FICTION Heartless Willy didn?t have to admit we wereJews. It would have been simple to lie. We could easily have passed as pure Dutch. Even the name?Frucht?gave nothing away. He had friends in high places and the Dutch would have supported us up and down the line. What did it have to do with what was in our hearts? We had no duty to tell the truth to the Commissioner. And yet Father chose to list us asJews in the Special census. Once we were on record everything followed. We lost busi- ness, our car, bank account. They even took our bicy~ cles. We had to wear the yellow star, palm sized, sewn permanently into outer garments, the word JOOD in black at the center. I was removed from school and friends and sent to an exclusively Jewish school. Then the final insult. Jews were yanked from other parts of the Netherlands and squeeZed into the Amsterdam Jew- ish Quarter and the Chernitzes were foisted on us. They were from Poland, orthodox and rural, and had somehow found their way to the Netherlands. Their nat- ural tongue was Yiddish. They spoke a garbled Dutch, larded with a Yiddish German. There were four of them, the bearded patriarch, his shawled wife, and his daugh- ters Sophie and Fanya. They lit candles Friday nights and donned prayer shawls. The father wore a Skullcap around the clock. They stained our kitchen with the cooking odors of an ancient poverty that I feared might become the stink of our own decline. They were entirely out of place. Bump into any of them and they begged forgiveness. EnrsC/auldzgen mir. Forgive me. I?m sorry. They cracked their door to see if the kitchen or bath? room was available, too timid to knock, then scurried for the room once they were sure we were out of it. They made themselves light walking down the hallway so they wouldn?t disturb us. Their quarrels were muted to whis- pers. They claimed no Space and I couldn?t find it in my heart to grant them any. I had been exiled to a cot in the second parlor and the girls had my room. ather didn?t have to give honest answers. Leo Litwai'e is a professor of creative writing at San Fransisco State University. is 170016 Waiting for the won the fewisb Book Council Award in 1970 and was recently reissued by lVayne State University Press. His story, "The Eleventh Edition? wort?'rst prize in the O'Hemy Awards in 1990. Fanya, at fourteen, was the younger of the Chernitz daughters and always in the way. I would come out of the kitchen, bump into her near the door. I?m sorry, she'd say. Forgive me. There?s n0thing to forgive, I?d say. I al- most bowled her over when I left our apartment. She was there fumbling with the key, bearing a load of gro- ceries. Excuse me, I?m sorry, and I said, Save your sor- rys. Use them when you really make a mess. She wore a shapeless smock and a full skirt. Her head was covered with a black shawl. She had a ruddy, peas- ant complexion. I-Ier cheeks were plump and fiery red. She came into the kitchen, saw me there. I told her, ?For godsakes, don't jump!? Mother called me to her room. ?Does it cost you anything to offer a little sympathy? They?ve lost everything. They don?t choose to be here. I asked what they?d lost. They had a better place here with us than they?d ever had. ?What's lacking in you, Willy? Don?t you have a heart?? ?That?s right, I said. ?That?s what I don?t have.? ?Heartless Willy. She tried to tease me into a lighter mood but it was an awful time and I wasn?t up to it. ne afternoon I said to hell with it and returned to the old school and waited for Jan and Nick. They wore the school uniform?green jacket, white shirt, black tie, black pants. They came down the stone stairs, shouldering each other and laughing, Jan solid and wide, Nick'taller, leaner, very blond Dutch boys. ?Look at the lucky dog, Jan said, ?outside while we're stuck inside. No wonder they call them the Cho- sen People.? It disturbed Nick that I wasn?t wearing the star. ?It?s not only you who take the risk. It?s six months in West- erhorck if we don't report it. ?Report me, Nickie. Maybe there?s a reward.? ?There are Nazis around. You know that. ?It?s probably a big reward. Report me. It?s even a crime if I hire you to wipe my ass. Jan clapped his forehead. ?Damn! That used to be easy money. Well, you'll finally have to learn to do it yourself. Nick didn't like the insinuation that he might betray me. ?Everyone should wear the star, Jew and gentile alike.? 25 -v-w?rV-g?f?rrfv?W - ?Volunteer, Nickie. Someone has to be first.? ?