The next day two squads went on a raid. Supplies are dwindling, and there’s no alternative other than a raid to provide food for the people we will rescue.
Before we went out, Kamil took us to Grandma Tsirl to receive her blessing. Grandma Tsirl covered her face with her hands and spoke in a whisper. When she finished the blessing, she said, “God will protect you.”
Grandma Tsirl’s miraculous existence is now a part of us. We think about her, and we see her not only when we are on alert or in training. Her face, her hands, even the scarf around her neck often appear before our eyes. “There is no need for worry,” she has promised us several times. “We will always be together. Barriers are temporary. What seems impossible to us is simple and possible. Doubts and contradictions are illusions.”
We went out into the night, quiet and disciplined, with a sense that we were capable of changing the course of our lives.
Ever since we escaped from the ghetto, our hearts pound with the desire to change and be changed, and every mission, as Kamil says, is an act of soul-searching. No wonder that after a successful operation the fighters sometimes burst into tears.
We were on the road for two hours. The information gathered by the patrols was accurate. We attacked the farm and surprised its inhabitants, and had it not been for the two small children who awoke and screamed, all would have worked out for the best.
The family elder, the grandfather, looked at Felix and said, “See what you’ve done.” He was apparently referring to the children who woke up in a panic and screamed. Felix answered him very politely, “We are partisans, defending the homeland and justice. We are not robbers; we are fulfilling a mission. We need food, clothes, blankets. We hope you will give these things to us willingly. If you don’t comply with our request, we’ll take them anyway.”
“Take what you want, I don’t care,” said the grandfather scornfully. His two grown sons stood by their father without saying a word. They watched tensely, suppressing their anger. We are used to such encounters, and our weapons are ready for whatever happens.
“Who are you?” the grandfather suddenly asked Felix.
“Partisans. Can’t you see that we are partisans fighting for justice?”
“I think you are Jews.”
“So what?”
“One doesn’t expect Jews to be fighters.”
“The time has come to correct your prejudice.”
“I’m not giving my food to Jews!” he shouted.
“If you don’t give it, we’ll take it ourselves.”
“Damn you!” the old man hoarsely cried.
Felix didn’t hesitate and called out, “Men, tie him up.”
We quickly moved to tie up the grandfather and his sons. The children and women continued to scream. We had no choice but to silence them; Felix fired a round into the ceiling, and everyone fell silent.
We took what we could carry and withdrew in an orderly fashion.
When we were a mile away, we heard the men cursing. They wished death for the Jews, every last one of them.
The operation was a success, but it left us with a murky feeling. The grandfather’s boldness and the sons’ hostile looks continued to hurt us even as we neared our base.
Some of the fighters thought we had handled them too gently; the time had come to hit them hard. Felix said nothing, and his silence was powerful, as always. Salo, who had not gone with us this time, made sure to inform us right away that Danzig’s condition had improved slightly; he felt less pain. Milio slept by his side and raised his spirits.
Grandma’s Tsirl’s health had not improved, but she was fully conscious; her memory was active, and she was happy to see everyone who came to visit.
I decided to go to the infirmary tent and visit her. Grandma Tsirl sat leaning on pillows and when she saw me called out, “Bunya’s son is here to visit me. I’m ashamed I don’t remember his name.”
“My name is Edmund,” I said.
“I assume your Jewish name is hidden in your foreign name. I once knew how to peel the names and find their Jewish seed; now my memory is weaker, and this is another sign that the time has come to pass into the World of Truth.”
“I left my father and mother at the train station, and I ran away. What can I do to atone for this sin, Grandma Tsirl?” I could hardly breathe.
“Everything that you do now, my son, is charity. And as we know, charity saves a person from an unnatural death. All the more so from sin. God in heaven knows you well and knows that you did not do what you did out of malice.”
“What more should I do, Grandma?”
“You are doing more than enough. All of us need to regret, but thoughts of regret must not damage the desire to act righteously. You have just returned from a mission with a sack of provisions on your back. What you brought is not for yourself but quarry for us all, as it was called in the past. He who is devoted to others, as you are, is protected by angels.”
“Will I find my father and mother?”
“Your father and mother are with you always, and it makes no difference where they are now. You are their only child.”
“Thank you, Grandma Tsirl,” I said, knowing that thanks were not called for.
“Don’t worry. God in heaven knows the heart of His children.”
THAT NIGHT, Felix summed up the operation: “The mission was a success, but every operation leaves a muddy residue that is not always our fault.”
Kamil, next to speak, informed us that, according to our best intelligence, most of the trains were carrying soldiers and armaments. But after midnight on Tuesday, a train would pass by that the station managers called a “special train,” filled with Jews on their way to the camps. “This is the one we want to derail,” Kamil said. “This will be our great test.”
That same night, Michael chanted the Yom Kippur prayer Hineni, “Here I am, poor of deeds,” his pure voice filled with devotion. People hid their faces and cried. Even Felix, usually solid as a rock, shed a tear.
Kamil had not given up. He asked the patrol that went down the hill to call out, “Hanoch, Hanoch.”