Chapter 1 - Complications in Cairo

After hurried, secretive and unobtrusive preparations we slipped away from South Africa, by aeroplane, early one morning in April, 1948, bound for Palestine. Even our closest friends were unaware of our destination or even of our departure.

Sitting in the lounge at the aerodrome, while waiting for the ‘plane to take off, I tried to look ‘touristy’ and non-committal. It had been difficult to keep the secret and to explain all one’s preparatory actions. My excuse had been an intention to make a trip to South West Africa for the purpose of attempting some articles on ‘Trusteeship’.

Outside on the tarmac the ‘plane’s engines were warming up and inviting to flight but inside the lounge the atmosphere was somnolent and deceptive. Huddled in coats the passengers and a few visitors were drinking coffee and playing a game of make-believe.

Amongst them eight others were on a similar venture to mine and I was aware of and also knew who they were, but neither by look or by word did I convey my knowledge: with deliberate bad manners I cold-shouldered some of my good friends. Everything was working according to plan. The venture had just begun, however, and there was a long way to go and a wary game to play.

At the briefing the previous day we had discussed strategy and procedure and coached one another in acting, amateur psychology and the necessity not to get excited. It was decided to travel openly in groups of two or three and gradually work up an overt acquaintanceship with one another as passengers travelling in the same conveyance normally do in the course of conviviality.

Two of my friends and I were supposedly two farmers and a tourist; two were engineers, two were students and two were merchants. We had to converse mainly on our particular spheres of interest. Five were to land at Rome and four at Paris and to add romantic touch we expatiated on the supposed glories of sunny Italy and gay France.

We had decreed relatives’ taboo at our departure but allowed a concession to two parents who wished to bid their son farewell, provided the mother guaranteed that she would not sob. Few mothers would sob if their son were going to Italy on vacation although they might justifiably do so if their son’s destination was Palestine where things were not too peaceful at the time and the most bloody holocaust was forecast for May 15^th when the British were due to relinquish the mandate.

Civilian aeroplanes, bound for Europe, left Palmietfontein, South Africa at the most unearthly times with special partiality for the small hours of the morning. We were due to leave at four. Nobly she withheld her tears and our departure, being eminently legal for our declared destinations, was uneventful.

So too was the first day’s flight to Nairobi where we made an overnight stop. The nine of us slowly and politely worked up an acquaintanceship with one another as we did too with the remaining passengers and some of the crew. No suspicions appear to have been aroused although the departure of several passengers at one stage of the trip, which reduced the complement to eleven of whom nine were our party, made things seem a bit queer. Especially so when the air-hostess read out the passenger-list at one of the refuelling stops and the abundance of Jewish-sounding names caused a very British businessman, bound for Cairo, to prick up his ears. Fortunately this gentleman was on very friendly terms with us and our artless conversation served to dispel any potential suspicions.

The following day a new batch of pukka, British colonial personnel, apparently ex-army, going ‘Home,’ helped to augment the passenger-list and correct the disparity of groups. They too proved most friendly.

At Nairobi the rest-house was pleasant consisting of a collection of bungalows. As arranged previously, I met a contact from the other group of the Italian party (for which I was responsible), to discuss the situation. We met in the darkness (in Africa verging on pitch black at this time of the year) between two bungalows. He was somewhat apprehensive. The fellows were talking too much on forbidden topics and might easily be overheard. They should be advised to talk more on business and farming and Italian blondes and so forth. Then we discussed the weighty topic of Lydda airport, Palestine, where we were due to refuel the following day. What was to be our reactions? In our Zionist fervour we might err by extravagant emotional behaviour. Complete indifference on the other hand would be equally inadvisable for we were Jews and could not be honestly indifferent to Israel. A happy mean was necessary.

In the midst of this discussion a noise caused us to turn around. A shape in the darkness, a few feet away, turned out to be a native servant who had apparently been listening to us for some time. Our questions evoked no reply. He knew no English or else was feigning ignorance. We immediately imagined the worst. Having woven such a web of romance around our venture we were susceptible to the most far-fetched interpretations. It was no secret that the British were doing their best to stop illegal immigration to Israel and had been keeping a watchful eye on all routes. Had we been thwarted at this early stage? Some reflection led me realise that we had been unduly alarmed. In parts of Africa there is such an abundance of cheap labour that hotels and rest houses employ many Africans to wait on guests and not only to perform numerous services for them but also to be constantly in the vicinity in case such services may be required. That was the task of our intruder. Nothing untoward happened in the future to dispute this interpretation.

The following day we continued our journey which proved to be more eventful and even mildly exiting. From Nairobi we flew over one of the expansive African lakes, Victoria, to the pretty little village of Entebbe where we enjoyed a tea consisting of liquid refreshments and an abundance of tropical fruits. Normally ‘planes fly over the Sudan and refuel there but a strike on the Sudanese railways had led to a petrol shortage and out next scheduled stop was to be Asmara and then Lydda, followed by Cairo. Headwinds at Asmara forced a change in the itinerary and after a brief stop at Malakal on the banks of the Nile (best described as an inferno somewhat redeemed by the availability of iced drinks) we flew on to Khartoum.