\Would you do it for me?? won?t even do it for myself.? They came to see me the next day but there were too many Chernitzes around and I didn?t invite them in. They could be in trouble if someone recognized us. We walked to a cafe where we weren?t known. They asked about the Jewish school I attended. Noth- ing special, I told them. Just like the Dutch school but under different auSpices. The same history, the same math, the same literature. The curriculum didn't ac- knowledge the invasion or occupation or the exclusion of the Jews. The old history continued without us as did the old literature and the eternal calculus and foot- ball and gymnastics. The instruction was still directed toward examinations and the unveiling of destinies. Father, too, warned me about wearing the star. appre- ciate your outrage, Willy, but please, son, don?t be foolish. He said, please, because it had become a battle when- ever he tried giving me advice. We were both dismayed by our con?ict. I'd been his greatest fan and we were unused to the bad feeling that had developed between us. Till things went wrong for him he?d always been adored. His friend Vanderzee once said to me, ?When Peter Frucht enters a scene it becomes a party. It doesn?t matter how dark it was, everything lights up.? At the beginning of the occupation something seri- ous happened to his back and the doctors couldn?t find what was wrong. The illness Spread to his legs. The one time boulveardier, a graceful dancer, was barely able to walk with a cane. There had been a plan to get to Eng- land via Portugal. It would have meant a hike in the Pyran?es but his illness made ?ight impossible. When he compounded the damage by listing us as Jews on the census questionnaire I felt betrayed. I told him I knew it would be helpful to the Nazis ifI wore the star. Then when the time came to send the Jews to market they could easily sort me out from the Jans and Nicks, but I didn't intend cooperating. ?Forgive me, I said, in the voice of Isaac Chernitz. ?Forgive me, I?m sorry, it?s just not in me to be one of your good Dutch citizens.? other worked out the cleaning assignments and the schedules for bath and kitchen. The rules and schedules made it impossible for the Chernitzes to feel at home; nonetheless, Isaac Cher- nitz was endlessly grateful. If it wasn't for our generos- ity he and his family would be in a Camp. He fattened every statement with, ?I?m sorry,? and, ?Forgive me, Sir.? He would never say anything to offend us. Ifhe misspoke he apologized. ?Ezzi?sbula?z'gerz min I speak the language poorly. I don?t have the exact word.? 26 VOL. 7, No. 6 I mimicked him when he was gone. ?Excuse me, Lords and Masters. Wipe your feet on me if it pleases you. And if there?s afterward dirt on your feet, forgive me, I?m sorry. I?ll lick them clean. I put a whine in my voice, and the cringing, submissive smile of a lesser dog on my face. ?You are cruel,? Mother said. It was the hypocrisy I found intolerable. The man had abandoned his public voice for a wheedling baritone. At night we heard the authentic Chernitz sound from their bedroom, a muffled bass thunder to which there were docile soprano responses. In his own insignificant space he was a despot. I knew Mother was right and that they deserved my compassion, but Fanya was unbearably callow. She saw me as the young god of the house. It was a stupid read- ing of how things were in occupied Amsterdam where I had to be inside by eight in the evening. Her skin red- dened at any provocation. A compliment from Mother made her blush. If I met her coming out of the bath- room she blushed. happened to see her on the street with groceries she turned red, lost her voice, stumbled. She had a klutzy way of walking, as if she was scared to be in anybody?s way. She seemed stupid and vulnerable and what chance did a Jew have in 1942 if he wasn?t on his toes? Her station in life was to be somebody?s house- maid or the mother of a flock, a step above a barn ani- mal. This condemned Jew had usurped my bed and my impulse was to shove her out of my way. Iwas a miserable kid and no one can deSpise me more than I despise the memory of that boy. I tell how I was in order to make clear that when my feeling changed it was not something I desired. One day I was supposed to be in school and instead went to the old neighborhood. I waited forJan and Nick. Jan?s mother saw me. ?Don't be crazy, Willy. People know you around here and there's one or two I don?t trust.? She told me to go home and put on the star and not let any of the green police Spot me loitering. These were homespun Dutch Nazis, not Germans. So I went home where I wasn?t expected and there was Fanya, alone in the apartment, in the kitchen wash- ing her hair. Her blouse was off. She wore a tattered chemise, her hair down. She gathered her hair, held it bunched, looked at me. It was a Fanya I never anticipated, roseate