaller? Howre you doing, Smoler?" The nicer ones would throw at him, "Bigger, hey Bigger! do you want to be bigger?"
Dead or alive they want Yair, and Yair was Ronis husband, and Roni was his cousin, and she was the prettiest and smartest and most splendid girl in the family, and always had been.
He set out on horseback after it was over. The men were already scattered. The riders were on their horses, the motor patrol were in their vans. Some rode in pairs, some rode alone. He loaded his revolver, put it on safety, and thrust it in its place in front of him on the saddle. He rode to the southwest. Ein-Hey was sleeping soundly, the guards said goodnight, and across the Kfar Saba road the chickens in the coops of Ramot Hashavim were sleeping. They gave off their smell, of feathers and droppings, and across from him, the fragrance of the orange orchards grew stronger, the sharp smell of the packing house, peels rotting in puddles.
After the orchards, a dark, empty world. The pastures of Abu-Kishek, grass rustling under the horses hoofs, and now, at a gallop, as the hour grew close to nine or ten, it would be possible to get there if there was no water in one of the wadis on the way. Or surprised fruit thieves from Abu-Kishek, on their way to a nightly raid. Just not tonight. No suspicious shadow, no rustle between the bushes to make him turn out of the way that night.
Why? Theres no asking why. Something pushes you, and you dont ask. To spoil things for the English? Maybe. But thats not enough. To save a Jew from their CID with the that ass-licking British snake. No, not just to save a Jew. Because if it was a matter of "just," then "just" Stern. Avraham Stern. Yair.
It was enough that he was Ronis husband, and his aunt had whispered that she was pregnant. That was true, but it was starting to rain, and the darkness was thickening, and the horses feet were in water. Let it follow his own senses. Its easier to depend on an animal than on people. And even if it stops in the rain, it wont light a match for you to see what time it is. And what time was it?
A fence, a Jewish fence. Were the only ones with fences, mesh, barbed wire. Do the Arabs need fences? Who would come and steal from them? Who would attack them? Now the barking of a Jewish dog. With the Arabs, you dont have just one dog barking. You just dont. With them, theres always a whole pack of dogs. With the Jews, expensive dogs, well cared for. We call a German shepherd a "Wolf Dog." A familiar bark.
Now came the smell of a cowshed. Some diligent watchman had better not volunteer to pull the trigger. They take a guy, put a rifle in his hands, and then things happen. "The Ship" always says, you should know that the most dangerous weapon of all is the one youre holding in your hands. Thats also something that has to be told to Yair. Maybe it would be better to start with that the rain let up, and there was the house.
A dog barked, a light was turned on in the house, and a blackout curtain stifled it immediately. The voice of Mr. Burstein, Ronis father, was heard from behind the still-closed door: "Whos there?"
"What happened?" at the half-opened door.
"Nothing."
Smoler was already inside, and to the look of dread that remained frozen on the fathers face, he repeated again, twice, three times: "Nothing, nothing, nothing..."
"Surely you want to talk to Roni..."
"If possible..."
Still in her daytime clothes Ronis mother appeared at an inner door. Without a word the old folks hadnt gone to bed yet. Without a word she went back in and closed the door behind her.
With the same worried expression Mr. Burstein reached his hand out to Smolers shoulder. "Look how wet you are. How did you get here? From where?"
To the shrug of refusal he raised his voice, scolding him as a father scolds his son.
"Take off your coat and the boots..."
"No, Im going on right away."
"Where?" And then there was Roni, full of beauty and fragrance, cuddled up in a night-dress, and she was right away, clearly, the queen here. A quick exchange of glances with her father and Roni was alone opposite Smoler.
"Something for Avraham?"
"Very important. Urgent."
"Cant it wait until morning? In the morning Ill be able..."
"Roni! Roni! You cant waste a moment. You have no idea!"
"Tell me, and Ill take care of it."
A wall. That wall. Always a wall, and on the other side, Yair, and now Roni, too. From an inner room an English voice burst from a radio. Smoler shuddered. Embarrassed, he tried to hide his embarrassment.
"Radio?"
"The BBC. Dads obsession. Every hour."
But what was happening there on the other side of the wall? Always something cloudy, surprising. Suddenly there it was, suddenly its gone. Even when you know for certain, it turns out that everything is the opposite. Roni hadnt been like that. Until she herself was swept into the mystery. She hadnt been like that on the day of the wedding, six years earlier, on that Friday, the day of the wedding, in Ramat Gan.
It was an isolated house, no street, no address, just open plots. "Its Shevat already, January, and everything is dry," one of the guests expressed national concern. They were gathered on the balcony and in the courtyard. But here and there a very private worry emerges. The time for the bridal canopy had passed, noon had gone and the hour after it. The bride appeared at the entrance, for the second, or third, or fourth time, and again as if she were alone, looking alone over the plots along the dirt road.