Here discussions of several hours’ duration were necessary before petrol could be obtained. Consequently we were unable to reach Lydda that day and landed instead at Cairo towards midnight. We had no tourist visas for Egypt, but having been given repeated and authoritative assurances that these were not necessary for a transit stop, were not unduly concerned.

Carrying our night-baggage, we queued up at the customs and immigration counter where two officials were present to attend to us. Advisedly the nine of us did not bunch together but mingled with the other passengers. The queue crawled forward as all queues generally do. Suddenly I noticed the officer direct one of our group to a nearby room at the door of which an armed policeman took up attendance. This member was followed by others of the group although two of the party were spared this procedure.

By the time my turn arrived to be interviewed I was considerably alarmed and perturbed. What would they ask me and what would I say?

            The officer was bitingly polite in tone:

            “What is your nationality?” He asked.

           

            “South African,” I replied.

            “That is not what I want to know. What is your religion?”

            “Is that important to you?”

            “Yes. Are you a Hebrew?”

There was no way that he could prove my religion but I did not hesitate to enlighten him on the subject. My friends were already in the room and I wished to be together with them whatever happened.

            “Yes, I am,” I replied, “but frankly I don’t see what concern that is of yours.”

            “Will you please wait in the room?” he asked.

I went to the room. It was the office of an air-company containing some furniture in the form of tables and chairs. My friends were sitting or standing and waiting. If we had wished we could have spoken our South African language, Afrikaans, which the Egyptians would not have understood. It might have made them suspicious, however, and we were eager not to give them any inkling that anything was amiss. I personally had bigger and more urgent problems in the form of a most incriminating document which I was carrying in one of my pockets. It was a slip of paper containing a note in Hebrew giving our names, the purpose of our trip and our destination. This document was to serve as a contact and identification to the underground network of the Haganah in Europe which was to pass us on to Palestine. In South Africa I had pointed out the danger of such a paper to my comrades but since this had been agreed upon as the form of identification, there was little I could do about the matter.

In that office in Cairo I made an immediate decision to destroy that note, if possible. I had some experience of Egyptians while on active service abroad in the Second World war and I was not prepared to take any unnecessary risks. On the comparatively deserted aerodrome they could easily subject us to a search and might even be emboldened to try rougher tactics.

With my one hand in my pocket and so as not to be observed I tore the piece of paper into a myriad of minute fragments. After that I tore up some other unwanted papers which I also had in my pocket and jumbled all the pieces together.

In full view of the official, who had now joined us in the room, I blatantly tore odd bits of papers into strips and smaller pieces seemingly doing so absentmindedly and trying to feign nervous, fidgety movements. Soon my immediate surrounding was littered by paper so that the mere presence of torn paper, being so widespread, would pass suspicion.

On behalf of the group and brimming with righteous indignation, I began to harangue the official and lodge complaints. He and another officer expressed their deepest sympathy and conveyed their sincerest apologies but claimed that the matter lay outside their hands and that they were merely acting on instructions. Rarely had I seen such saccharine hypocrisy. They were deriving the utmost enjoyment from our situation. Knowing and triumphant glances flashed between then and sickly smirks wreathed their brown faces. With a grammatically correct, if badly accented English they oozed apologies. Their faces and demeanour invited a blow and I am sure that most of us were itching to deliver it but the armed guards, now augmented to three, were a sufficient deterrent and our detainers were well aware of this not unimportant fact.

Speaking as the spokesmen of the group and claiming to be a lawyer by profession, I lodged the most vehement protest at the illegality of the whole proceedings. The officers replied that we were being detained until the plane left by virtue of the fact that we had no transit visas for a stay in Egypt. I claimed that the other passengers had no transit visas either. I knew for a fact that the two of our group who had been allowed to go to the hotel, after professing another religion, had the identical papers that we had and that several of the other passengers had informed me that they had no transit visas.

The official denied my accusation and refused a request to allow me to see other passports. I dilated on an international traveller’s convention which I said had been agreed to at Geneva and which had been signed by both South Africa and Egypt and allowed for reciprocal concessions. (I had heard vaguely about such a convention but to this day am not sure if there is or was such a document or agreement.) I protested that they had no right to discriminate against us on the ground of religion and that it would be easy for South Africa to apply similar measures and arrest the numerous Egyptian sailors who touched at South African ports.

They were adamant but my arguments managed to wring the admission that we were held because we were Jewish and that the relevant order had been issued by the Minister of the Interior.

At this stage, feigning severe cramps in the region of my abdomen, I was allowed to go to the W.C. duly escorted by an armed guard. On arrival there, persuading the guard to remain outside. I thankfully deposited the torn scraps of my Hebrew document down the sewerage pipes.

Meanwhile the two officers had started a systematic and thorough barrage of questions at all and sundry.