skin, soft shoulders, an already womanly bosom, an unexpected grace in the slow turn to look at me. ?My mistake,? I said. ?Forgive me.? ?No harm,? she said in a saucy tone. forgive you.? She condescended to forgive me and I stewed about it and later I followed her out in the street, thinking I?d stop her and make clear she had no right to saucy looks that challenged the way things were between us. She wore a shabby cape and a plain shawl and big shoes. She took clumpy, peasant strides. She entered a bread queue, at the end of a long line of ragged pe0ple, most of them from the East. There was a dumb quality to their waiting. They wouldn?t dream of corn- plaining about whatever miserable pittance they received. It wasn?t only language and dress and bearing that marked them, They carried identity cards of low priority and were first in line to be sent East for la- bor. I passed her by and said nothing. I didn?t return home that night until long after curfew. I put my folks through hell but I couldn?t bear the idea of that crowded apart- ment with its smells and its dampening gloom, light kept low to conserve electricity. I entered the dark corridor, barely lit at either end. The folks were in the front par- lor. The Chernitzes were in the kitchen at the opposite end. The kitchen door opened, a halo of light around a shadow figure. Fanya came toward me, headed for the bathroom. waited for her to pass and again that saucy look?you are not my mastermand I grabbed her arm. I meant to shake her up. She whispered, ?Not here!? and somehow the scuf?e became an embrace. ?Please, Willy, she-said, as if there was an understanding, ?not here.? ?No one will see. No one will hear. A kiss. She pushed me off. ?Find a place and I?ll do anything.? She invented my feeling, put desire in my heart and everything was changed between us. Every inch of that apartment came alive as I searched for a place where we could be alone. There always seemed to he a Chernitz around or one of my folks. We bumped in the corridor and greped. ?Not here,? she said. I grabbed her in the kitchen. ?This is crazy. They?re in the next room.? The nights were forbidden. Curfew began at eight and lasted until six in the morning. I said to hell with curfew, let?s go out. She said, we?ll be caught. Jews weren?t allowed in the parks night or day and with her clodhopper shoes and heavy stockings and shapeless dress and drab shawl we would probably have been spotted immediately. I visited them in the kitchen and Chernitz saw I was interested in Fanya and became easier with me. He said, wasn?t it my good fortune not to have Jewish features? regular rbagetz, no, Mamma?? Mamma nodded eagerly. I told him I was a certified Jew with yellow stars sewn onto my outer garments. Jew, yes, but a lucky Jew with blue eyes and light hair and a small schnoz. When you walk in the street who can tell there goes a yidel?? ?I?m not a yidel. ?Forgive me. I beg your pardon. My language is not exact. I mean it?s very fortunate for you that you look to be a regular Dutch boy. I couldn?t hear her in the company of her parents. I saw his eyes and nose and toadying smile mirrored in her face. The beaming old lady?moon faced, massive bo- somed, enormous hips?~was er inevitable blossoming. Then a touch in the hall and Iwas again snared. Iwanted to borrow clothes fromJan?s sister?a school uniform, dark blue pleated skirt, white blouse, tan blazer jacket. Fanya with her hair up, wearing a school beret, could pass for Dutch. ?1 can?t do it. They?ll find out as soon as I Open my mouth. 7" "ti a ?You don?t have to say a word. We?ll slip into Jan?s room. His mother won?t even see us.? ?Forgive me. I can?t do it.? One day I cut school, returned home and for once ev- eryone but Fanya was gone, no Mother, no Dad, no Chernitzes. I pulled her into the bathroom and latched the door. She begged me to stop but I kept on. She asked did I love her and I said with all my heart. ?Then, please, Willy. Not here. This is not the place.? ?Where is the place? Anywhere in the Netherlands?? I pulled aside her dismal clothes while she braced against the wash basin. Blouse and skirt gathered at her feet. She wore heavy, dark stockings with frayed garters. ?You love me then?? Yes, I repeated and then, unbidden, Ilove you, Fanya. I kissed her breasts. I lay my face against sweet plump flesh that had never before accepted such intimacy and would never again. Before we were done her sister So- phie pounded on the door. ?Are you in there, Fanya?? I?d only heard Chernitz servile and ingratiating, but that night he unleashed Yiddish tirades, some of which FICTION 27 - JWI. I understood. He called her the names of animals. Cow! Ass! Wild