Stand Before the Deluge

The people of Israel are understandably afraid and seeking justice.

The people of Palestine are understandably afraid and seeking justice.

Fear and injustice have led to decades of violence.

What has that solved?

How will more violence solve the same problem?

Who will pay for this violence?

I can only answer the final question here:

CIVILIANS

It’s the innocent, on either side of the border, who pay the highest price for the actions of the armed.

It’s the goal of Hamas to entice Israel to use overwhelming force, murdering countless Palestinian civilians to stoke hatred of Israel. Israel is walking into that same set-up again, building up its forces in preparation for a massive retaliation for this dastardly Hamas attack on civilians.

At what point can any leader stand-up and say “No more!”

What leader is strong enough to say, “they want us to respond with violence, instead we are going to respond with solutions. We are going to work this problem out, giving some along with finding the solution with which we can all live.“

That is leadership.

Simply responding with ever escalating levels of violence only breeds more violence, more fear, more suffering.

The context of this, and all conflicts, breeds the conflict itself.

Don’t keep feeding that context with more justifications for violence.

Break the cycle of violence.

Break the siege on civilians.

Break free from the history in order to write it yourself.

Be the leader your people need you to be.

Stand up and proclaim “Even though we were attacked, we are going to take the high road, we are going to seek peace, and we are not going to perpetuate this costly, unnecessary, and in-humane cycle of violence.”

That is how to be a leader.

Who’s up for it?

Hatikvah

“Gli Ingliesi son arrivati!”

Shouts coming from the street penetrate our crowded dark dust and soot covered basement cellar where I wait, nervously, with my sister and parents.

We look at each other through quiet eyes, too scared to make a sound.

“Gli Inglesi son arrivati! Gli Inglesi son arrivati!” echoes down to us again.

Small boys yell through streets where, just moments ago, German troops funneled through, on their way to battle.

Could it be a trick?

I look at my father.

His eyes reveal nothing in the almost pitch blackness of our cellar.

A streak of light flashes across his shadowed face from the crack in the wall revealing the sun-soaked day beyond our little make-shift bunker.

“GLI INGLESI SON ARRIVATI!”

They are nearby, it’s getting louder.

Straining my body so I may place my face next to my father’s, I ask in a whisper “What do you think?”

His eyes dart toward me.

Then, without a word, his head nods up ever so slightly; almost imperceptible in the darkness.

I head his order.

Without thinking because thinking would make me not want to do this, I begin to rise.

Moving my body toward the stairway, I step gingerly, hoping to make as little sound as possible as I peak my head out from the cellar entrance.

Could the English really be here?

Could the Germans really be gone?

As I creep up the stairs I see a man in a dark brown uniform crouching behind a makeshift barricade just beyond the cellar entrance.

A BRITISH SOLDIER!

Turning back to my parents and sister, I motion toward the soldier, whispering “Inglesi!”

Smiles rush to their faces.

We’re saved!

Just as I turn back to look again the soldier also turns, revealing a blue six-sided star on his left shoulder.

He is a Jew!

I gingerly rise out of the cellar, keeping my eyes on the soldier.

Perhaps I can connect with him, even though I do not speak English.

What would he know?

As I rise above the cellar, I begin humming the first few bars of Hatikvah, a popular Jewish poem turned to song I learned before the war.

“Daa Da Da Daaa Daaa Daa Daa Daa Da Daaaa”

He eyes me instantly, initially raising his rifle, then lowering it as I rise.

He begins humming along.

A shot rings out in the distance, which doesn’t phase him.

I flinch, but keep up the tune.

Together we hum “Daa Da Da Daaa Daaa Daaa Daa Daa Da Da Daaaa ”

After the first few bars the soldier begins talking to me in English.

I look at him, lost.

He keeps going, not recognizing I do not speak English until I begin humming again.

“Daa Da Da Daaa Daaa Daa Daa Daa Da Daaaa”

Then he stops.

My father rises from the cellar, saying something in yiddish I do not understand.

The soldier responds in yiddish.

They can speak to each other!

This English soldier and my Italian father, speaking yiddish, chat to each other as bullets crackle in the distance.

My father smiles, laughs, reaches out his arms, and hugs the soldier.

Other British soldiers begin peering out of crevices and from other street barricades.

They all have blue six-sided stars on their arms.

We are liberated by fellow Jews!

The shots become less frequent as the hugs and cheers grow.

Yiddish rushes forth from mouth to mouth as the soldiers talk with my dad.

I sit down next to the soldier, I first saw, looking up at him in awe.

Can this be how our war ends?

My father looks down at me, a smile on his face.

Yes.

Many Italian civilians were caught up in the battles to liberate Italy from the Italian Fascists and Germans during World War II. Among these civilians were a good number of Jews. In one instance, being Jewish is what enabled an Italian family to connect with a British soldier of the Jewish Brigade, as the Brigade liberated part of Florence. As quoted from Road to Valor by Aili McConnon:

On Via del Bandino, it was announced by hopeful shouting of local boys, “Gli inglesi son arrivati!” “The English have arrived!” Sitting in the cellar with his parents and sister, Giorgio Goldenberg crept cautiously out to investigate. He was startled to see a British soldier standing right on the street beside his building. On the soldier’s shoulder, he saw a Star of Daivd. Giorgio didn’t speak any English, but wanted desperately to communicate with this man whom he recognized as an ally. So he started singing, at first quietly and then loud enough so that the solder could hear him. He sang the melody of the Hatikvah, a popular Hebrew song that would later become the national anthem of Israel.