Were we Zionists? What did we think of Palestine? Did we intend going there? Why were we going to Europe? To all of which we answered satisfactorily, protesting the innocence of our motives and the purely educational and vocational nature of our journey.

We were all in excellent spirits and even somewhat too enthusiastic as one often is in difficult situation. Our good mood appeared to rattle and upset our captors who soon desisted in their inquisition.

I half-heartedly broached the possibility of seeing the South African Consul in Cairo, but did not press the matter for we did not wish to involve the South African government in our schemes. In any event we were denied access to the South African Consul and since the plane was due to leave at ten the following morning, we decided to reconcile ourselves to the hours until then and to make the most of them. A request for beds was refused, but we were allowed to obtain blankets from the ‘plane and the air-line allocated an Egyptian attendant to provide us with a meal at their expense and to enable us to obtain extras at ours. Being at this individual’s tender mercies we paid accordingly. Those who had been in the army in Egypt assured the others that this was nothing unusual.

The officials offered to take our baggage back to the ‘plane but we refused this offer, for fear of tampering, and also the offer of a warmer room. Ours was warm enough and we had visions of secret wires hidden everywhere in the other room.

That evening I learnt a new Egyptian word, ‘saba.’ Every so often the guards came and counted us and took the extra precaution of looking behind the door and under the table. They seemed to have little faith in their ability to count and their ejaculation of ‘saba!’ or seven, was accompanied by a glow of triumph.

During the remaining hours of darkness we arranged our own guards so that we should not be caught unawares. The main task of our guards, as it turned out, was to wake the Egyptian guards who regularly fell asleep. We gently shook them awake to prevent them losing their jobs.

Morning took its time in coming. We had little sleep. Tables are not very suitable as beds nor is it easy to doze recumbent in a hard chair. Our friend, the attendant, was soon on hand to take us to breakfast, after we had been allowed to go to the bathroom one by one and escorted. We were not keen to leave our luggage unattended but the chief police officer, who inspired more confidence than the two who had received us on arrival, gave his word of honour, as an officer, that our goods would not be touched. Hoping for the best we removed to some miserable little café where we breakfasted on diminutive eggs and dry chips in surroundings strongly flavoured by that queer oriental smell reminiscent of fish-oil.

Back in the room we awaited the arrival of our fellow passengers. They did not appear. Members of the crew arrived, however, to inform that some fault in the ‘plane’s radio apparatus would force a sojourn at Cairo until the tomorrow or even for another two or three days. The news came as a blow. Action was necessary. The thought of spending many more days in that room was unthinkable. We had discussions with the air-hostess and the local representative of the airline. New officials were due to relieve our ‘hosts’ and it was believed that they would be more sympathetic. They were. While waiting for them to arrive we wandered around certain parts of the aerodrome ushered like sheep by guards who, unlike their superiors, were friendly in a simple fashion. I have clear recollections of fat Egyptian senior officials complete with fez carrying and reading copies of the latest Arabic illustrated weeklies, sporting fair and luscious Hollywood cover-girls. It was somewhat bizarre.

The new officials granted a concession by allowing us to go to the main restaurant which was clean, comfortable and almost luxurious and where good food was obtainable. Our attendant was out of a job for there was no opportunity for him to operate.

While we were sipping drinks at one of the wicker tables in walked a bevy of Arab dignitaries, dressed to kill. The majority were in Arab costume and one of our officials of the previous evening was in fawning attendance. According to the local press some Arab dignitaries were on a visit to Cairo from neighbouring states of the Arab League for the purpose of discussing the ‘successful prosecution of the Holy War in Palestine.’ Here was irony indeed. Our good humour was not infectious and they glared at us until their ‘plane was ready to convey them to desert lands to inspire the crusade.

The representative of the air-line brought more news. The Minister of the Interior, having graciously granted us a temporary visa for twenty-four hours, ordered us to leave Egypt before its expiry that night. The only obstacle was that no ‘planes were due to leave Egypt that day or night. So further discussions were held with high government officials. Meanwhile the day passed pleasantly enough. Later that afternoon something eventuated. A compromise was reached. On payment of a deposit (by the company), we would be allowed to go to a hotel provided we agreed not to leave its grounds and were prepared to accept an armed guard. We gratefully agreed and went to the hotel in taxis. It was one of Cairo’s largest and most luxurious. The other passengers were sympathetic. They seemed to think that we had been detained because we had no transit visas. On our arrival they were about to set out for a trip on the Nile. We wanted a bath and amid the inquisitive gaze of everyone who could not appreciate why the noble guardian of the law trailed us, we went to our rooms.

The policeman sat himself on a chair in the passage and waited. A friend and I shared a room and having bathed and dressed we decided to go to the lounge for a drink or two. We had not reckoned with the policeman, however. He halted us and told us to wait till all the others were ready when he would accompany us downstairs. Our protests that this would take some time and that we were thirsty proved to be of no avail. He was, he said, only one man and consequently could not be in seven places at the same time.