hyena! She had brought shame on his head. Mrs. Chernitz called her Stupid! Idiot! Born Yesterday! She wailed like a child. Chernitz came to our parlor. He ignored me and spoke to Father. This wasn?t his home. Our language wasn?t his language. He could understand if we re- garded him as a fool and a clown. When he looked at himself through our eyes he saw a beggar with no claim to dignity. Nonetheless, though he was dependent on our goodwill and had every reason to be grateful for our hospitality, he refused to be treated with contempt. Father said, ?Isaac, Ihave the greatest respect for you.? Chernitz had prepared his speech and spoke with clarity. He said he wasn?t an ignorant man. He?d gone to cheder, studied Torah and Talmud. Without any other schooling he?d learned bits and pieces of six languages. In Yiddish and Polish and Russian he was fluent. He knew Hebrew, of course, and a base German. His Dutch was passable. Dad said he welcomed the Chernitzes into our fam- ily. Isaac was like a brother and Bessie a sister. ?It?s true,? Chernitz said, ?that we are one peOple, the Chernitzes and the Fruchts. All the more shameful to be slighted by one of your own. From the goyim I ex- FIGHTING BACK HAROLD WERNER I. .r VA haven for Jen's. AT 8 ETTER BOOKSTORES COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY PRESS TO ORDER. CALL OR CREDIT CARDS ACCEPTED DEPT. T33. 135 SOUTH BROADWAY I NY 10533 TEL: 0 FAX: [500! 94-1-1844 EROE A MEMOIR OF JEWISH RESISTANCE IN WORLD WAR II EDITED BY MARK WERNER FOREWORD BY MARTIN GILBERT 272 pp., 15 photos, 8 maps, $24.95 pect nothing more. In another time, Father said, the children would have had a proper courtship. In these terrible times, old tra- ditions were neglected. Still, wasn?t it a small comfort that such fragile human feelings between boys and girls survived? ?To me it?s no comfort.? ?Forgive them, Isaac. It?s youth. They?ll get over it.? An easy thing for a man without a daughter to say. Father had the highest regard for Fanya, a gentle, lovely, young woman, exactly the kind of daughter he would cherish. He gave Chernitz the impression that a declaration of a formal connection was only a matter of time and after Chernitz left Mother bawled him out. ?They?re children, for godsakes, Peter. How could you let the man think they?re engaged?? ?What difference does it make? Let the poor fellow think whatever brings him comfort.? It was his Opinion that the Chernitz prospects were dim. They were for- eigners with no useful skills, bound to be deported East. I told them I regretted what happened and it wouldn?t happen again but I refused to be connected to the Cher- nitzes and their bleak destiny. Mother said, ?Heartless Willy. You hurt people so. I said it wouldn?t happen again, but I couldn?t forget New in EUROPEAN PERSPECTIVES: A Series in Social Philosophy and Cultural Criticism, Lawrence D. Krilzman and Richard Wolin, Editurs ASSASSINS OF MEMORY ESSAYS ON THE DENIAL OF THE HOLOCAUST PIERRE VIDAL-NAQUET TRANSLATED AND INTRODUCED BYJEFFREY MEHLMAN A passionate look at revisionism?s attempt to deny the existence of Hitler?s genocide. While exposing the perverseness of this trend, Vidal- Naquet questions whether spreading such evil ideas is acceptable and should be tolerated. Available in January, 224 pp., $27.50 REMEMBERING IN THE KLAUS BARBIE TRIAL AND CRIMES AGAINST HUMANITY The Jews did not passively bow to Hitler as ALAIN FINKIELKRAUT Werner?s extraordinary memoir makes per- INTRODUCTION BY MICE fectly clear. Despite almost insurmountable odds, Werner and his band of partisans survived in the Polish forest, battling the Nazis, and rescuing and providing a safe 1w ROXANNE LAPIDUS WITH sum GODFREY brilliant and disturbing re?ection, and it has to do withfar more than the trial 0ft! single puny thug Married Barbie.? BERNSTEIN. THE NEW YORK TIMES 128 pp., 'l 9.50 Also of ARTHUR HERTZBERG "In Jewish Hertzberg demonstratefsl ba th the passion and articulate voice which has canted him his reputation." JEWISH TIMES 272 $27.95 28 TIKKUN VOL. 7, No.6 that unfinished moment when she stood naked in front of me, my mouth on her ?esh. I caught her alone out- side and she shook loose. ?If this is a pr0posal I?ll listen. If it?s not a prOposal, I won?t listen. ?You?re fourteen years old. I?m sixteen. Who are we to talk prOposals?? ?Then I?m not listening. I promised when the occupation was over and Hitler kaput, we?d marry. I meant what I said with all my heart. We went to Vondel Park, damning all the risks. There in the bushes we made love. I was dazzled by the power of my feeling. For a few moments all humiliation faded away. Afterward she cried, ?I?m lost.? How lost? Didn't I make a promise? She