Adam Neuser

“You seem surprised to find us here,’ the man said.
‘I am,’ I said. ‘I wasn’t expecting to find anyone.’
‘We are everywhere,’ the man said. ‘We are all over the country.’
‘Forgive me,’ I said, ‘but I don’t understand. Who do you mean by we?’
‘Jewish refugees.’
[...]
‘Is this your land?’ I asked him.
‘Not yet,’ he said.
‘You mean you are hoping to buy it?’
He looked at me in silence for a while. Then he said, ‘The land is at present owned by a Palestinian farmer but he has given us permission to live here. He has also allowed us some fields so that we can grow our own food.’
‘So where do you go from here?’ I asked him. ‘You and all your orphans?’
‘We don’t go anywhere,’ he said, smiling through his black beard. ‘We stay here.’
‘Then you will all become Palestinians,’ I said. ‘Or perhaps you are that already.’
He smiled again, presumably at the naïvety of my questions.
‘No,’ the man said, ‘I do not think we will become Palestinians.’
‘Then what will you do?’
‘You are a young man who is flying aeroplanes,’ he said, ‘and I do not expect you to understand our problems.’
‘What problems?’ I asked him. The young woman put two mugs of coffee on the table as well as a tin of condensed milk that had two holes punctured in the top. The man dripped some milk from the tin into my mug and stirred it for me with the only spoon. He did the same for his own coffee and then took a sip.
‘You have a country to live in and it is called England,’ he said. ‘Therefore you have no problems.’
‘No problems!’ I cried. ‘England is fighting for her life all by herself against virtually the whole of Europe! We’re even fighting the Vichy French and that’s why we’re in Palestine right now! Oh, we’ve got problems all right!’ I was getting rather worked up. I resented the fact that this man sitting in his fig grove said that I had no problems when I was getting shot at every day. ‘I’ve got problems myself’, I said, ‘in just trying to stay alive.’
‘That is a very small problem,’ the man said. ‘Ours is much bigger.’
I was flabbergasted by what he was saying. He didn’t seem to care one bit about the war we were fighting. He appeared to be totally absorbed in something he called ‘his problem’ and I couldn’t for the life of me make it out. ‘Don’t you care whether we beat Hitler or not?’ I asked him.
‘Of course I care. It is essential that Hitler be defeated. But that is only a matter of months and years. Historically, it will be a very short battle. Also it happens to be England’s battle. It is not mine. My battle is one that has been going on since the time of Christ.’
‘I am not with you at all,’ I said. I was beginning to wonder whether he was some sort of a nut. He seemed to have a war of his own going on which was quite different to ours.
I still have a very clear picture of the inside of that hut and of the bearded man with the bright fiery eyes who kept talking to me in riddles. ‘We need a homeland,’ the man was saying. ‘We need a country of our own. Even the Zulus have Zululand. But we have nothing.’
‘You mean the Jews have no country?’
‘That’s exactly what I mean,’ he said. ‘It’s time we had one.’
‘But how in the world are you going to get yourselves a country?’ I asked him. ‘They are all occupied. Norway belongs to the Norwegians and Nicaragua belongs to the Nicaraguans. It’s the same all over.’
‘We shall see,’ the man said, sipping his coffee. The dark-haired woman was washing up some plates in a basin of water on another small table and she had her back to us.
‘You could have Germany,’ I said brightly. ‘When we have beaten Hitler then perhaps England would give you Germany.’
‘We don’t want Germany,’ the man said.
‘Then which country did you have in mind?’ I asked him, displaying more ignorance than ever.
‘If you want something badly enough,’ he said, ‘and if you need something badly enough, you can always get it.’ [...]‘You have a lot to learn,’ he said. ‘But you are a good boy. You are fighting for freedom. So am I.”
― Roald Dahl, Going Solo