SAMPLE CHAPTER

The journey to the Jewish camp was an awkward one. Motti and Roza wanted to ask questions, Tzvi wouldn’t answer them. He tried to walk a little ahead of them, ostensibly to lead the way but in practice to avoid conversation. As they walked behind him they fell to talking among themselves but as always they were watchful because even here in the forest you never knew who was watching you. They weren’t worried only about the Germans but the NSZ too because they knew now that they could be just as dangerous when it suited them. Even Motti carried a weapon, though Roza had little belief in his military prowess. Fair enough, he had killed two Ukrainians, but from his story he had the advantage over them. On the other hand, for a shtetl Jew that always had to be impressive.

Tzvi she couldn’t make out. He had all the hallmarks of the pious Jew, except for the facial furniture which, like Mordechai, had had to go, but he was sharp. He told them a little of his story. He had of course studied in a yeshiva, a prestigious one in Vilna, but then his father had taken him into their timber business and he had learned how to deal with people, people in the outside world. He spoke Polish and Russian and he had an air of self-confidence. Whether that would go far if they were jumped she didn’t know, but on the other hand if that happened how much of a fight were any of them going to put up, her included?

She had killed from a distance with her rifle, she didn’t remember how many times, but she was conscious of her sex and with good reason she doubted her ability to take on an angry German trooper. She wanted to be out of this, to be normal again and get married and raise children and even perhaps keep a Jewish home, but she also wanted to kill, needed to kill. An eye for an eye. Well, Roza had a deep inherited belief in revenge, and it would take many dead Germans before she would be satisfied. She wondered too if she would ever be satisfied, or if she would have to go on killing until she herself was killed. Perhaps that was it, she needed to die. She was confused. Anyway, when the time came there was unlikely to be a choice. She would kill any Germans she could, and she would die when her time came, and when one ended and the other began was in God’s hands. She smiled to herself when she thought that, about God, and wondered what her father would have said if he heard her. Well, he couldn’t hear her now, and he was the reason why she was here. She knew that to think about God was, as he used to say, childish, but she watched Mordechai and she felt a tinge of jealousy that he had a relationship with this God that her father had scoffed at and she wondered who was better off with their beliefs, notwithstanding that Mordechai was alive and her father wasn’t, which she knew had nothing to do with it but still, she couldn’t help but notice the fact.

And she was moved by the way he gave his mezuzah to Krystyna. He didn’t know they were going to come back because, yes, they intended to, but in this war intentions didn’t always count for a lot. What if something happened and he didn’t find his way back? Well, it was just a mezuzah for all that, and it wasn’t the most important thing in the world which is, as everyone knows, life.

Motti was thinking about the mezuzah too. He knew it had been a grand gesture and now he regretted it. It was more important to him, he realised now, than whatever it was they were following Tzvi for, and he wondered why he had done it, and as a result of wondering he came to the conclusion that it was for Roza and then he wondered why Roza was so important and he couldn’t decide if it was what she represented or who she was for herself. As they walked through the twilight chill he recited the evening service to himself and he searched for answers but found none.

He fingered the trigger of the machine gun they had given him and wondered how he had got here, walking with these people through a Polish forest, holding a weapon that meant only one possible thing, death, the antithesis of the Jewish ethos to preserve life. He wanted to throw it away and put himself in God’s hands and then he thought about Rabbi Gimpel and his sons, praying for salvation by the side of a ditch full already of bodies and dying anyway but of course it wasn’t salvation they had been praying for, not a physical salvation anyway but a moral one, that they would be accepted into heaven because they were going to die, Rabbi Gimpel knew that, even if his children were too young to understand just what it meant. And the children of Warsaw? Motti didn’t know how many of them there had been, because he had never been there, never been to any city, but his imagination told him it was very many and a part of him wondered if the Germans killed the children as well, if that was really possible, but then he remembered the rabbi’s sons and he knew that of course it was possible and it had happened. To kill like the Germans and the Ukrainians did, he knew now, you had to abandon any concept of people as human, and once you did that it wouldn’t matter whether they were men or women or children or even babies.

The first sign that they were approaching the camp was when Tzvi signalled with his hand to an unseen person on the brow of a small hill and Roza realised that the security the Armia Ludowa employed was used here too, a circle of watchers placed far out from the camp, and she knew there would be an inner circle and that they would have some way to signal to each other in the event of an attack. It was the natural thing to do. She doubted that they had the firepower or the training that the AL had but at least these people would have some warning that they were about to die.

Twenty minutes later they were there, and the first thing Roza noticed, because for no good reason she had been expecting something resembling a partisan camp, was the children. There were young ones running around and playing, older ones involved in light work, even women carrying babies. As they worked their way through the tents of all shapes, colours and sizes, people stopped what they were doing and greeted them warmly, some in Polish, most in Yiddish, but some also in Hebrew and when they called shalom Roza and Motti self-consciously said shalom back and it sounded strange coming from their own lips but it also sounded good. Tzvi stopped by a fire and invited them to wait there and warm themselves. A girl of perhaps twelve brought them mugs of tea and chatted to them unselfconsciously and they answered her questions and it seemed so unreal, being with their own people again, that what came into Roza’s mind was the prediction Krystyna had made and she knew the old woman had been right, that the pull would be a strong one, but she was also wrong because Roza’s loyalty was unwavering, even in the face of all this.