When we were not in our rooms, the entrances of which he could watch from the passage, we would have to move together and arrange our plans accordingly. We acquiesced. The policeman was extremely courteous and friendly and, although conscientious to a marked degree, was possessed with a sense of humour. A short time previously there had been a strike of sections of the Cairo police force and he, having remained loyal to authority and the strike having failed, was due for promotion to commissioned rank. Pleasantly we teased him on his seriousness and devotion to his duties. He too apologised for the inconvenience to which we had been put but, unlike his superiors, I believe that he was sincere in his protestations. Soon all seven of us were ready and we adjourned to the terrace for drinks accompanied by our guardian who accepted an invitation to be our guest. Duty forbade him to imbibe anything stronger than lemonade, he said. An itinerant bootblack being in the vicinity, we commissioned him to polish the future officer’s boots.

Dinner was a sumptuous affair in the large dining-hall with our guardian watching from the door. Although he was willing to accompany us to a cabaret in the building, the hour for its commencement was rather late so we retired early as we were due to leave in the small hours of the morning.

Our happiness knew no bounds when we boarded the plane again. We had passed the customs with no difficulty despite vague fears that attempts might be made to incriminate us by planting articles in our baggage.

Soon we were leaving behind the sea of lights which was Alexandria, and flying over the Mediterranean. It was raining at Athens when we landed. We made ourselves as inconspicuous as possible. There were so many English-speaking people around the airport that we feared detection. We believed that the Arab network in Greece and Italy had by now been informed to watch out for us and had been provided with our personal details, culled from our passports by the Egyptians, and perhaps even with our photographs. Later we realised that our imaginations were richer than the situation there and in other places warranted.

On the last lap to Rome over the Corinth canal (to avoid the guerrilla fighting) the Aegean Sea and territorial Italy, I gave detailed instructions and advice to the other four who were travelling via Italy. On the pretext of explaining the geography of the land I sat next to each one of them in turn and a muffled voice assisted by the throb of aeroplane engines made it difficult for us to be overheard. Having spent many months in Italy before, I knew the country and its customs well.

We had decided to take the most elaborate precautions in view of our detention in Egypt and particularly in view of the impending general elections in Italy. There was a considerable communist scare at the time and talk of agents from Russia and other Eastern European countries. It was most likely that all visitors would be given more than the usual scrutiny and attention. We had no fear of being considered communists for we had no special interests in the elections but were still fearful lest our destination be revealed. On arrival at Italy we were to go to separate hotels.

We would operate in one group of two and another group of three. I, in the latter group, would meet a contact from the first group at specified times at a designated spot next to one of the pillars of the Colosseum. There arrangements would be made for travelling to Milan on the next stage of our trip.

Arriving at Rome in the sunniest of weather we completed the customs and other formalities without any trouble. Here our plans went somewhat awry. The air-company suggested taking us all to one hotel where their offices were and we acquiesced. Once arrived we all decided to remain there since it was a large hotel, but in separate rooms. The necessity for Colosseum meetings was thus obviated.

That morning the other four of our main group had flown on to Paris and we had parted with the minimum of ceremony, as planned.

I had been in Rome before as a soldier during and after the Second World War. It was not the same Rome. During the war people had been down and out but had lived strongly in anticipation of better things and improved conditions when peace and prosperity came. Now the majority of them were still down and out, but they hoped for nothing and were disillusioned and cynical and materialistic and grasping because the bubble of post-war dreams had been burst. It was awkward being a tourist. ‘Spivs’ and ‘drones’ could recognise one immediately and one was never left in peace. They were always following, offering to buy currency or sell something or perform diverse services. One had to be wary. I tried to dress more like an Italian and less like a tourist and succeeded in obtaining some peace and even in being stopped by Italian policeman who asked me where such and such a street was.

At the hotel we treated one another as casual acquaintances but met surreptitiously in one another’s rooms to plan our trip to Milan. We were eager to hurry in order to get to Palestine as soon as possible but decided to spread out departure over a few days and to catch separate trains. It was even seriously considered that I go to Milan via Genoa so as to put our opponents, whoever they might be, off the chase.

Looking back now I realise that we considerably overestimated our importance in the eyes of Arab espionage.

 I boarded a train to Milan the following day. It so happened that a very good friend of mine was getting married in Milan and I wished to attend the wedding. Plans for rendezvous with the group had been made, the meeting place to be the famous gothic cathedral. Buildings like this and the Colosseum, being always populated in their precincts with sundry and numerous citizens made a meeting of two or three people a usual occurrence.

Arriving at the station I was surprised to see two of our group on the platform surrounded by all their baggage and looking at a loss. Apparently they intended to travel on the same train as I. I ignored them and engaged in a friendly conversation with an Italian porter.

Suddenly one of the South Africans interrupted me.

           

“Excuse me, “he asked “Do you speak English?”

“More or less,” I answered, having considerable difficulty in stifling an incipient laugh.

“Perhaps you would be so kind as to help my friend and I. We want to catch the train to Milan and do not know what to do with our luggage. We would ask a porter but they do not seem to know any English and we do not know any Italian.”