said, loved you from the first look.? ?I?m nothing special. ?Can?t you say something nice to me?? ?My mother calls me heartless and she?s right. ne day a notice arrived from the Jewish 0 Agency. Samuel Chernitz, his wife Bessie, his daughters SOphie and Fanya, were scheduled for rehabilitative labor in the East. What could be rehabilitated? His poor accent? His big schnoz? His yokel clothes? He had to resume a journey that began in Galicia two years before. The new move promised to be the most dire, the labor most severe, the rehabilitation ominously scrupulous. Still, they were ready when the day arrived. They wore their best clothes. Mother prepared sandwiches. They were packed and waiting when a polite Dutch police- man rapped at our door and called the roll. ?Isaac Cher- nitz? Bessie Chernitz? Sophie Chernitz? Fanya Chernitz?? He told them only one suitcase was allowed. Mother promised to send along what was left behind once she received an address. She passed some gulden to Fanya and told Bessie, ?Prepare the way. We?ll join you soon,? as though they were pioneers, headed to- ward an unexplored Eden. anya said, want to say goodbye to Willy. We didn?t say a prOper goodbye.? The policeman said a Special tram was on the way, col- lecting Jews for transport to the Central Station. ?We?ll probably have to wait anyhow. Take a few minutes.? She led me to what had been my bedroom and closed the door. ?Are we a couple?? Hadn?t I promised? She was ready for love. Here and now. The place and time were right. I pushed her away. ?When Hitler is kaput. Esau?s Curse What do they mean they won?t come to my wedding? My bride is Uncle Ishmael?s daughter. They told me to take a woman from among our kin. How was I to know she wasn?t the kin they meant? I know they despised my first wives, Adah and Oholi-bamah, being local Canaanite girls. They didn?t want me putting up my tent next to one of their altars. OK, so I didn?t take a local girl this time. I went across the river Jabbok and met with Uncle Ishmael. I arranged it all so they would approve. Why have I never understood what they want? They won?t spell it out, at least not to me, but Jacob has always understood. Jacob this and Jacob that. Why can?t you be more like Jacob? Why can?t you sit quietly and learn to read and write? Why can?t you be a good boy and follow the sheep, like Jacob? Well, I?m no sheep-follower, not now, not ever. I?m happy when I?m on my own, tracking a deer along the edge of the plain, carefully taking aim, my arrow hitting home. I?ve brought them my venison countless times. That they like, they can?t deny it, prepared with spices from Uncle Ishmael?s trading. And there?ll be more of those when I marry Basemath! Let Jacob grow beans behind your tents. Let his beans fill your old age with wind. Herb Levine Here is the worst about me. I felt to hell with the meek and their suicidal faith in the of relocation. If they chose to be blind, let them be purged. I received kisses from SOphie and Bessie. Isaac kissed me on both cheeks. ?For the time being it?s goodbye, my son. Fanya lingered behind, claiming me with brimming eyes, a loaded paper bag in one hand, her suitcase in the other. What choice did Chernitz have? He couldn?t use the information that in going East he entered hell. Without the least resistance he followed the Dutch cop, his three women trailing behind. FICTION 29 Mother said, "Don?t worry, Willy. You?ll be together again and now she?ll have time to grow up.? Mother really believed the fairy tale of relocation and rehabilitation. Thefewzlr/a Wheka published letters from those who had gone East. The letters reported hard la- bor in service to a new life. She felt, why not a new life? The old life was nothing to shout about. Rations were scant. We spent our days in queues. We had no choice, so why not take a positive attitude toward changes we couldn?t resist? Nor was the idea of redemption terrible. Work might make us bet- ter peOple. We?d grow our own food, achieve new bod- ies, become simple peasants and obedient sons. When I mocked these fairy tale beliefs she said, ?How will you survive if you believe in nothing?? I asked how she would survive if she believed in everything. Father invited me into our newly released second parlor where we could Speak alone. ?Willy,? he said, rejoice in you. I take comfort in your skepticism. I know when an op- portunity comes you?ll have the courage to seize it. It was then I asked why he?d listed us as Jews on the census questionnaire. Did he feel obliged to be a good Dutch citizen? What else could I admit to, Willy? We?re connected fore and aft to generations of Fruchts. The sign is in our flesh. ?We?re not