The next day, with great effort, we began the climb toward the summit with all the equipment. Even on a foggy, cloudy day the visibility on the way to the top is not impaired. The ears, despite the roar of the water, are not deafened. The feeling here, it must be said, is transcendent.
Not everyone was in favor of this climb. Some argued that the haste after Paul’s disappearance was immoral. We should have waited a few days to see what became of him. He might have changed his mind, and if he returned and didn’t find us, he would think we were abandoning him.
“Paul knows us well and knows we would not abandon him,” said Hermann Cohen in his levelheaded way.
“We must not burden a suffering man with even the tiniest doubt,” someone replied.
Kamil had reasons of his own. “We cannot waste time,” he said. “Autumn is coming to an end; there are already signs of winter. If we don’t start building the bunkers, who knows if we’ll be able to complete them. Paul will forgive us. We are going to the summit not for ourselves alone. I anticipate that the war will be a long one, and we must prepare the place for the others who will join us.”
“On what do you base this prediction?” Again a skeptical voice was heard.
“On will and on justice,” Kamil replied at once.
AFTER WE UNPACKED the equipment and set up the tents, we built two fires for the soup pots. Soup is the elixir that saves us not only from the cold but also from gloom. After a bowl of soup, you feel that your body is filled with vitality. Kamil jokes that an army, as Napoleon famously said, travels on its stomach, but then adds, “Napoleon never tasted Tsila’s soup. If he had, he would have said, ‘Tsila’s soup is like fire in the bones.’ ”
We continue to canvass the area, searching for traces of Paul. Soon the patrols will go down to the orchards at the edge of the forests to collect information about Paul’s movements. Everyone believes that he is not far away and will soon be found. We need to be patient and enable him to return to us.
Our covenant cannot be broken. We are tied together with bonds of compassion. If a comrade leaves for a while, he must not be judged harshly. We are only human, and weakness must be respected. But the main job in the coming weeks will be climbing to the summit and digging the bunkers and the trenches that connect them. For this big project Kamil enlists Hermann Cohen, our quartermaster, who once owned sawmills. He knows the secrets of wood—which type will insulate and which will absorb water, which wood for flooring, and how to build walls that will stand up to stress. As the man responsible for food and clothing, he has worked wonders. Now he will make use of the knowledge he gained over the years at the sawmills.
I should mention that Hermann Cohen graduated from the gymnasium with honors and had begun his studies at the university. He studied Greek and Latin for two years and planned on an academic career, but the sudden death of his father forced him to abandon his studies and devote himself to the family business. He took over his father’s role and did very well. Hermann Cohen is a master at preserving our supplies. He utilizes rags and cardboard, sacks and ropes. All the while he takes care of the weak and the sick, as well as Grandma Tsirl. He sets aside specific foods that protect their health.
Based on his age, he counts as one of our old men, but he refuses to be exempt from duty. At night he sometimes takes part in patrols, and once he was even wounded. He does not get involved in matters of faith. “A man who has divorced himself from the faith of his fathers should not take sides in the argument,” he says. “In my youth we were certain there was nothing greater than the gymnasium and the university; we strove with all our might to go there. The study of Torah, not to mention ritual observance, we regarded as empty and useless. Our denial pained our parents and grandparents, but we showed them no mercy. This was naïveté. Or, if you like, the folly of youth.”
He speaks with a calm voice the rest of us lack. One of the fighters once asked him if he would act differently today. His answer was, “It is hard to fix what you have broken. If my elders were alive I would ask their forgiveness for hurting them, but I can’t do as they did. I remember the prayers, but I cannot stand and pray. Every person, I assume, ruined something in his life, in my case perhaps a bit more.”
“WHAT ARE YOU STUDYING?” Grandma Tsirl asked Michael, who had come to visit her.
“I’m studying arithmetic and geometry.”
“It’s also good to learn the prayers, my little bird.”
“What for?”
“Because prayer brings us close to God.”
“How?”
“Prayer leads our voice to him.”
“Is it possible to sometimes see God?”
“Not now and not openly.”
“How do we know he loves us?”
“The heart tells us.”
Ever since Paul disappeared, Michael has been uneasy. He asks Maxie what he should do to bring him back to us.
“We’ll think about him; maybe he’ll feel how we miss him and will want to return to us,” says Maxie.
“The thoughts can reach him?”
“I believe so.”
“Did he run away because we hurt him?”
“We loved him, but we couldn’t help him. He went to look for his lost daughter.”
Michael tries to understand the dilemma, but his questions lead to a blind alley. Maxie sees his confusion and decides not to complicate his mind further. From now on he will tell him, I don’t know.
Maxie is around forty and a pharmacist, but he has the face of a teenager. He looks at the world with a sort of perpetual amazement. He loves animals, and they are drawn to him. The birds hop onto his shoulders and peck bread crumbs from his hands. Even a stray dog clung to him and spent several weeks with us. In the end it died, suddenly.
Some say Maxie is naïve, but that’s not apparent when he speaks. Salo comes from time to time to consult with him on matters of illness and medication. Maxie is expert in concocting remedies and has considerable knowledge of medicine.
I once heard Hermann Cohen say, “Be heedful of the poor, for Torah goes forth from them.” He knows Maxie’s family; Maxie’s father worked in Hermann Cohen’s sawmill. He was a poor man who could barely support his family, but he sent his five children to the best gymnasiums, and all of them graduated from university.