“Certainly.”

I arranged matters with the porter and continued a chatty conversation with my friends. I asked them whither they were going, whence they came, whether they liked Italy or not and random questions about my land of birth, South Africa. We parted on the arrival of the train.

The train journey was fast and comfortable and as we rushed through the Italian countryside. I was amazed at the rapid reconstruction that had taken place since the war. Of some of the stations and towns and cities through which we passed I had vivid memories of three or four years back when ruins and gaping chasms of destruction met the eye.

I was happy to be in Milan. It is a city whose pulsing, throbbing vitality I love. I felt as if I had never left.

I attended the wedding and the reception for the bride and groom. There was little austerity in Italy now. In Rome I had already noticed the variety of luxury goods and foods available everywhere and at a price. The women were as pretty and as well dressed as ever, using the fashion of the ‘new look’ to the fullest advantage with attractive wasp-waist dresses.

The general election was in the air. Posters and banners slashed the hoardings and fluttered in the streets. Handbills littered the pavement and little groups in continual session on the ‘duomo’ square hawked and discussed the merits of their particular parties. Milan on the day of wedding was alive with red banners and red-kerchiefed Milanese.

Togliatti, leader of the Italian communists, was to speak. When he did, an audience estimated at more than a quarter of a million stood in the square for more than two hours to listen. The police were everywhere and in the days that followed one grew accustomed to the sight of lorry-loads of police riding around the city and making raids on various buildings.

The following day all our group had arrived and had contacted me. One of them had become acquainted with an Arab in Rome who had come to the station to see him off.

In Milan I was to deliver my ‘charges’ and myself into the safe custody of the Jewish Defence Organisation - the Haganah - who would get us to Palestine. There was one problem. I had destroyed my identity document in Cairo. How could I prove our bona fides?

It was easier than I had expected. While on active service in Italy I had taken an interest in Zionist activities and had contacts who could now identify me. My story was believed. Stage one of our ‘odyssey’ had been complicated.

We were to remain in Italy longer than we had anticipated.

Chapter 11 - Securing the Burma Road

At Sara I realised why Samson had been renowned for his strength. One must have been tough to have survived in a place so rugged, desolate, stony and dry.

We pitched camp amongst some fig-trees (with atrophied fruit) at the foot of the hill of the ruined village. Water was a problem for there was none in the immediate vicinity and supplies had to be carted daily, a fatiguing and time-absorbing task. Keeping clean occupied much of one’s time. Dan and I found a well about half-an-hour’s walk from our guns and we tried to pay it as frequent visits as possible. With a bucket that bordered on a sieve we gathered the icy-cold water in stone receptacles and bathed.

Sara village was a pile of ruins with the gaunt arches of some broken buildings still standing. The remaining rafters were rotting and a musty smell hung in the air where dirt and dust scattered with the wind.

A derelict ghost-town. Remains of shops and a little low drugstore with mortar and pestle and bottles and tins. An abundance of caves and empty, cold ovens. Books littered the floors of the dilapidated school house. Dan, in his exploring, found some good books including a 1948 edition of Sinclair Lewis’ ‘Kingsblood Royal,’ and Bennet Cerf’s ‘Joke Book!’

Sara was off the regular routes and as dead as a dodo. At night we had no lights or diversions and the only alternative, when not on duty, was to sleep.

Ravlevai, now nicknamed ‘Tom Mix,’ by virtue of a broad Stetson that he wore, substantially increased the number of guards and arranged for us to go on patrol with the infantry. He was very apprehensive lest the Arabs managed to sneak in through the large gaps in our lines. Indeed, if the Arabs had been adept at commando warfare, they could have caused considerable havoc for our forces were few in number and covered a large area.

While at Sara I spent most of my time with the Palmach, doing observation duty. Our ‘nest’ was a stone house overlooking the valley around Hartuv (through which the railway-line ran from Lydda to Jerusalem) and presenting a commanding view of the enemy lines and positions. Its only drawback was the fact that it was conspicuous and the Arabs probably knew the purpose for which we were using it. Below lay the Arab villages of Deiraban and further away Beit Jimal containing a large school of agriculture, run by Italian missionaries, and housed in a fortress-like stone building. Nearer were the historic ruins of Beth Shemes where the holy ark had once been housed in biblical times.

My main task was to find the Arab guns so that we could neutralise them. A certain six-pounder, anti-tank gun was in the habit of making things uncomfortable for our troops. We found what we judged was the location and let them have a few shells.

It was interesting watching the Arabs and their movements and feeling that they were oblivious of the fact that they were being watched. But it was tiring and a strain on the eyes. Being cooped up in the observation-post for most of the daylight hours made it difficult to find an opportunity for a thorough wash. My comrades, young Palmachnik members, were a friendly, cheerful and unselfish bunch, who gave me every assistance.