the only ones cut that way. He told me all was not lost. ?Be ready. A time is com- ing when we?ll need you.? if he time was over-ripe. The ghetto was being drained. The Chernitzes were at the center of a large exodus. The Green police raided the neighborhood. Their green vans pulled up after mid- night. I awoke to hear engines running, boots on pave- ment. They poured into the buildings, beat on the doors with their truncheons. ?Jews, out! They grabbed whom they could, shoved them into the vans, and a few days later returned to loot the vacated apartments. We watched them take everything portable, furniture, clothes, food. From the Goldman apartment in the building next to ours, I saw a green-clad bruiser with a swastika arm band carry a red wicker bird cage with a spectacular macaw named Smart Alec who squawked, ?L?chaim. Down the hatch.? The family Weekly advised all Jews to keep a rock sack packed. Notice of departure might come with a rap on the door and a command, ?Jews out!? Ian and Nick urged me to go underground. I could be shunted from friend to friend until they could figure how to get me to Sweden. Still, there didn?t seem any need to rush. We weren?t 30 TIKKUN VOL. 7, No. 6 in the same fix as the Chernitzes. Though Father cbuld hardly work, our friend Vanderzee kept him on the fac- tory rolls as a gem cutter, a high priority job. But the time had come when priorities no longer mattered. One morning a sound truck came through the neigh- borhood and a blaring voice ordered us to assemble in the plaza the following noon for transport to the East. Anyone absent from the roll call would be subject to summary punishment. The notice was also published in the jewz's/J Daily News with the usual promise of relo- cation and rehabilitation. It was a day we had all ex- pected and dreaded but when it arrived all plans for escape went out the window. There we were, all who re- mained, ready to go. Mother wanted us to dress in our best clothes. If sta- tus no longer counted, appearance could mean everything. She put on her brown tweed suit with black velvet trim and a brown pill box hat with a short, stiff veil, the star sewed over her heart. Father wore a striped, dou- ble breasted grey suit, a peaked monogrammed hankie in his breast pocket alongside the yellow star. I wore my usual corduroys and an old sweater. Mother begged me ro-c00perate and wear my tweed jacket with the star. won?t put on the star. They can take me as I am.? Father pleaded with us not to quarrel. She was afraid that if we didn?t get to the plaza early we might not be able to sit together. I couldn?t hide my despair at being caught with the old folks. I should have been with Ian and Nick. I told her she was wearing the wrong outfit. What use did the Nazis have for a fancy lady like her on their Polish pig farms? Did she imagine she could plant potatoes and feed pigs in her elegant brown suit? Did she think she was going to walk through pig shit in those beautifully polished shoes? ?You?re too clever for me, Willy. Why does a clever young man like you allow his foolish mother to make the decisions? Take over, Willy. I won?t object. Maybe a lit- tle responsibility will ease the burden of your bad con- science.? ?What had conscience?? ?What you did to that child, a guest in our house. She burst into tears and I told her to calm down. I?d keep my mouth shut, put on my tweed jacket, carry the luggage, make sure Father got to the Plaza on time. Father congratulated us on resolving our quarrel. ?Now everything is settled. For a few minutes we can make ourselves comfortable and discuss our future.? Mother cried, ?Is this a family of madmen? Are you trying to make me any, too? Silent all these weeks, and now?when it?s too late?you want to talk?? ?Now is exactly the time to talk. But first an urgent Continued on p. 75) LETTERS (Cozrz?z'izuedfrom p. 6) times, is simply too nerve-racking and, I hesitate to admit, too demeaning, to be sustained permanently, no matter how great one's devotion. I can?t live with always being afraid. That nowhere in this debate did the above objection arise is just further evidence of the patently heterosexual nature and bias of that debate. If the Conservative Movement is serious about its statement of nondiscrimination, then it must open up the ?oor for more dis- cussion, this time including their homo- sexual sons and daughters, colleagues and friends. Anything less will render their fine statements empty rhetoric. Dawn Rose Jewish Theological Seminary New York, New York SYRIA To the Editor, Larry Cohler misrepresents my po- sition on Syria. My argument in the New l?brl? Haze: Op-cd lasr July was precisely that in order to ?drive