Mila 18 - Leon Uris

Andrei had his opening. He pressed his point “Are you certain it is only a transition? No one really knows what the Germans are up to or when they will quit.”

Paul looked at Andrei with suspicion. The truce was merely a mask behind which he was operating. “And?” he asked.

“Now that the Jews, the half Jews, the converts, and the unadmitting Jews have been labeled, there is a tremendous need to unify all the loose ends.”

“Go on,” Paul said.

“Paul, we are trying very hard to get a meeting together of every faction of the community, regardless of philosophy, to map out some sort of master policy. You are sitting in one of the key positions. We want to know if you can be counted in.”

“Counted in on what?”

“We can’t stand by idly and let the Germans keep pouring these directives at us and beating up our people in the streets. We must go to them as a single body to let them know we are going to resist further abuse.”

Paul sighed and lay his pipe in the ash tray and rocked his chair back and forth, back and forth. “I might have known you’d still be trying to lead a cavalry charge.”

Andrei, who swore to himself he would not get angry, held his temper. “How much do you have to take from them before you show your spine? Where are all your fine students now? Where are all your colleagues from the university now?”

“Andrei,” Paul said softly, “you are not the only one who has meditated about this problem. When I lost my right arm, my body underwent a shock but, as you see, I am well recovered. So, the Jews in Warsaw are losing their right arms. It is painful, but the shock will pass and they will live. Not so well as before, perhaps, but that is the way things are, and nothing we can do will change them.”

“Are you willing to guarantee me that the Germans are going to stop at merely taking an arm? Can you tell me honestly the directives won’t take the other arm, then both legs?”

“I’ll tell you what I am willing to do, Andrei. I am willing to accept life for what it is. The Germans are the law. They have won a war. I see no alternative.”

“You really think you can do business with them?”

“I really think I have no choice, Andrei. Andrei ... Andrei ... You are always charging windmills—you are always looking for the mystical enemy. Before the Germans, you fought Poland. You cannot accept life for what it is. Yes, I’ve compromised, but I know reality. I’ve not chased ghosts. I compromise now because I was suddenly made a Jew again and I have no alternative. Andrei, I’ve been put into a position of responsibility to this community. Didn’t ask for it—didn’t want it. But I must, you see, I also have a wife and two children to keep alive—”

“And for that you’ll forfeit your soul and honor!”

“Try out the catch phrases elsewhere. I know what you are up to. Insurrection ... agitation ... an underground. Break your head against a wall just as you did before the war. I know the reality of what is here now and I’m going to bring my family through it.”

Andrei was about to roar that Paul was a coward, always looking for the easy path out. The cat who always lands on his feet. The first to sell his soul. It took all the strength he had, but he restrained himself.

“And, so long as we are talking about it, Andrei, your activities are bound to be known. For the safety of Deborah and the children, it may be best if you stay away from us.”

“Let my sister decide that!”

“Oh, nothing her darling brother does can be wrong.”

Andrei spun around on his heels and stamped out. He was unable to resist slamming the door as a sign that he had not entirely lost his restraint.

Paul tapped the pipe against his teeth and shook his head. There he goes, Paul thought. Still looking for a fight. Still at the head of a cavalry charge. How long would Andrei last in this atmosphere before he was dragged up before a firing squad?

But then, Andrei would laugh at them while he was being shot. And for a moment Paul was envious of that reckless courage that was unable to give quarter. He, Paul Bronski, had shown an instinctive courage in a single instant when the German bully Rudolph Schreiker demanded Jewish women for prostitutes. There would be other moments of crisis in the days ahead. How he would like to be Andrei Androfski in those moments. Would he be defiant when the challenge came the next time? He did not know. If only he could store that second of courage in a little box and open it again when he needed it.

A ruckus from the direction of the kitchen sent Paul running from his study. Deborah was standing over Zoshia, yelling at her.

“What is going on here?”

“Zoshia stole our silver. Rachael saw her pass it over the fence to that rotten son of hers.”

Paul stepped between the two of them.

“Is this true, Zoshia?” he demanded.

“It is true and I’m not sorry,” Zoshia screamed.

“She is a dirty thief,” Deborah snarled.

“It is mine and more than mine for the years I have cleaned your Jew dirt.”

“Oh, dear Lord,” Deborah said, “we have treated you kinder than your own son, whom we’ve bailed out of jail every time he went into one of his drunken rages. I paid the doctor bills for you and your sister when you couldn’t work.”

“You brought the Germans to Poland,” Zoshia cried. “The priest told us so! It is all the fault of the Jews!” She spit in hatred in their faces and waddled from the room.

Deborah leaned against Paul and cried softly, and he tried to comfort her. “I can’t believe it,” she murmured. “I can’t believe it ...”

“There is nothing we can do. The Germans are encouraging them to do what she did.”

One of the moving men came in.

“We have a wagonload. You said you wanted to come with us to Sienna Street and show us where the things go.”

“Mrs. Bronski will be out in a moment. She will follow you over.”

The teamster tipped his cap and left.

Deborah dried her eyes. He walked to his office and returned with the armbands. “You and the children will have to wear these,” he said.

She took them and stared at them, then put one on her right arm. “Isn’t it a shame,” she said, “that the first time we really must tell the children they are Jews ... it must be like this. ...”

Chapter Five

Journal Entry

ANDREI WARNED ME THAT we could not depend on Paul Bronski. How right he was. We continue to canvass the Jewish community to see who among us will come together for a leadership meeting. We are picking up strength, but not fast enough. A few more of these German directives will do more to convince them than any of our arguments.

I am going to see Rabbi Solomon. If we can win his support, it could well put us over the top.

ALEXANDER BRANDEL

The Rabbi Solomon’s name was most often preceded by the word “great.” He was one of the most learned men not only of Warsaw but of all Poland, and that constituted the heartland of religious Jewry.

He was a humble man who was beloved for giving his life to study and devotion and teaching. His rulings set the vogues among the religious Jews.

Not the least of the man’s many qualities was a political agility. When one came to earth from Talmudic and ethical writings to things real, deftness was required in order to be able to get along with all the diversified factions of Jewish opinion and philosophy. It was because of this wizardry that he was often called upon to use his good offices to mediate between extreme thinkers, from Communists to neo-fascists.

All organized Zionists believed that only they were the true standardbearers of Zionism and that the others outside their ranks were merely pseudo Zionists. It was the same with Rabbi Solomon. His Zionism, he felt, was certainly the purest form, for it came from the books of the Bible which told him a “Messiah” would return to earth and lead the scattered children of Israel back to their “Promised Land.” This was not so much Zionism to him but rather fundamental Judaism.