One day a Piper Cub of the Israeli Air Force spent most of the day overhead. Its purr was comforting. Then on another day a Spitfire came over zooming and diving and behaving most suspiciously. Flying low, peering and searching. We did not know whether it was ours or theirs - the markings were not Egyptian as far as we could see nor did they appear Israeli. I never solved the problem. But it woke us up and a frantic digging of slit-trenches followed with Ravlevai hurrying on the work.

On the afternoon of Saturday, October 9^th, I obtained some leave to Tel Aviv from 3.30 p.m. that afternoon to 11 a.m. the next morning. I was excited and gay like a little child who has received a new toy. It was a welcome break. Getting to Tel Aviv took close on four hours of hitching and involved several lifts and long delays, because there was little traffic on a Saturday. I arrived in Tel Aviv coated with dust. Sara and Tel Aviv were poles apart. I was unattuned to lights and noise and crowded cafes and streets. The atmosphere rasped and annoyed. Why did we have to live in discomfort and isolation while thousands danced and sang and made money and spent it?

I appreciated the good food, the warm corn on the cob and the ‘falafel’ (an Arab dish) sold by street vendors.

The following day I went shopping. First I bought ‘Palestine Posts’ for the past fortnight. The latest one informed me that Jerusalem had been bombed and the Egyptians had launched a big attack in the Negev with guns and ‘planes.

At the post-office I tried to buy some stamps. The queues were disorganised, inchoate and noisy. I did not buy the stamps but left the post-office in a hurry. If this was civilisation give me Sara!

I hitched back, first stage to Rehovot, in time to witness an incident. A soldier, impatient, shouted at a truck to stop and take him. The driver ignored his request and drove on. Enraged, the soldier fired a burst of bullets with his sten-gun at the wheels of the truck. Military police arrested him immediately.

An army bus stopped and the driver said that he would only take passengers who were going direct to Jerusalem. I clambered aboard. I knew Israel sufficiently well to know that he would stop where I wanted him to. He did. On my way to Sara I delayed at the well, which Dan and I had found, and had a bath. I returned several hours late.

That night there was a practice alarm. And shortly after the real thing followed. The Egyptians were reported to have taken Rafat, a village on our flank, and there was supposed to be no one between the guns and the Egyptians. Once again frantic digging and hasty erection of sand-bagged emplacements. Dan dashed up the hill with the Spandau to look out for enemy aeroplanes.

Nothing happened, Rafat was still in our hands. It had been a false report. I spent most of that night and most of the next day at the observation-post and was dog-tired.

The following night was the eve of the Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur), generally observed as a fast day and inaugurated by a good meal. For us it was introduced by a bite of sardines and cheese and the majority did not fast the next day. Units in the field were given food to eat if they wished. Units at base were not provided with food.

From October 12^th the Intelligence Officer of the brigade asked me to do more comprehensive observation which could be of great assistance to him. I requested that Dan be allowed to assist me and Ravlevai agreed. We noted and recorded, in my faulty Hebrew, every movement of the enemy. We watched them parading in the village, building fortifications, eating, coming and going. We also spent hours at night observing flashes of their artillery and mortars and taking compass-bearings to them.

Soon we moved to an alternate observation-post in a cave, nearer the enemy. From the darkness of the cave we could see without being seen. We crept in at dawn and crawled out at night. Our main fear was the prospect of being cut off by Arab patrols. It was awkward staying cooped up the whole day and a strain on the nerves and the eyes, but the Intelligence Officer was highly satisfied with out information so we persisted.

On Wednesday, 13 October, leave was cancelled in the brigade and a stand-by proclaimed. Troops moved in as reinforcements. The following day the commander-in-chief of the Israeli artillery paid a visit and the stand-by was intensified to an ‘extraordinary stand-by.’ Something was going to happen. Tension and anticipation. Anything to end the deadlock.

To the rear of Sara the Burma road was being widened and asphalted. Workers had been conscripted from Rehovot, Jerusalem and other areas. The very old and the very young - all above or below military age. Bearded elders and youngsters who did not need to shave. Labouring in the sun carrying the stones, pouring molten asphalt. They came in lorries at day break and left as the sun went down. An inspiring sight. The macadamised strip grew and grew and grew. Progress. Hurry before the winter rains. And now an attack might come so that we could widen the corridor. And Deir el Hawa, Ravlevai’s bugbear? Time would show. Friday, October 15th, revealed which way the wind would blow.

I went to bathe in the well and when I returned Guya informed that we were to open fire at 4 p.m. that afternoon. We were twenty minutes late and the four guns fired 49 rounds in all at Deiraban, Beit Jimal and the cross-roads near Beth Shemes. The Arabs were shaken up and took cover in a hurry. Apparently, ours was a feint attack to draw the Egyptian forces into our area and away from the Negev, where the main Israeli attack was to be launched. An Israeli ultimatum had been given to the Egyptians to comply with U.N.O.’s demands that the road to the Negev be opened to Jewish transport.

Perhaps we were defying U.N.O but if they were unable to provide justice the Jews might be justified in taking the law into their own hands and enforcing compliance of the truce agreement.