a hard bargain the Syrian-American rap- prochement under the Bush adminis- tration must be slowed down through congressional pressure, and that one such form of pressure would be for SenatorJohn Kerry to resume the (in- definitely postponed) hearings he had planned on Syrian involvement in nar- cotics and terrorism. Cohler, on the other hand, does not supply even one example in his Tz'Hemz article of how the United States should be more forceful in its dealings with Syria, save for a casual aside that the latter?s refusal to abide by the last ac- cord requirement or redeploy forces from Beirut to the Beltaa should be more vigorously opposed. Cohler urges us to not look at As- sad as another Saddam. I fail to un- derstand what moral distinction Mr. Cohler finds between the two mass- murdering Ba?athist dictators. Mr. As- sad is arguably a shrewder political leader. His mass executions have been largely domestic. He has ventured be- yond his own borders into Lebanon and, in 1973, against Israel. He has a far better instinct for self-preservation and has, since 1973, usually adhered to the written and unwritten agreements he has made with Israel. Mr. Cohler is pleased with the As- sad regime?s new policy allowing Jews to emigrate. And he warns against Is- rael losing what might be a historic op- portunity. I have no disagreement. If the Rabin government reaches an agreement with Syria involving territo- rial concessions on the Golan, that is fine with me. But Assad is playing an American game that Mr. Cohler refuses to see, or discuss. The rewards reaped by Assad include a virtually friction- less, de facto annexation of Lebanon; a massive re-arming involving chemical weapons, Chinese and North Korean long-range and unconventional war- head-ready SCUD missiles, tanks and planes. The missile buildup, de- scribed by ultra-dove Matti Peled to me as a significant strategic danger for Israel, is dismissed by Mr. Cohler as a . ?serious current effort to achieve some measure of deterrence.? Mr. Cohler ignores assessments like the Washington Institute for Near East Policy?s report, written by, among oth- ers, Clinton campaign adviser Michael Mandelbaum, that ?the hostile nature of the Syrian regime? including its sup- port for terrorism and its expansionist policies in Lebanon, ?make it, at best, a severely limited participant in the peace-making. The report recom- mends a U.S. policy not of "rapproche- ment but rather containment, while his policies are tested. Only if Assad changes Syria?s behavior, in all these areas, will he be a serious candidate for peace-maker. Fortunately, if Bill Clinton wins, the next administration will be committed to opening the Syrian file in connec- tion with Pan Am 103; to backing a full Syrian withdrawal from Lebanon as well as to the peace talks. Arguing for a harder line toward Damascus from Washington is quite consistent with supporting a Syrian-Israeli deal based on UN resolution 242. It would be ironic if Ii'zlzl?un, which championed President Bush?s linkage of loan guar- antees to Likltud?s settlement policies, failed to support a similar two-track approach with regard to Syria, a regime which claims far fewer (if any) of its loyalties. U.S. policy should iso- late and oppose these elements of Syrian policy which contradict the peacemaking goal, while simultane- ously encouraging Damascus to stay at the table. David Twersky Washington, DC. HEARTLESS WILLIE p. 30) trip to the bathroom.? ?There?s no time!? but he was already on his way with- out his cane, bracing against the wall. Traffic downstairs had started and we heard the sound of motors. A convoy of trucks entered the Plaza, car- riages mounded with camou?age canvas. Trucks! She had thought we were going by tram like the Chernitzes. ?How will he manage in a truck?? We heard a crash in the toilet. ?Peter!? He came out and collapsed in a chair. He said noth- ing had happened, a slight accident but he was fine. He told her to sit down and listen. He promised to be brief. ?Admit what you know in your heart, Helen. There?s no relocation. Once we go downstairs we?re finished.? ?Everyone?s downstairs. In seconds they?ll come for us.? ?Let them come. You won?t be here.? ?Where will I be?? ?You?ll be next door, at the Goldman?s.? ?How will I get there, you crazy man? You expect me to fly?? The Goldman apartment was across the airwell from ours, boarded up since the Goldmans were sent East. He had waited till the last moment to reveal his plan. Solomon, the custodian of the building next door, had TIKKUN VOL. 7, No. 6 75 agreed to unlatch the shuttered window of the Goldman apartment. He?d brought over a ladder and the ladder now Spanned the