CHAPTER 61

The Manager

There are moments one never forgets. This was one of them. A small man, dark, with graying hair, spoke shyly, almost nervously, feeling for his words, of things that are part of cultural history. A man quite unassuming, simply dressed in grey flannel trousers and a tweed jacket of warm brown. He was Bronislaw Huberman, perhaps the greatest living master of the violin. . . . I was overwhelmed by the simplicity of greatness. I basked in the warmth of a man too big to “show off.”

from the South African Jewish Times¹

Heinrich Simon, the Jewish head of the German newspaper Frankfurter Zeitung, a paper founded three generations before by his grandfather Leopold Sonnemann, is a lifelong friend of Huberman. After Hitler comes to power, Heinrich stays in Frankfurt for eighteen months, then gives up his job, escaping to London.

Huberman travels to London, and the two men meet at the Hyde Park Hotel. Enjoying the view of the park before them, they reminisce about their past experiences.

With enthusiasm, Huberman shares with Simon his dream of an orchestra in Palestine.

“This orchestra will play a triple role,” he says. “First and foremost, it will hold up a fist against Nazism for the entire world to see! Second, it will give the struggling, pioneer country of Palestine an opportunity to hear first-class music. And third, it will absorb the best of the refugee artists who have been ousted from their posts by the Nazi racial laws. These musicians will also teach at the music school we plan to establish.”

“Your idea has much merit, Bronislaw,” Heinrich says.

“I have recruited two good friends to help me with the responsibility in Palestine,” Huberman says. “A top lawyer in Jerusalem, Mr. S. Horowitz, and Lieutenant Colonel F. H. Kisch, former head of the Jewish Agency.”

“It is obviously vital for your project to have such able leadership, Bronislaw.”

“But, Heinrich, I need someone to carry out my artistic policy.”

“Who did you have in mind?” Simon asks.

“You, Heinrich. I have you in mind. I want you to move to Palestine and supervise this endeavor for me.”

Simon blinks his eyes several times, hesitating before he speaks.

“Bronislaw, you know I am not a Zionist. But I’ve always been a conscious Jew, and keenly interested in the efforts to revive the ancient homeland. I’ve had a longing to see Palestine myself, but I have never traveled to such a remote place.”

“I know that, Heinrich,” Huberman says. “But I know you, and I know you can do this. Just think of it. You, in Palestine, with the world falling apart in Europe.”

“I must admit, having a hand in developing a refugee orchestra in the Holy Land is extremely interesting,” Simon says, staring into the distance as if in deep thought. Huberman says nothing, and watches his old friend’s face carefully.

After several moments, Simon puts out his hand to Bronislaw. “I don’t have to think about it, Bronislaw. I’ll do it!”

Within weeks, Heinrich Simon leaves London and sets sail in a small French vessel on the Mediterranean, the first lap of his voyage to Palestine. Stopping in Italy, he again meets with Huberman, and is anxious to hear more about the new orchestra. They walk up and down the beautiful hotel gardens on the slopes of the Pincio.

“Modern Palestine is young and vital,” Huberman tells him. “And despite being thousands of miles from Europe, in the hearts of these pioneer people, the hunger for good music is astounding. I know they eagerly await the creation of this orchestra. Palestine will have one of the finest orchestras in the world. It will be Hitler’s gift to the Jews.” Huberman laughs. “How strange are the workings of fate!”

“Do we have a place in Tel Aviv to rehearse and give concerts?” Simon asks.

“Not yet. I have been too busy to attend to it. But it needs to be taken care of immediately.”

“I will begin that search when I arrive in Palestine,” Simon says.

That evening, Huberman gives a concert at the Augusteo. From his complimentary box seat, Simon is reminded how much the Italian people love his old friend’s playing. The Augusteo is so crowded, Simon notices, that people who could secure no other seats are crouched uncomfortably on wooden benches under the orchestra, listening with awe and delight to the music.

One week later, Simon stands in the prow of a ship, jostled by excited young immigrants and trembling old men as each catches his first glimpse of Mount Carmel.

When the anchor drops in Haifa, Simon meets a group of customs officials who chatter in Hebrew like magpies. He feels excited to step into Palestine for the first time.