To Motti the sound of people chattering in Yiddish brought joy and sadness and he looked at them as if his wife would walk out of the crowd carrying their son but he knew that was fantasy as much as he hoped for it but he remembered that he had buried them with his own hands and had said the prayer for the dead over their graves and they were now in heaven. He sat and wept and Roza came and put her arms round him and wept too and nothing was said between them but nothing needed to be.

‘Mordechai, Roza, if you are alright, please come with me.’

Tzvi understood why they were affected like this. It had happened to him too when he arrived at the camp. It happened to everyone. You closed your heart to all emotions because there was no other way, but this brought it all back. It had taken him weeks to adjust to being with his own people again.

Rosa and Mordechai followed him to a large tent, the kind army commanders used in the field, only whose army this one had been stolen from was anybody’s guess. It was gloomy inside and it took a few seconds for their eyes to adjust. Seated round a table were three people, who rose simultaneously and smiled simultaneously in genuine pleasure at meeting their guests. A fourth man sat in the corner and did not rise.

‘Mordechai Levinson, Roza Weksler, please allow me to introduce our commander David Berman, this is Sonja Alter and this gentleman is Captain Michael Jacobs, from the American Joint Distribution Committee. Oh and that is Feliks Ziegielbojm.’

The others sat while David Berman spoke. ‘Tzvi, Roza and I need no introduction. Roza, come here.’

They hugged long and hard and Roza cried audibly and no-one thought it strange although they wondered how these two people knew each other. David gave her time to compose herself.

‘Roza was a student of mine at the art school in Warsaw, not, I might add, a very good one, but even so Roza I would not have recommended you give up drawing for this.’ He pointed at the submachine gun in her hands.

‘I daresay my story resembles your own, Mr Berman.’

‘David, please, this is not the school and I am no longer a teacher.’

Roza wondered how a mild-mannered art teacher had metamorphosed into a resistance leader, but there would perhaps be an opportunity for explanations another time. What she knew for now was that whatever the reason for their visit, whatever David Berman had brought her here for, she would give it her wholehearted consideration. She sat next to Mordechai and waited for an explanation.

‘Roza, Mordechai, I’m going to let Captain Jacobs here explain why we asked you to come and see us.’

Captain Jacobs was obviously Jewish but he was like no-one Motti had ever met. Even Roza struggled to equate him with the secular, cosmopolitan Jews she had known in the capital. He was, like everyone, in civilian clothes, but there was something military in his bearing, and also something, a kind of self-assurance that spoke of a very different culture, as far from eastern Europe as it was possible to be and still be Jewish.

He smiled at them both, but he smiled perhaps more at Roza than Motti. He spoke in Polish but his accent made it hard at least for Motti to follow.

‘You people probably wonder why David here introduced me as Captain Jacobs. I hold that rank in the United States Army. My mother is Polish and my father is German. They got out from Berlin in 1933, as soon as Hitler came to power. They saw the signs in time, thank God. I was twenty two when we came to the US, and I already spoke Polish and German fluently of course, but now, naturally, my English is pretty good and so when I joined up I was approached pretty quickly by the Intelligence Corps for this work.’

He waited for them to overcome their surprise. ‘I’m a serving officer in Army Intelligence, yes, but David said I’m with the Joint, and that’s true too. The Army has become increasingly aware, through the Red Cross and other sources, of war crimes committed by the Germans and their allies, especially the Ukrainians and the Lithuanians. My assignment was originally to work with partisan units to attempt to learn more about the death camps.’

Motti and Roza blinked in unison and tried to absorb the idea of death camps. There was a lot they didn’t know.

‘Well, after my first report back it became apparent that the Allies can do very little at this time to prevent the killing, in fact I’m afraid there is nothing at all they can do, as much as we wish there were. There will come a time when those responsible will be called to account. We are going to win this war and the guilty will be made to pay for their crimes. My president himself has promised this, and so has Prime Minister Churchill.’

Roza’s head was swimming. This man was some kind of angel. Motti followed some of what he said but even the bits he understood he didn’t understand. This was coming from a world he knew nothing about. He saw, though, how Roza reacted, and he was glad.

‘Captain Jacobs, I know I understand little of how these things work, but if you are in the Army how can you also be with this other organisation?’

‘The Joint? Well, that involved some string-pulling in high places. You see, once I started reporting back to my superiors about the facts on the ground in Poland, people started asking questions about doing something to help. At the moment the Russians are carrying the major burden of the war, but the western Allies are preparing for something very big. I don’t know myself what, or when it will happen, but it will be big, that much I know. All of this precludes any possibility of saving Jews now. The official Allied policy is to put a hundred percent of their effort into winning the war. That way there is at least a chance of saving some lives. Diverting resources to saving those lives now would have a negative impact on the overall war effort and it has been decided at the highest level that that is not going to happen.’