We fired until seven o’clock at a slow speed. It was tame, like a harmless game, watching the shells falling amongst them and getting little in return. That night reports arrived saying that the Egyptians had attacked an Israeli convoy in the Negev and that heavy fighting was expected.

Had the Israeli convoy been a decoy? Did Israel wish to force a showdown? The evidence seemed to indicate that the Negev campaign had been anticipated and planned. And we saw nothing wrong in it all. For weeks the Egyptians had been launching attacks on Jewish settlements, with impunity. Such a situation could not continue. Now the Egyptians would receive a taste of their own medicine. And they did. They were hard hit.

On our front things were not too exiting compared to what happened in the Negev, but our part fitted into the general strategy and was to have vital and important consequences.

Contrary to expectation Saturday was quiet. The silence worried. It was unreal and suspicious.

The following morning early we opened up again and had some shell burst in return. From the Negev gun-flashes were visible and the undertones of battle audible. Great happenings, but we had no news. Sunday was quiet around Sara but further south the road to the Negev was opened by the Israeli army. We mounted our Spandau on the hill as a precaution against infiltrators. Wild shots and frantic voices rent the night. It turned out to be a case of mistaken identities and trigger-happy fingers - but no casualties.

Monday afternoon we took two guns to Rafat, fired at Bureij, an Arab village, and dashed back to Sara. We hoped that the Arabs, receiving fire from many quarters, would overestimate the number of our guns.

Great things happened that night. Monday 18^th. ‘Harel,’ our brigade, attacked on a wide front in a carefully planned and brilliantly executed manoeuvre. The organisation was perfect and the scattered signal network functioned without a flaw flashing orders and relaying progress reports.

Len came from Jerusalem to direct the artillery and brought some French 120-millimetre, heavy mortars. They concentrated their attention on Deir el Hawa. Our guns added their bit, small shells more demoralising than damaging. We had our targets perfectly ranged. Enemy positions were known and plotted to a tee. The work in the observation-posts reaped dividends. And ‘King David’ was in action, the pride of Israel’s backroom boys. A massive, home-made, improvised mortar with a small range but a powerful punch. It terrorised the Arabs flinging heavy explosives with vehemence, noise and colour. A magnificent spectacle lighting the surrounding area with white, red, blue, orange and violet colours, roaring and coughing.  Reverberating through the hills.

Everywhere a constant clatter of the other weapons, dots and dashes of tracers, the whoomph of light mortars and the steady pounding of the 120’s. At the cross-roads near Beth Shemes the armoured cars joined in. One hit a mine but was only punctured. The others raced on into the night and up the road to Beit Jimal.

Compared to war in Europe that evening was in miniature, but as well planned. Places Dan and I had only observed from a distance now came to life. Ours. Newly captured. All over in a few hours. Deir el Hawa and Deiraban and Beth Shemes and Beit Jimal all ours. A great victory. Strategic points, well-situated and wide spaces, ours.

We had one man killed, an officer, and a few wounded.

News from the Negev said that good progress had been made and that our guns were shelling Gaza. Our air-force held the mastery in the Negev and heavily raided the Egyptians.

Beit Jimal was a massive fortress-like building. Good soldiers could have held out there indefinitely. The brigade members were excited and happy. The whole of Southern Palestine and even Egypt lay before us. It was a new army, better equipped, stronger. There was talk of capturing Bethlehem; the air was alive with reports.

Beit Jimal had been evacuated by the Arabs in a hurry and food and other articles were scattered everywhere. The tired Jewish troops were not too tidy and their empty tins and uneaten food lay about. But Beit Jimal had water and showers and flush-toilets and electricity. Lovely! I found a bed. The rooms had the musty smell of past occupants. It was more comfortable to sleep outside. Flies and insects were abundant and as a precaution I sprinkled myself with D.D.T. powder.

The days were hot and we were tired. For the moment the impetus of the attack slowed and stopped. Ahead, three kilometres away, lay Beit Nattif of evil name. Its inhabitants had been very hostile to the Jews and several months before had assisted in waylaying and massacring a relief party of Jews on its way to Kfar Etzion.

Beit Nattif rankled in the memory. The soldiers cursed it and were impatient to conquer and punish. It was captured on Wednesday, October 29^th, under the interested survey of newspaper correspondents and several high-ranking officers. The 120’s were excellent laying shells accurately. They raised a lot of smoke and dust in the daytime and Al, their Canadian commander, was in good form. Our guns let them have it too. I’ve never seen people run as fast as those Arabs did once we started closing in. There was almost no opportunity to take prisoners. We had no casualties and that night we feasted on captured Arab chicken. In Beit Nattif we found articles from Kfar Etzion.

By taking Beit Nattif we cut off the Egyptians in the Hebron and Bethlehem areas from their bases and from Beersheba. We cut the road to Bethlehem from the West and increased Arab supply problems.

We were itching to advance. The previous evening there had been a plan to attack in conjunction with a simultaneous move southward from Jerusalem. The latter move had misfired.

