Love and Treasure by Ayelet Waldman

moment, and he hesitated, reminded once again of the shameful errand on which he’d come.
    When they reached his truck, the rabbi put a restraining hand on his arm.
    “Jack,” he said. “What I said inside about lending a hand. I wonder. If your hand was needed, would you lend it?”
    “Sir?”
    “If I were to call on you someday to help our poor Jewish brethren, could I count on you?”
    And though he didn’t know for what he was being asked, or even if the question was actual or rhetorical, Jack said, “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”
    “I knew it,” the rabbi said. “I knew you were a righteous man.”
    Jack thought of all he had done in battle, of the dozens, maybe hundreds, of men he’d killed, of the orders, rules, and regulations he followed no matter what he thought of them, followed them because they were his job and his duty. And yet, despite all that, though “righteous” was not a word he had ever used to describe himself, he realized at that moment that righteous was all he’d ever wanted to be.

• 6 •
    MONTHS PASSED, THE WEATHER TURNED , and Jack continued to spend his evenings and rare days off with Ilona and his days as a glorified quartermaster’s clerk, processing requisition orders from U.S. generals throughout Land Salzburg, all of whom, it seemed, were in need of carpets and china, linens and tableware. He filled the orders and kept his records, periodically expressed his objections to his superior officer, and waited for someone to do something about it all. And then, finally, one day it seemed about to end. He was sitting at his makeshift desk, writing a letter of recommendation for Private Streeter, who was applying to pharmacy college in Albany in anticipation of his release, when the warehouse door creaked open, and Lieutenant Colonel Price strode through, a crowd of civilians in his wake. There were five in all, a small clutch of older men in brushed and mended suits and hats, and one younger man, taller than the others, elegantly attired, with watchful eyes. Bringing up the rear was Rabbi Bohnen.
    “Lieutenant,” Price began, “I’m going to need you to—”
    “If I might have a moment?” Rabbi Bohnen said. “I’d like to introduce Lieutenant Wiseman to our guests.”
    Not used to being interrupted by an officer of lesser rank, but nonetheless respectful of the chaplain’s role, Price pressed his lips together and nodded.
    “Lieutenant Wiseman, this is the delegation from Hungary, emissaries of the Jewish community of Budapest come to review the contents of the train.”
    Finally! Jack thought. “ Jó napot ,” he said.
    The Hungarians exclaimed and began speaking to him in a rush of Hungarian, but Jack had to hold up his hand. “That’s about all I know,” he said.
    “It’s more than I do,” the rabbi said. “Jack, I also want to introduce you to Gideon Rafael, a member of the political department of the Jewish Agency, from Eretz Yisrael.”
    Gideon Rafael was the first Jew from Palestine that Jack had met. He looked nothing like the sunburned orange growers, the socialist hikers in climbing shorts, who populated the Palestine depicted in the pages of his grandparents’ Yiddish newspapers. Broad across the shoulders, dressed in a crisp white shirt and an impeccable gray flannel suit, Rafael looked every inch the European diplomat.
    Price took over at this point and instructed Jack to show the Hungarians through the warehouse. Before they set off, however, he pulled Jack aside.
    “You got your wish, Wiseman. But … well. Discretion. The better part of valor and all that.”
    “Yes, sir,” Jack said, understanding that he was to make no mention to the visitors of the items decorating the living quarters of the brass. He didn’t care. Now that these men had arrived, it would not be long before everything would have to be returned and sent on its way, back to Hungary where it belonged.
    He led them to the first aisle. He pointed out the crates and boxes, and