CHAPTER 2

By the time the weary band returned to the perimeters of the kibbutz it was near midnight. From some distance away, while still in the hills, they could hear the explosives set by the Arabs being detonated by the kibbutzniks. Later, when they reached the road in the still reverberating silence, they could hear the mutterings of the Shapira generator.

Inside the walls, they saw that the lights of the meeting hall, inside and out, were burning.

"They're worried about us, I suppose," Aaron growled. "As if we can’t take care of ourselves!"

"They may have visitors," Captain Wingate said.

"You knew people were coming?" Aaron demanded, but the Captain only shrugged in answer.

Before they reached the compound, Chaim Shapira, alerted by the perimeter guard, met them outside. He was immediately concerned about David, as if related as much by blood as by marriage – and waited until the doctor had cleansed and bandaged the wound and pronounced David out of danger before telling Aaron and Wingate of the morning’s momentous events.

"The Turus are here," he announced on the way inside. Then after pouring them each a glass from his favorite bottling of the kibbutz’s wine, he said, "They have converted to our faith. They are now Jews!" And lifting his glass, he shouted "L'chaim!" draining it at a swallow.

"Slowly, Chaim, one day you'll choke yourself," murmured his wife, Rebecca, who had come into the room.

"L'chaim," Aaron managed, and drank from the wine -- which he found heavy and astringent, not at all like the sweeter liqueurs he favored -- before he dared voice the shock he felt. "But they're Japanese!”

Chaim smiled. "And you think God is a Semite, like yourself?"

"It's not that," Aaron protested. "They have their religion -- why would they want to take on one so ...so..."

"Special?" Wingate offered.

"You can ask them that yourself," Chaim replied. "Right now they're at prayer, and then there’ll be a small celebration. But they need rest, especially Kenzo -- "

"Kenzo's here too?" a delighted Aaron interrupted..

“-- who is somewhat indisposed," Chaim continued. “His circumcision, unlike his father's, was rather painful, and – “

"Kenzo's become a Jew also?" Aaron asked, now dumbfounded. "Isn’t he in training to become an officer in the Imperial navy?”

“Why should that be a problem?” Chaim asked. “We worship God, not men.”

“But don’t the Japanese consider their Emperor to be divine?” Aaron asked.

"The Old Testament is clear – thy shalt not worship any Gods before me,” Wingate said.

“Only those participating in the ceremony -- and the Shapira family, which now includes you, Aaron – and Captain Wingate, will know,” Chaim said. “Agreed?”

All there nodded, and proceeded to the Schapira house, where cakes and wine were to be eaten in celebration, Rabbi Spanbock led the assembled -- now every one a Jew save one, even though a professed Zionist -- in prayer. Then turning to the Turus, the Rabbi asked: "Have you chosen names for your new faith?"

"We have," Mashima replied, equally solemn.

"What name have you chosen?" the Rabbi asked.

"Abraham," Mashima replied.

"You are now Abraham, father of many nations," the Rabbi said. He turned to Nobuta. "And what name have you chosen?"

"Ruth," Nobuta replied.

"You are now Ruth, mother of great men," the Rabbi said, and turning finally to Kenzo, he asked: "What name have you chosen?"

“Jacob,” Kenzo replied, this time his hesitation so brief as to be almost imperceptible, even to himself.

"You are now Jacob, giver of bread to his brother," the Rabbi announced, and blessed the three new converts in Hebrew.

"Now give me some bread, Jacob," Aaron bellowed, after the amens. "The sweet rolls there, with the raisins -- for now I am truly your brother, am I not?"

Everyone at the festive board laughed except Wingate. His slight smile was attributed to his British reserve. But of them all, he alone had noted Kenzo's hesitation. And he could not help wondering which of the two named, if it came down to it, would prove stronger, Jacob or Kenzo?

Wingate turned to Aaron, who was describing to Kenzo the firefight with the marauding Arab band.

"You're a real warrior, Aaron," Kenzo said. "In another time, had you been born Japanese, you might have become a samurai."

"You really think so?" said Aaron, flattered.

"And if you survived," Wingate said dryly, "you might work your way toward becoming a daimyo. Would you excuse us, Kenzo?" he asked. "I have some military matters to discuss with Aaron." Kenzo bowed, and went off to join the others.

"A daimyo?" Aaron wondered.

"A feudal lord," Wingate said.

Aaron snorted with laughter. "Well no daimyos among the Jews. Here everyone's his own boss!"

"That must change," Wingate said. "You already have leaders some are willing to follow -- but you must have many more leaders skilled in tactics and planning if you hope to survive the coming war."

"There's a war coming?" Aaron asked.

"Hitler has just appointed himself War Minister," Wingate said. "What clearer signal of his intentions do we need? Even now, in Spain, he and his puppet, Mussolini, are testing weapons and training officers. If we are not to fall behind, we must do the same."

"We?" Aaron snapped. "We already have all we can handle keeping you British off our backs with one hand and fighting the Arabs with the other. If that German maniac keeps you occupied in Europe, so much the better!"

"Aaron, my fiery young friend, please try to understand," Wingate said. "Do you really think, once Hitler makes his move, that he'll ignore the Middle East? Modern war runs on oil. The Germans and the Italians will be over here before you know it. We either survive together -- or go down together!"

"Even if you’re right, I don't see there’s much we can do to prepare for it," Aaron said, shrugging. "We have to fight with whatever weapons we can get, learning as we go."

"That simply won't do," Wingate said. "Not any longer. Luckily, your top people -- at both the Jewish Agency and the Haganah -- agree with me."

"You're in touch with the Haganah?" Aaron asked, startled, the illegal Haganah supposedly out of bounds for a British officer.

"I'm an intelligence officer on special assignment with them," Wingate said. "They agree with my evaluation. As I told you, they’ve given me approval to train a cadre of volunteers with leadership potential. In Spain, to answer your earlier question.”

" Spain?" Aaron murmured.

"Both sides in the Civil War there are using the very latest equipment," Wingate said. "The revolutionary forces under Franco are supplied by the Germans; the government mostly by Russia – though certain other democratic countries are sending money, supplies, and even men."

"Isn’t the Spanish government Communist?" Aaron asked.

"It's a republic, with a popularly elected government," Wingate said. “And yes, Communists are part of it. That may be a problem later. But right now the fascists are close to taking over a country that nearly bridges the Mediterranean between Europe and North Africa, which provides a speedy route to the oil of the Middle East. If you’re interested," he finished, “you’ll have to say so now.”

" Spain, eh?” Aaron repeated. “I love flamenco music, perhaps I should buy a guitar?” And grinning, he saluted Wingate.

“I’m delighted to have you join us, but I doubt you’ll have much time for music,” Wingate replied, unsmiling, and they returned to the party.