Roza almost spat her words at him. ‘That’s going to be too late. There isn’t going to be anyone left to save.’

‘Miss Weksler, please, I am a Captain, which as you may know is a lowly rank. I happen to feel the way you do. I am an American but many of my family didn’t make it out. We don’t know their fate but we can be just about certain that they are now dead. I promise you, I am on your side.’

He smiled to say he forgave her outburst, and she apologised.

‘This brings me to my present mission, which involves you two people. I have heard a little about you from our friend Tzvi, the little you have told him, but there are some things I don’t understand, which you might explain if you would be so kind.’

How could they refuse such politeness?

‘Mr Levinson, I hear you killed four German soldiers.’

‘Well, that’s not quite true. There were only two of them, and I believe they were Ukrainian, not German. And an officer, who isn’t dead apparently, through no fault of mine.’

‘Well, that’s still pretty good for a … I mean …’

‘What you mean, sir, is for a shtetl Jew.’

‘Well, with respect, it’s not something I have come across before.’

‘Well you have come across it now.’

‘And do you think you could do it again. I mean, kill, if you had to?’

Motti felt the weight of the weapon in his hands and asked himself the same question, the question he had been asking since he met the partisans.

‘Yes, I believe so, if there was a good reason.’

‘Isn’t there always a good reason to kill Nazis?’

‘Nazis?’ Motti didn’t know the term.

‘I mean Germans.’

‘Captain Jacobs, you might be right. I have done it before and yes, I suppose I could do it again. As to whether there is always a reason to kill, that is a matter I have yet to come to a decision on. In my religion …’

‘Excuse me, I think you forget …’

Motti had forgotten. This man claimed to be Jewish but he was an American soldier and whatever that meant it meant he wasn’t like Motti, not that kind of Jewish.

‘Well let’s say for now that yes, if you needed me to pull this trigger I could do it.’

‘Thank you. And you, Miss Weksler, there is just one thing I am unclear on.’

‘Yes Captain?’

‘Michael, please. Well, I understand you were until recently a member of a partisan unit.’

‘That is correct, a company of the Armia Ludowa.’

‘Yes. They are a Communist force, are they not?’

‘Yes. So?’

‘Well, I’m sorry, but I have to ask. Would you consider yourself to be a Communist?’

‘Why? What difference does it make? ‘

‘To my superiors back in the United States, rather a lot, I’m afraid.’

In truth she had never even considered the question. She had joined the company by chance, and she had accepted its ethos without much thought, but if she did think about it, no, she had no commitment to that ethos. On the other hand, she felt a growing resentment that this man was asking her questions as if she had to prove something, and for what? Who had asked her to come to this place? Who wanted her to do something? On the other hand, although he looked at her grimly now, while he waited for her answer, he also had a look, something in his eyes, that said help me out here, say no.

‘No. I’m not a Communist.’

‘Good, then just one or two more questions, if you wouldn’t mind? What was it you did with the partisans? Were you some kind of camp follower?’

‘No, Captain Jacobs, I was not a camp follower as you call it, I was second in command.’

Before he could open his mouth in response to this Feliks Ziegielbojm in the corner spoke for the first time.

‘You mean you were the commander’s mistress.’

No-one was prepared for what happened next. Before anyone had a chance to realise it, Roza was on her feet. The submachine gun was cocked and she had this man’s coat collar in one hand and the other hand held the weapon against his head. The cold hard metal pressed painfully into his skull and with her thumb she pointedly released the safety catch. People jumped to their feet but no-one moved from where they were.

‘Look here, schmuck, it’s several days since I killed anyone and normally I only kill Germans but in your case I am prepared to make an exception. While you have been living a nice quiet life in this holiday camp in the woods I have been fighting and watching my comrades die. I have, as you have probably noticed, taken extreme exception to that remark of yours, but I am prepared to overlook it, which gives you two choices. Either you apologise or I blow your brains out. Don’t rush, because I’m not going anywhere. Think about it and let me know when you’re ready.’

The sweat was pouring down his forehead and Roza was pretty sure he had wet himself. She was angry but she wasn’t quite that far gone, and she prayed he would back down because she didn’t know how to.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘What? I don’t think everyone here heard you.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Well, you’re stupid but you’re intelligent enough, on this occasion, to stay alive. I advise you, though, to keep this little incident in your mind, should our paths cross again.’

She flicked the safety catch to on, and everyone in the tent breathed again. They sat down in relief. It was then that she noticed her old teacher, David Berman, had remained where he was in his seat. He didn’t look worried. In fact he smiled.

‘Michael, I believe we have found your woman.’

‘Yes, David, I think you’re right.’ He smiled too and replaced his pistol in its holster. He hadn’t realised he had removed it.

‘Miss Weksler, I believe it is time to let you in on why we asked you and Mr Levinson to have this little chat. If you wouldn’t mind, I should like to take you for a walk around the camp. Would you follow me please?’

Copyright R S Brynin 2022