airwell, frOm our bathroom to the Goldman?s. We were to cross over and hide in the va- cant apartment until the transport left. Vanderzee would see that we got to England. It was all arranged. ?You made plans and said nothing to me?? ?It's arranged. There?s nothing to discuss.? ?You expect me to walk on air into the Goldman?s?? ?With Willy to help it will be no problem. ?And how will you get across?? ?You heard the easy part. Now the hard part. One of us has to stay and explain where the others are. I?m the logical one because there?s no way I can cross over to the Goldman?s. Our only chance-is to separate.? ?Never!? ?Think clearly, Helen. Vanderzee will see that you get to England. There you?ll find my cousin Landesman and, I promise, in a few weeks we?ll be together.? ?How can that be?? ?Landesman is rich. Money makes everything possi- ble. I assure you, it?s arranged. ?No, she said, ?If you cross on the ladder, I'll cross on the ladder. If you go down to the Plaza, I?ll go down to the Plaza. If you go East, I'll be on your heels.? ?There?s no time for discussion. We have to move right now, this second.? ?If Landesman can rescue one he can rescue two.? The loudspeaker warned that anyone who didn?t come down immediately would be severely punished. It was his intention from the beginning to come around to me. ?It has to be you, Willy. You're our only hope. He wanted me to cross over to the Goldman apartment by my- self and set in motion the arrangements for their rescue. She sloughed off the fantasy of Polish farm life in an instant. She begged me to obey my father. ?Go now, Willy. For our sake, go.? They hustled me into the bathroom. The window was wide open. A wooden ladder extended across the air- well into the Goldman apartment. The shutter had been left ajar by the obliging janitor. Father stuck a roll of bills in my pocket and pushed me to the window. ?We?ll be together in a few weeks. ?And the relocation?? fairy tale.? I climbed on the commode, thEH climbed down again and held them both. She said. ?Quick! They?re coming!" We heard them beating on doors on their way upstairs. ?They?ll call my name at the roll call.? Father said he would tell them I left on an earlier transport. ?They want this business finished. They won?t investigate. 76 VOL. 7, No. 6 They hammered on our door and father shouted, YOUR ON THE I stooped under the window, crawled out on the un- steady ladder, three fioors up. It was only a few feet to the Goldman?s. The bottom of the airwell was loaded with debris. I saw a stuffed animal, perhaps Hanna Goldman?s teddy bear. I crossed on hands and knees, stepped down into the Goldman?s bathroom. Father pushed my suitcase out on the ladder and I brought it in. The ladder crashed on the debris below. COMING, YOU GOT NO Mother strained to pull down the window, her hat awry, the brown jacket of her suit streaked with grime from the outer sill. ?Take care, my lovely boy, and that was the last I saw of her. To stay alive I crawled a few feet through air into a bare room infiltrated by slats of light coming through the seams of a closed shutter. I stayed until all sound stopped. In my dreams, Fanya says, ?Find a place and I?ll do anything.? I run after the tram. I catch it before it reaches the Central Station. I yell, ?Get off! There is no relocation.? She pats the seat reserved for me and fifty years later I still lack the heart for the journey. ?Heartless Willy, how will you survive? and I say, ?Not well, Mother,? and ask to be forgiven. Forgive me, Mother, forgive me, Father, forgive me, Fanya and Isaac and Bessie and Sophie, but the abandoned dead give me no relief. l:l Jaws AND LATINOS (Continued from p. 48) Jews also need to support social and economic poli~ cies that enable the Latino community to participate freely in the political process. In New York, such poli- cies include programs to encourage jobs, provide ade- quate housing, and foster protective rather than abusive policing. It also means recognition of the importance of Latino culture and language. Hispanics must have an equal voice in the political discussion. Thus, when 25 percent of the city's residents are HiSpanic, they must be seen and heard. While eq- uity cannot be ensured by a quota system, it is never- theless a fact that having someone else Speak for you is at best ventriloquism, not true voice. Progressive Jews may not revel in the defeat of Solarz, but we can nonethe- less celebrate the election of Nydia Velazquez. Finally, Jews should reject the ?look out for number one" vision of American ethnicity, the conservative ca- nard that if we let ?them? in, there won?t be room for us. There is a venerable tradition in Jewish thought for