Rabbi Groh spent the rest of the night thinking about Natalia’s comment. He kept telling himself that above all he was a Jew. A Jew who cared deeply about his people—all his people. A Jew who had lived and died with every newsreel and newspaper article with news of their fate over the last six years. Whether they wanted his help or not, Rabbi Groh would not give up. He might be going back to Florida eventually, but somehow, he would be part of the effort to create a Jewish homeland in Palestine. Somehow, he would contribute.
If that contribution was to come on this journey, this was his last chance. In the morning they would arrive in Palestine, and the survivors would go on their way to various kibbutzim that were prepared to welcome them. Maybe he would ask the Haganah commander if he could join them for a little while longer. Maybe he could help at a kibbutz and lend a hand as these new immigrants got settled. His mind was lost in thought deep into the night, as he lay awake unable to fall asleep. He thought about how he might be able to help at disembarkation. He thought about the kibbutz, and what it would be like upon arrival. And he wondered what it would feel like to set foot for the first time in the Holy Land.
* * *
Meanwhile, on the ship’s bridge, Captain Hatzis was hoping simply to reach Haifa’s port safely. To the Haganah’s relief, it turned out that Costa Hatzis was one of the finest ship captains in all of Greece. He was more than capable of guiding his ship and its cargo to Palestine unmolested. With skill and a fair bit of luck, the Maharhash and its crew managed to handle every engineering challenge and avoid nearly every British patrol. As lights emanating from the coastline came into view, Costa allowed himself a quiet moment of celebration. However, just as he was prepared to alert the Haganah to prepare for arrival, he spotted a motorized boat moving swiftly towards the Maharhash from the north.
“Do you see that?” he asked the Haganah soldier stationed at his side.
“Yes, is it the British?” the soldier alertly inquired.
“It could be, hold on, hold on,” the Greek captain said.
“Should I alert the commander?”
“Not yet, not yet. It’s coming closer, let’s see what we got first.”
The lights from shore grew brighter and brighter as the Maharhash held its course, but the patrol boat was not slowing its pace or altering its trajectory. Costa dispatched the soldier at his side to alert the Haganah commander.
Upon Costa’s warning, the Haganah commander immediately sprang into action. Over the loudspeaker, he ordered his team to prepare for an enemy encounter. A few of the men who had been in the hull of the ship immediately ran for the stairs, one of them accidentally knocking over a man who had risen to offer his morning prayers. For a moment it seemed as if the Maharhash shook violently back and forth from all the commotion and mobilization of the Haganah soldiers.
With everyone now in place and prepared to deal with the patrol boat, Costa grew more and more nervous. The patrol boat was not stopping. It was on a direct course for the Maharhash, and he knew that a confrontation was now likely. The survivors on board also suspected that Haganah mobilization was not a good sign. They grew worried that their safe passage to Palestine was now in peril. Thus far every Haganah tactic had worked. Small Haganah boats disguised as fishing boats were scattered in every direction away from the Maharhash’s course. They were helpful in diverting the attention of any patrol boat in the wrong direction. But perhaps this one patrol boat had avoided the Haganah’s distractions. As the Haganah soldiers hurried into attack positions, cries broke out in the hull as passengers once again feared capture.
When the boat came within view, Costa and the Haganah breathed a collective sigh of relief. It was not a patrol boat after all, but merely a group of fishermen. With a wave to Costa, the men sailed on, completely oblivious to the attack they had narrowly escaped. The commander smiled thankfully at the captain. The false alarm was announced over the loudspeaker and a wave of cheers erupted throughout the ship. The mission was over, and the Maharhash was ready to make contact with holy soil.
Costa guided his vessel expertly onto shore to the great delight and appreciation of the Haganah. As the ship came to its final stop off the coast, the Haganah men onboard signaled their comrades on shore. Quickly they worked together to assemble a gangway that had been stealthily stored behind the warehouse the night before by a Haganah team. It was then loaded into place, connecting the deck platform above to the beach below. The Maharhash team began to line the survivors up two by two from the rear of the hull to the front, up a narrow staircase of twenty-five steps, across the platform of the top deck, and down the ladder that extended to the beach. One by one they were led, not like sheep to the slaughter, but as free Jews returning to their ancestral homeland. The survivors followed every order they had been given, except for a few who paused to kneel and kiss the ground. They disembarked orderly and without incident.