Once an hour the bus of the "Ihud Regev" company stopped in the distance on its way to Petah Tikva, or on the way back, an hour later. At first guests spewed out of it, then they, too, ceased. A motorcycle with a sidecar roared up, stopped with a squeal, and from the sidecar and the dust a bunch of red roses emerged. "From Alexandria," said the messenger. "Forty." "The grooms aunt," Mr. Burstein tried to draw encouragement with a slight chuckle. Still, nevertheless, if not the groom himself, at least his younger brother was already there, and now the aunt, too. Hope is not yet lost...
A few of the younger guests, including Smoler and David, the younger brother, spread out in the surrounding plots, on the dirt roads, until they reached the highway, where the last bus was supposed to go by on Friday afternoon before the Sabbath. The rabbi left the house, his hat on his head. With his left hand he gestured to his assistant to fold up the poles of the bridal canopy. He extended his right hand in a mixture of surprise and apology. "Shabbat," he said. "I just cant wait any longer... Lets hope that nothing happened... in these times..."
"Somethings happening over there, somethings happening!" the brides father seized the rabbis arm. "Now we have to wait..."
A cloud of dust rose and spread over the foot of the hill, grew thicker, brownish-yellow. With the noise of hoofs and lowing, a herd of cows approached, returning to the dairy farms of Nahalat Yitzhak from the days grazing.
"Memeh!" shouted Dudya and hugged his Hinda with excitement.
Emerging from the dust they all immediately saw a young man in a dark suit, a light-coloured hat, running and appearing after the herd, as if he had brought it, as if he were driving it, until the dust settled and he was seen leaning over at the edge of the field, gathering wild flowers, one by one into a bouquet bends over once more, wipes his shoes.
"Tobruk!" Burstein came in now, leaving the door open; behind him he had left the radio on, with the clear English voice.
"Tobruk!"
He didnt care that he was disturbing the two, maybe he had to disturb them. "Tobruk! Yesterday. The English reconquered Tobruk! Now theyve announced it, the BBC."
"The English! What? The English..." Roni burst in. "They took Tobruk!... What do they need Tobruk for? What are they doing in our region? Let them all go to hell!"
To the astonished silence of the two men, instead of breaking, instead of choking in tears, Roni barricaded herself behind her wall, so that it was clear where she was and with whom.
"Dad, go back to your radio, or, better, go to sleep... And you, Sergeant Smoler, tell me what you have to report, and Ill pass it on..."
Unviolable, barricaded-in, no passage. How can you tell a woman that there is a death-sentence on her husband? And how can you leave her alone afterward, to carry that burden, a pregnant woman and in the middle of the night! Dawn approaching!
And with his shoes polished, six years ago, a bouquet of wild flowers in his hand, quiet and cool, in a necktie, with everyone about him sweating, Yair, Avraham Stern, Memeh entered under the bridal canopy with the beloved of his heart and blood, the only woman in his life; with Roni Burstein of Ramat Gan, in the Levstein home, Friday, the seventh day of Shevat, 1936, a month after his 29th birthday. Quiet and cool, as though he were not the one getting married, or as though just half of him were being married, and the feeling then, like tonight, Hanukkah eve six years later, like the night here opposite his wife, the feeling that there is some marvellous creature hidden behind a curtain of fog, and that never, never shall you understand, and it isnt a matter of admiration, nor about justification or agreement, but about entire devotion, just with your eyes closed, with faith that cannot be proven, without explanation or a need to explain just crossing the line between life here and life there, only then can you be with him, of him. The same thing with him, of him.
In the end there was no choice. Roni wont give any address, any telephone number, any means of communication.
"Not because I dont trust you, dear Shalom, but because you dont know what happens to the people who fall into their hands. You do know? And what theyll do to a police sergeant who went to inform you can imagine for yourself!"
There was no choice. The roosters announcing the end of the night could already be heard, and Smoler said: "There is an order to the police, the army, the CID to catch Yair, dead or alive. An order. From yesterday. A death sentence."
Translated by Jeffrey M. Green
* Schiff - "ship" in German\Yiddish (ed.)
** Respectively, potato pancakes and doughnuts (Yiddish) the traditional oil-fried foods for the Hanukkah festival (ed.)
*** Yishuv. The pre-state Jewish community of Palestine (ed.)
Editors Afterward
Avraham Stern, nicknamed "Yair," was the founder and first commander of Lohamei Herut Israel, the Lehi para-military organization, named by the British, the "Stern Gang." Lehi, the most extreme of the pre-state Jewish
underground groups, another of whose leaders was Yitzhak Shamir, later to become prime minister of Israel, believed that, irrespective of the war against the Nazis, the British had to be driven out of Palestine if the Jews were ever to have a state of their own.
On February 12, 1942, Yair was cornered in a house in the Florentin district of Tel Aviv. He was shot to death by Inspector Geoffrey
Morton, the commander of the police squad, "while attempting to escape," in the words of the British communiqué. That reason is not
accepted by many who still believe that Yair was murdered in cold blood.