25 – North of Boston
The North Shore Jewish Council coordinated immediate housing of the refugees and began longer-term planning to relocate people around the country in permanent housing. Lists were drawn up, lists of refugees, lists of families housing them, lists of financial contributors. The database was kept in the office of the Emergency Coordinator at the Jewish Community Center of the North Shore, in Swampscott.
The inevitable next step on the path from secrecy to media blitz took place. A press conference was called. Moishe Cohen, the Emergency Relief coordinator, was the respected chief executive officer of Walden Mills, one of Massachusetts’ last remaining textile manufacturers. Cohen stood before a bank of microphones and television cameras, reading from a prepared statement. He spoke with the barest trace of the German accent remaining from his childhood, before coming to the United States. At both sides stood rabbis, a state senator, business leaders and the inevitable musician, the interim conductor of the Boston Pops, the first Jew to hold that position since the death of Arthur Fiedler.
“First, and most importantly,” Cohen began. “Let me fervently emphasize how seriously the entire community regrets the tragic loss of life that was unintentionally inflicted in this act of liberation. Those of us involved in the planning of this action share all Americans’ shock and horror at this violence and injury. We did not plan on using such physical force and certainly never anticipated that such weapons would be used.
“We were told by certain professional persons who accompanied the passengers on those two ships that the Coast Guard boats would be disabled and distracted. We did not anticipate the means that would be used to accomplish that task. For that, we apologize. We will offer financial compensation to the families of those who were lost, at the same time appreciating with all our hearts that money can not make up for their tragic losses.
“Second, however, let there be no mistake but that what was done by this community was what had to be done. It was the right thing. What this nation is doing, what this nation is continuing to do, is wrong. Furthermore, we will continue to protest and we will continue to resist when this great nation hides its head in the moral sand and does what all of us, what all of you, know in your heart of hearts is wrong.
“Israel was established as a sacred home for the Jewish people. That home has been stolen from us by force. We demand that our government, the United States government, use all means available, all means, to restore the Jewish people’s homeland.
“A million people . . . ,” Cohen paused to wipe his eyes with the backs of both hands. He fought for control, overwhelmed by the concept of a million, another million, dead Jews. The room was silent. The audience, the Boston press corps included, held its collective breath. He continued. “A million Jews have died already, from the bomb, from the armies, from the Arabs. There are concentration camps, Jews in concentration camps, in the Holy Land. We will do everything, everything in our power to convince the United States, President Quaid in the White House, to do what is right and just in this horrendous situation.
“In what we have done already and in all future endeavors one ideal will guide us. One phrase will determine our actions. What words guide us, you may ask. What ... words?”
The elderly man stopped speaking, struggling for control of his emotions. His head rolled back as he gazed at the ceiling, as if by doing so his tears would be hidden. Both hands clenched the podium to support him under a weight of memories.
The room was hushed, even the veteran reporters did not know what to expect next, but knew, too, they had the lead story on that night’s broadcasts.
The cameras remained locked on the thin, white-haired man at the podium, his head now dropped onto his chest, too heavy for him to hold up. His eyes were closed as he fought for inner strength. Reporters wondered whether his knees would buckle under his invisible burden.
Barely in control of the tears that ran freely from both eyes, Cohen straightened his back, lifted his chin and ever-so-slowly unbuttoned the cuff of his left shirt sleeve. Standing upright now, his right hand shoved his shirt and jacket sleeves up toward his left elbow, exposing his forearm. He lifted that arm in the air, fingers spread wide, above his head. The small row of tattooed numbers on his forearm was clearly visible in the glare of the television lights.
“What words?” Cohen whispered.
His voice rose to a shout.
“Never again. Never again. Never again. Never again. Never again.”
He walked from the podium, followed by the other men, leaving the room in silence.
That afternoon all six United States Magistrates - the lowest level federal judicial officers - spent hours signing search warrants and arrest warrants based on the information already made public, names and addresses collected from newspaper accounts, from local police reports and from simple observation. The first search warrant was for the Jewish Community Center of the North Shore. All six magistrates were driven to Camp Curtis Guild to wait for more warrants to be prepared.
No efforts had been made by the Relief Committee to hide the database of refugees and families housing them. Instead, all the proper safeguards were in effect, safeguards such as making duplicate backups of the database so the information would not be lost. It did not occur to anybody to set up a system where the database could be quickly and permanently destroyed.
The FBI agents entered the Jewish Community Center at 10 p.m. and found the lights on and a meeting taking place, a meeting about relocation efforts with representatives of Jewish communities from across the country. The search warrant was shown. No arrests were made. The computers were seized, along with all disks and backup tapes. The agents left within a half hour, leaving an ominous silence behind them.
Still, the arrests later that same night were not expected. Also not expected was the visit to Verizon Communication’s North Shore business office by the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The agents displayed a most unusual court order, issued by a United States Magistrate. Telephone and internet service in seven towns north of Boston was to be disconnected from 10 p.m. to 6 a.m., no questions asked, no options available. Similar court orders were served at the business offices of cellular telephone providers north of Boston. All cell towers were to be shut down from 10 p.m. to 6 a.m. By the time the telephone companies’ attorneys could protest the court order the next morning, it was history and phones were back in service.
The seized computers were carried to the Winnebago used by the FBI as its mobile command center. The database of households and refugees was quickly found and sent by secure wireless email to Camp Curtis Guild and to the federal courthouse. The data was merged into pre-written search and arrest warrants, all quickly signed by the half dozen magistrates. Printers churned out nine hundred warrants.
The Attorney General insisted that the raids be polite and low key. No doors were to be knocked down, no weapons were to be displayed, no shouts, no force, no helicopters and, hopefully, no news media. Nothing much happened before the 11 o’clock newscasts ended. Nothing much happened until the telephones went dead.
Then teams fanned out through suburban neighborhoods, teams followed by hastily requisitioned school buses, teams knocking on doors, asking for people by name, asking politely, displaying arrest warrants politely. No shouting. No guns. Lots of “sirs” and “ma’ams.” After all, these people weren’t violent. They were barely even criminals. But arrests were still arrests, and arrests meant handcuffs, fingerprints, mug photos and detention, one person per family, at least for starters.