Upfall

”Kommen Sie raus! " said one of the guards. Shapira and Bolander fixed their helmets in place and made certain their ballistic vests were fastened. They stepped forward slowly. Despite the fading light Shapira immediately recognized one of the men from Sobibor, a squat, middle-aged fellow, with unblinking eyes and a completely bald head.

"I know you" said the man, recognizing Shapira as well. Shapira removed his helmet and advanced a few more steps. "My name is Issac Sobel" said the bald man. "And this is Albrecht Dunie" he continued, gesturing to the other man as if they were at a cocktail party. Dunie stepped forward and took made a small incongruous bow. Shapira, feeling a bit like Stanley, introduced himself and Bolander.

"So" exclaimed Sobel "the Allied commandos have returned!"

"Yes."

"Where are the rest of your men?" asked Sobel matter-of-factly.

"In the valley, waiting for my signal" said Shapira. "Where are the rest of your people? Did you find somewhere to stay?"

"Yes. We can go there" said Sobel cautiously "but it will be difficult in the dark."

"Is there a road?" asked Shapira. Sobel ignored him and stared out into the valley looking for the column.

"They are on the other side of that hill" said Shapira, to satisfy Sobel's obvious curiosity. "Now how do we get to your people?"

"There is no road that goes there from this place. I can show you the way but it would be better to wait for morning."

Shapira had no intention of doing that. "Is De Jong still in charge?"

"Yes, among others, including myself" Sobel shot back. "I led a workers union—I ran the Jewish government in the Lodz ghetto.“

"Whatever" said Shapira in English, unmoved and annoyed by Sobel's preening. "Send Mr. Dunie back on foot to warn De Jong" ordered Shapira, switching back to German. "You'll come with us, and take us on whatever roads there are—we‘ll figure out the rest."

"What about my sentry post?" asked Sobel. His initial joy at the meeting had tumed into dismay, ordered around by the young and disrespectful foreign offieer.

"There won't be any Germans coming along here for the time being" said Shapira. "Let‘s go."

No roadway crossed the ridge upon which Sobel had stood guard. Instead he demanded that the column reverse itself and then led it on a tortuous adventure over rutted back roads that were even worse than those near Treblinka. Sobel sat in the front of Yatom's Kubelwagen while Shapira drove, trying his best to follow the man's convoluted directions in a mix of German and Yiddish. For all Sobel‘s uncertainty as to the ronte — he was from Silesia in the western Poland, not the wastes of the east—he remained sure and confident of his abilities.

Having failed to impress Shapira with his status he tried Yatom. Sobel recounted his pre-war successes and his importance to the Lodz ghetto. He declared that he was third in command of the escaped Jews, after the Dutchman De Jong and the Czech Jezek, and intimated that as a Pole, he ought to be in top dog—after all, most of the refugees were Poles, and they were in Poland.

Why asked Yatom, nearly an hour into their journey, as they drove through a tiny and nearly abandoned Polish village, was a man of such importance pulling guard duty on a lonely hill?

"Because" answered Sobel "I'm a socialist. No member of the community is above the basest duty."

"What was your profession before you became a union leader?" asked Yatom, as the men were jostled by yet another pothole in the cratered farm track

"This and that" said Sobel unhelpfully. "I'm a Macher—I make things happen; or at least I did."

"You were one of the leaders of the Jews in Sobibor?"

"Yes. I presided over the executions of the camp commander and guards after you left. De Jong wasn't really up for it" as I recall.

"He wasn't a prisoner of the camp" noted Yatom. "No" agreed Sobel. "There are differences even today between De Jong and me and the survivors of Sobibor and the refugees from the train. Wait!" yelled Sobel suddenly "turn here!"

Shapira swung the Kubelwagen to the left onto a track running between ragged beet fields. "The town is just beyond these fields and past those trees" said Sobel as they continued to bounce along. Yatom turned back to make sure the rest of the column was still in order behind him.

"What differences?" asked Shapira, suspiciously. He thought Sobel seemed a little too sure of himself. Shapira's German was better than Yatom's and he caught in Sobel‘s words and inflections the grating rhythms of an angry man.

"I‘ll explain later Lieutenant" said Sobel, making the rank sound disparaging. "We are almost there!"

They emerged through the trees into several hectares of potato plants. Across the potato fields, silhouetted against a midnight blue sky, was a small town of substantial looking houses and barns. Unusually, there was no church visible on the skyline, a sight to which the Israelis had become accustomed, no matter the size of the settlement.