Mitla Pass - Leon Uris [92]
Nonetheless, the Zionists were well organized and general conditions were better. The city had become the major port of departure for some forty thousand Russian and Polish Jews of the third “rising” to Palestine.
Misha and Bertha Polokov, as well as some of the other comrades, also spotted Rosie’s condition. She sloughed them off, and after a few days in Trieste and some decent food she seemed to be faring better.
At the end of a week an Italian freighter, the Padua, entered the port to take the pioneers to Palestine. They were put up on the open top deck. Their rations were an issue of dried food, with no provisions for cooked meals. Toilets were temporary shacks which accessed directly to the sea. Their beds, thin mats with blue sky above.
Captain Gionelli and his crew were friendly. Through Misha Polokov, the captain loaned them all the extra canvas aboard so they could put up a tent city to protect them from the elements.
She was far from being a luxury liner, but nothing could hold down the bursting enthusiasm of the pioneers as the Padua eased out of her berth and proceeded down the Adriatic. Although they never lost sight of land, they could not help but feel that the tie with the shtetl and all the Jew hating was cut forever.
The pioneers broke into small groups and studied and argued and sang and danced. Nathan was in his glory, going from audience to audience giving lectures on anything anyone would listen to.
On the third day out, seasonal meltemi winds from the north roughed up the Padua and climaxed in a nasty blow through the Strait of Otranto. Activities halted as the pioneers huddled together tightly and queasily. Finally a blessed calm befell and the skies put on a show of star showers as they sailed smoothly down the Greek coast.
The great debate between crew and passengers was the merits of communism over Zionism. The price for joining Lenin’s Communist International was to renounce all ethnic groups.
“It is not possible,” Nathan argued. “A Jew is a Jew and an Italian is an Italian. You cannot simply eliminate an entire ethnic people without destroying the culture itself. Lenin is crazy.”
And so it went, as the battle for the minds of the Europeans now raged between socialism and the new communism out of Russia. These discussions had little interest for the lovers who paired off. The gregarious Captain Gionelli granted them use of the lifeboats to sleep together.
“I have come to an important decision,” Rosie said to Nathan one night. “I have concluded that you can be just as true a Zionist if you choose not to go out and redeem the land. We must have cities and factories and hospitals as well as farms.”
“Yes, but everything we have been taught centers on the land,” Nathan answered.
“I must admit that it may be too difficult for me to live on a kibbutz,” she said. “I may apply for work in Jerusalem.”“I am in accord with your decision one hundred percent,” he answered. “I suppose for myself, I should be a farmer.”
“So what’s wrong with Jerusalem?”
“From what I understand, it is filled with Hasidim. It would be like moving to another shtetl.”
“Then what about Tel Aviv? There are already ten thousand Jews living there.”
Suddenly it occurred to Nathan that what Rosie might be suggesting was in line with his own secret thoughts. “Tel Aviv is an idea of merit. It should be given some thought,” he said.
“You’ll pardon my boldness, Nathan, but two people together in such a strange place might be better than one person alone.”
Nathan blushed and looked at her quizzically. She lowered her eyes modestly.
“No one says you can’t be a good Zionist in a city,” he declared at last.
“So, maybe we’ll talk about it a little more?”
She nodded and his heart almost leaped out of his throat. She reached over and pecked his cheek and he moved back slowly.
“It’s all right, Nathan. All the comrades know I hold you in high regard. You’ll pardon my shamelessness, but Captain Gionelli said we could have the last lifeboat.”
That night