The solder recognized the song and burst forth in an excited flurry of English that Giorgio did not understand. Giorgio dashed downstairs to find his father and bring him to street level. His father and the soldier began to speak together in Yiddish. Giorgio watched them happily, a feeling of relief washing over him for the first time in years. “For me, this was the end of the war,” he said later.

Hatikvah later became the national anthem for the newly founded state of Israel.

Desert

Voice work by Sara Raz.

Voice work by Sara Raz.

There he is again, slithering directly behind me.

 This soldier won’t leave me alone.

 I scurry a little faster, hoping to lose him in the crowded street, but he keeps up, maintaining an uncomfortable distance.

 I just want to get home.

 His eyes, dark under the pulled down military cap, stare intently at me when I glance back to see if he’s still there.

 Seek help from a stranger, that is the only answer.

 Reaching out to the first man I see, I plead “Monsieur,can you please help, this soldier is following me.”

 Looking up, surprised from the distractions of his ground-focused attention learned through years of NAZI occupation, the gentleman is a bit startled.

 The soldier comes closer.

 He’s not keeping his distance any longer.

 “What is the problem, madame?” the gentleman says, just as the soldier sidles up to tower over him.

 “Move along buddy” the soldier says, “my girlfriend and I are having a lover’s chase, if you know what I mean.”

 “This soldier is not my boyfriend” I exclaim with all authority.

 The gentleman is dazed, confused, and clearly wants to get somewhere away from this soldier.

 Shoving the gentleman on, the soldier turns to me, his back to the other man.

 “Look here sweetheart, we’re going to resolve this.” He says as he grabs my hand.

 “LET GO OF ME!” I scream.

 The gentleman stands there, stunned.

 “Come with me Lucille!” the soldier projects loud enough for all to hear.

 A crowd begins to gather around. The gentleman is still standing there, not knowing what to do.

 “My name is not Lucille. I will not go with you. I don’t know you. Let go of me!” I demand.

 Yes, a lot of noise, a crowd, attention. The last things he wants!

 The soldier lets go of my hand as he turns to the crowd.

 “Fine, have it your way honey. I’ll see you at home.” He says as a parting blow to my status among the strangers in the crowd.

 It worked, I am free of this monster.

 “I do not know him.” I plead as the crowd dissipates with knowing expressions.

 How dare he besmirch me near my home, this Cretan!

 Scurrying home,I turn on several wrong streets to make sure the soldier is not following me.

 I can’t have him know where I live.

 Finally turning onto my street, I see my building entrance in the distance.

 Home, safety, freedom.

 Making my way toward the entrance, I look around me.

 The soldier is nowhere to be seen.

 I walk through the outer gate, entering the front courtyard of the building.

 As I approach the front door, I look around again.

 I’m not opening this door until I know I’m safe.

 No one is around. I am alone.

 I reach into my purse, clasping the key to the door in my right hand.

 Looking up at the lock, a shadow breaks over mine on the door.

 NO!

 Swiveling around, I am prepared. The key to the door is locked between my forefinger and my middle finger.

 It’s not much, but it would hurt if jabbed in the eye in a quick thrust.

 Thrusting my arm, I see whose shadow it is.

 “Good evening Monsieur Horbac” I say in a startled voice as I let my hand fall to my waist.

 Thank god!

 “Allow me to get the door, Madame.” The kindly old gentleman says to me as he reaches up.

 How did he surprise me?

 We enter the building, Monsieur Horbac heading to the elevator, and me to the stairs.

 “Good evening Monsieur Horbac” I offer as I start up the staircase and he enters the open elevator.

 I’m almost home.

 My right foot just touches the first stair as the door behind the entrance to the staircase closes with a loud slam, and I hear “Hello again Lucille.”

Following the liberation of Paris in August 1944, the fighting units of the Allied armies pushed on through Eastern France toward Germany. Some of the soldiers from these armies decided to make their way back to the City of Lights, rather than fight on the front. For most, this was a chance to get out of the fighting, keep a low profile, and simply sit out the remainder of the war. For others, this was a chance to take advantage of the military uniform to steal, assault, rape and murder without compunction. Paris and other liberated cities were hit by a wave of violence and crime not often discussed after the war. Up to 50,000 American and 100,000 British soldiers deserted their units during World War II. Between June 1944 and April 1945 the US Army investigated over 7,900 cases of criminal activity. Forty-four percent of these were violence, including rape, manslaughter and murder. Eventually, law and order were restored in the liberated cities of Europe, but it took to the end of the war, and the reintroduction of strong civilian police authorities, to make this happen.

The Deserters: A Hidden History of World War II by Charles Glass was the source of information for this story.