Exodus - Leon Uris [120]
Many a night Jossi had to carry Yakov on his back for eight hours because the younger brother’s feet were raw and bleeding and he could not walk. Many a day Jossi had to sleep on top of Yakov to pass his warmth on to his weaker brother. Often they crawled the last few yards to a hiding place.
Over the ice and the snow they staggered south with but cloth wrappings around their feet—yard after yard—mile after mile—week after week.
In the spring they reached Rostov and collapsed.
They found the ghetto and were taken in and fed and sheltered. Their rags were exchanged for new clothing. They had to rest several weeks before they were fit enough to continue the journey.
Late in the spring they went on again, fully recovered from their winter’s flight.
Although they did not now have to contend with the elements they had to move with greater caution, for they had left the Pale behind and could no longer depend on protection, food, and shelter from the Jewish communities. They skirted the Black Sea south of Rostov and moved deep into Georgia. All their food now was stolen from the fields—they never let themselves be seen by daylight.
As winter came on again they were faced with a tremendous decision. To hole up in Georgia, to try to get through the Caucasus Mountains in winter, or—to attempt a boat across the Black Sea.
Each plan had its dangers. Although trying the mountains in winter seemed the most foolhardy their urge to leave Russia behind was so great that they decided to risk it.
At Stavropol at the base of the mountains they staged a series of robberies which completely outfitted them with clothing and food for the assault over the mountains. Then they fled into the Caucasus toward Armenia with the police on their track.
Through another brutal winter they moved deep into the mountains, walking by day, climbing the treacherous passes in the dark, and pillaging the countryside. The first year had hardened them and made them wise—the obsession to get to Palestine was greater than ever and drove them onward. Yakov would babble passages from the Bible by the hour to drive their bodies forward. They made the last part of their push instinctively, in a numbed daze.
And in spring they received their second miracle of rebirth. One day they stood up and for the first time breathed free air—as they left “Mother Russia” behind them forever. As Yakov passed the border marker into Turkey he turned and spat into Russia.
Now they could move in daylight, but it was a strange land with strange sounds and smells and they had no passports or papers. All of eastern Turkey was mountainous and the going was slow. They went to work in the fields in places where they could not steal food, but twice that spring they were caught and thrown into prison briefly.
Jossi reckoned they would have to give up thievery, for it was too dangerous being caught; they might be sent back to Russia.
In the middle of summer they passed the base of Mount Ararat where the Ark of Noah had landed. They pressed on to the south.
In each village they asked, “Are there Jews here?”
In some there would be Jews and they would be fed and clothed and sheltered and sent along their way.
These Jews were different from any they had known. They were peasants filled with ignorance and superstition, yet they knew their Torah and kept the Sabbath and the Holy Days.
“Are there Jews here?”
“We are Jews.”
“Let us see your rabbi.”
“Where are you boys going?”
“We are walking to the Promised Land.”
It was the magic password. “Are there Jews here?”
“There is a Jewish family in the next village.”
Never once were they refused hospitality.
Two years went by. The brothers pressed on doggedly, stopping only when exhaustion overcame them or they had to work for food.
“Are there Jews here?”
They pressed over the Turkish border into the province of Syria and another strange land.
In Aleppo they received their first taste