Captain Costa Hatzis was the first man each survivor saw before they boarded the ship known as the Maharhash. As was his custom, he greeted every passenger warmly as they stepped aboard. Hatzis was a middle-aged Greek shipping captain who descended on his maternal grandmother’s side from Jews. That was a secret he’d managed to keep secret over the past decade. He considered himself fortunate that it had never been discovered. Otherwise, he could easily have been one of these unfortunate souls now walking past him, or much worse. Had he chosen any other profession, this particular footnote to his background might have been lost to history. This particular mission could certainly end with him in prison. But his bill was paid, and if he had the chance to help his grandmother’s people after all they had been through, that was the least he could do. Every passenger received a handshake and a smile from Hatzis as they boarded. Then they received another from an American rabbi whose tailored outfit and dazed expression portrayed a man out of his place in such a rugged setting.
Despite the friendly captain and the presence of a rabbi, very few people in this world would be excited to take up residence, even for a few days, below deck on the Maharhash. It was cramped, dank, and in some ways not unlike some of the ungodly places Jan and the others had been packed into over the last few years.
Jan crossed the threshold of the boat walking alongside a middle-aged man with lifeless eyes and a narrow face. He could only imagine what those eyes had seen over the past few years. Coming aboard, he spoke a few words that Jan had trouble comprehending.
“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t understand what you said,” Jan responded.
Again he spoke meekly, but this time Jan read his lips to aid him in deciphering his words. “I said, I don’t like the looks of this. I am afraid of dark and cramped spaces.”
“I am too,” Jan said, trying to convey to the lifeless man that he knew where he had been, and that he had been there too.
“Take my hand, we will be ok. These people are here to help us.”
Many of the survivors wondered how such a vessel could escort them safely to Palestine. However, they were also accustomed to long odds. They were conditioned to think about surviving the moment, not the whole journey. They needed to remind themselves that this was not a holding cell on the way to death. It was a vessel on its way to life. It was not named after a place that would forever be synonymous with the final solution of the Jewish people. On the contrary, it was named after a seventeenth century rabbi from Thessaloniki named Marenu HaRav Chayim ben Shabbethai, known by the acronym “MaHaRHaSH” to his followers. The Haganah team that had purchased the ship wanted to pick a name that represented a Jew who kept the spirit of Judaism alive in the Diaspora. They hoped that naming the ship after a famous rabbi from the port city from which they were departing was good luck. The Maharhash needed every bit of that luck. It was a poor excuse for a sea craft, but hopefully the passengers onboard had one more miracle left in them for the journey home.
This converted cargo ship was not well equipped for mass passengers. The Haganah had done their best to supply as many large couch pillows, blankets, and hammocks as they could. Jan was not at all displeased. The rabbi that Jan had noticed as he boarded the ship was now handing out supplies. With a warm smile, the rabbi handed two large beat-up pillows and a blanket to Jan. Without any response, Jan took the bedding and walked towards the front of the cargo hall, where he carved out a cozy little nook that he claimed as his space. He wouldn’t have minded a little more room, but he appreciated the vantage point from his new home for the next few days. To his left he had his own little window through which he could see the motion of the vessel and the grandeur of the sea. To his right, his unobstructed view of a young Jewish woman was equally appealing.
Despite having yet to engage her in conversation, Jan could imagine what she had endured the last few years. She was alone, which meant her family was likely dead. Her blonde hair and dark green eyes suggested that she was likely Polish, or possibly Hungarian. She had a tattoo on her arm in the same spot he had on his, which meant she had seen things no young woman her age should have ever seen. She was likely here as a result of an incredible will to survive coupled with a series of miracles that somehow spared her life. She was beautiful, with her hair pulled back into a ponytail, revealing her soulful, weary eyes. Jan didn’t want her to catch him staring at her, but he found it difficult to avert his gaze.
What he didn’t yet know was that her name was Natalia Lubkin. Or that she had been born in Lodz, and once had the makings of a piano prodigy before the devils came and imprisoned her and her family in the ghetto. Jan might not have yet known the preface to the story, but he could guess what happened once the tattooist reduced her identity to a number. That was an experience he knew all too well.
For as long as they had been positioned across a makeshift aisle from one another, Natalia had been staring at the palm of her hand. Jan figured she was lost in a memory. That happened to all of them from time to time. This particular memory seemed to bring the faintest hint of a smile to Natalia’s lips. Partly out of desire to find out what was going through her mind, and partly out of a desire to feel like a normal young man, Jan finally decided it was time to break the ice.
Jan leaned over and quietly said, “Hello. My name is Jan.”
The girl’s smile blossomed more fully as she responded, “My name is Natalia.”
Jan smiled as well when Natalia returned his greeting. He noticed that as she opened her mouth to introduce herself, her palm opened fully as well. In the middle of her hand rested a tiny silver shin, the Hebrew letter often found on mezuzahs. He tried to get a closer look, but as he leaned forward, Natalia closed her palm completely and gripped her little treasure with all her might. Jan wondered to himself what was so special about the little Hebrew letter in the center of this beautiful girl’s hand.