"How do you think the world will view us taking compensation from Germany for all the dead millions?" I asked while Birnbaum maneuvered the Ford around a horse-drawn wagon that was trundling down the mountain road.
"It's not compensation; they're reparations."
"Don't split hairs. You know what the Germans are calling it? The Wiedergutmachung. You know what it means, literally? To make good again. You understand? The way the Germans see it, by paying us, they're expunging their guilt, wiping the slate clean. You're granting them absolution for the murder of six million Jews!"
Birnbaum snapped his head toward me. I had never seen him so livid. Not even when I had punched him in the jaw. In my peripheral vision, I saw a massive dark shape rushing toward the windshield.
"Watch it, Shmuel!" I shouted, and he slammed on the brakes, sending the car into a skid, our front bumper barely missing the rear of a truck.
The tires scrabbled for purchase on the wet road, and the car felt weightless beneath me. I was sure we were going to flip over. The car veered closer to the lip of the road. Beyond it gaped the craggy maw of the mountainside, its teeth made of sharp rocks and gnarled trees, plunging down into a deep and deadly gullet.
Birnbaum wrestled with the wheel, a shrill yelp piping from deep in his chest. As the drop filled the windshield like a panorama of death, he jammed on the brakes again. The car lurched, bucked, stalled. The front wheels no more than a revolution or two before the road gave way to nothingness.
We sat mute for several long moments, both huffing as though surprised to still be drawing air. My heart was doing a wild, drunken dance. A delirious, crazed dance of life.
I glanced at Birnbaum. His mouth hung open, and his chest heaved. His hands gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles shone through his skin.
"You okay, Shmuel?"
He blinked, closed his mouth, and let go of the wheel as though it were a live wire. Then he faced me again, and his expression was so fierce that I instinctively edged backward.
"Don't you ever—and I do mean ever—suggest that I'm absolving the Germans for what they did to our people." His voice wasn't raised, which somehow amplified the indignation in every word he shot at me. "Do you think that because you were there and I wasn't, because I only lost cousins and uncles and not siblings and children like you did, that I'm not outraged by what the Nazis did? That I'm prepared to forgive them for money? Is that who you think I am?"
"That's how the Germans see it," I said.
"We can't control what they do or what lies they tell themselves. But rest assured, none of us is ready to forgive them. Not Ben-Gurion or any of the ministers, and not me either. And if the Germans think they'll be able to buy our forgiveness, they're deluding themselves. We'll never forgive them for what they did, and we'll never forget it. And we won't let them, or the world, forget it either."
"It's wrong, Shmuel. It's setting a price on the dead. It's doing deals with murderers."
"Would it be better to let the Germans keep everything? All the property they stole? For the murderers to also be the inheritors? And what of the survivors? You know how many of them live here in Israel? How many of them are hurt physically and mentally? Shouldn't the Germans bear some of the cost of treating them? Of helping them rebuild their lives?"
"Some of the cost, but not all, right? There's no way the Germans will agree to pay what they should. Even if we put aside the six million they murdered, for whom there is no price."
"You're right; they won't. I doubt it will even come close. But it will be more than nothing, which is what we'll get if Begin has his way."
"How much is it going to be, do you know? Rumor says the government is willing to settle for three hundred million dollars. With six million dead Jews, that comes to fifty dollars a head. Quite a bargain for the Nazis, isn't it?"
"That's what the negotiations are for. But Israel will demand much more than that."
"That's good to know. I wouldn't like to think our government values Jewish life so cheaply."
Birnbaum didn't rise to the bait, though I could tell it took an effort for him to maintain his cool.
I raked a hand through my hair. All this talk about money had left the taste of death in my mouth. I couldn't believe this was reality and not a demented nightmare. And God, how I wanted a cigarette!
I said, "Why is the government so adamant on doing this now?"
Birnbaum didn't answer right away. He looked straight ahead and chewed on his lip, evidently mulling his reply. When he turned my way again, the anger was gone from his face. He looked exhausted and worried.
"I'll tell you why, Adam, but you must swear not to repeat it to anyone. If this became public knowledge, it might cause panic."
"All right," I said. "You have my word. What is it?"
"Everyone knows Israel's economy is in a bad state. But very few people realize how dire the situation really is. Reserves of foreign currency are close to depleted. It's becoming almost impossible to secure credit because there are serious concerns that Israel will not be able to pay its debts. To put it bluntly, we are on the brink of collapse, of not being able to provide the most basic needs of our citizens. I'm talking about clothing, heating, food."
"Things can't be that bad," I said.
"I'm afraid they are. It's just that so far the government has been able to hide the worst of it. But in a few months we'll be facing a catastrophe. And more Jews keep arriving in Israel, most of them with nothing. Some in the government have suggested halting or limiting immigration, but Ben-Gurion won't hear of it. He says that Israel is the home of any Jew who wishes to come here, no matter how poor, old, or sick. In short, Adam, Israel has no choice. We need these reparations, and we can't get them without talking to the Germans directly. The government appealed to the Americans to act as intermediaries, but they refused."
I glared at Birnbaum. "Funny how none of this came to light six months ago when we had an election. Of course, the government also kept secret the fact that they were talking to the Germans. Ben-Gurion wouldn't be prime minister if it was known at the time."
"You can be as cynical as you like, Adam, but Ben-Gurion has always had Israel's best interests at heart. If it became known how terrible things are, the Arabs might decide to renew the war. And then where would we be?"
"You've known all this for a while, haven't you?"
Birnbaum hesitated, then nodded.
"Yet you didn't report it in your column."
"It would have harmed Israel."
"And Ben-Gurion," I said. "It often seems the two are interchangeable in your mind."
Birnbaum tilted up his chin. "Sometimes I don't report news that can cause greater harm than good. You should know that better than anyone. I did it for you more than once."
He was right; he did. Though, of course, that was hardly the equivalent of covering up for the government. But I saw no point in telling him that. He knew it full well.
The rain intensified, rattling on the roof and hood. Birnbaum started the car and resumed driving down the road. He went slowly, visibility reduced to near nothingness.