The correspondents gave us news. Mount Zion, in Jerusalem, had been captured by Israeli forces, the Egyptians had been cut off in three places and the United Nations Security Council had ordered an immediate cease-fire. In our enthusiasm we were impatient of U.N.O. Invading armies of neighbouring countries had no right in the Jewish state. I wrote in my diary; “If only U.N.O. will lay off.”

That night we did not leave the Arabs in peace. Turning our attention westward the mortars dropped a few salvoes on Zaccaria, another Arab village. Indications pointed to the enemy having evacuated the village but we wished to make sure. There was no point in our capturing Zaccaria until we held the surrounding hills. An hour or so later I saw our ‘planes bombing nearby Beit Jibrin.

At Beit Jimal the water situation became deplorable. There were no longer unlimited supplies of water so instead of rationing what there was some unwise individuals sealed up the washrooms and toilets. Soon the only water available was a muddy mixture from the well. Such inefficiency was aggravating. The outdoor toilets were in a terrible condition. Rather than take a chance I drank no water. Our representations brought no results for some time. On the establishment of units in the Israeli army no provision was made for hygiene orderlies.

The priests and some of their flock had remained behind at Beit Jimal and lived in a separate part of the building. Whenever we revealed any piece of artillery, we hurriedly ushered them indoors. One young Christian Arab working in the monastery spoke a good English and seemed intelligent. He did not like the Moslem Arabs and derided the primitive ways of the fellaheen.

On October 21^st, Jewish forces captured Beersheba and on the 22^nd we heard that a cease fire was supposed to operate from 3 p.m. that afternoon.

This news was confirmed the following day, but the Egyptians continued bluffing their people that Beersheba was still in their hands.

Late that night Guya asked me to accompany a driver to Deir el Hawa to contact two of our guns which had gone there. The driver could not read maps so I had to guide him. The road was bumpy and corrugated and three-quarters of the way up the steep climb to Dier el Hawa it was found that the battery was flat. We pushed and the truck nearly toppled off the winding road, when some rocks on the edge gave way. The truck stuck. No vehicles passed. While one soldier walked on to Deir el Hawa an attempt was made to build an extension to the road. We tried to start the truck by pushing it backwards but the turns in the road made this impossible and it stuck several times. We pushed from 11 p.m. that night till 3 a.m. the next morning. Our shoulders were bruised and our legs sore. At last a jeep arrived and solved our problem. Our friend had returned from Deir el Hawa to report that the guns had left. Their crews re-joined us that morning. They had been about four kilometres from Bethlehem which we might perhaps have been captured. Again a technical hitch interfered. The Jerusalem artillery, who were to assist, could not be contacted in time.

I unexpectedly received twenty-four hours leave to Tel Aviv, one of the advantageous results of the cease-fire.

A blackout reigned in Tel Aviv. At the cinema there was a ‘short’ of scenes of Lake Como set to a background of Italian music. And the previous evening I’d been on Deir el Hawa.

On my return to the unit, ensconced at Beit Jimal, I found peace and routine regulations; shaving each morning, a haircut every ten days (where?) and the like.

We shared the guard duties with the Palmach. One night I went on in the early hours of the morning. My fellow guard could talk no Hebrew, nor English. He knew a little Yiddish so we carried on an abrupt monosyllabic conversation for several minutes. Then I asked him where he came from. He said that he was from Belgium and since he knew Flemish, which is very similar to Afrikaans, we had a common medium of expression. There was a section from Belgium and I met the others the following morning. Mahal volunteers. Amongst themselves they spoke French. There were also three girls one of whom had been educated in England and spoke a good English. These Belgian Jews were enthusiastic and cultured. One of them had had a lengthy conversation with a priest from Beit Jimal in which the latter had said that the Arab troops had been much better than the Jews. Only the four Egyptian officers had entered the school grounds and the soldiers had been made to sleep outside.

“They had been perfect gentlemen.” Now the Jewish soldiers were given free run of the school. He failed to realise that the Israeli army was run on more democratic lines.

The priests were by no means confined and were always searching and snooping to find us amiss. Ample rations were given them, guards were set over their well-stocked stores and they did a roaring trade by selling wine to the soldiers.

The military situation was very fluid in our area. Officially there was a cease-fire but the Arabs were voluntarily shortening their lines and evacuating villages and we took advantage of the situation and moved in.

Once I went on a reconnaissance with Ravlevai. He had a wooden sword which he used to test the road for mines. Not that it was effective but such mines as we found were so poorly laid that it was easy to spot them. Zaccaria was deserted, but suddenly a little Arab child ran out of a house and dashed away in fright like a hunted animal.

Railway sleepers littered the ground. The Arabs had pulled up the railway-line and stolen sleepers in case they might be of use. Further on we were somewhat confused. Miles and miles of space and we did not know which was theirs and which was ours. An Arab on a camel rode up the saddle of a nearby hill and was silhouetted on the skyline. The village of Ajjur was also in our hands. A book in Yiddish from Kfar Etzion was found there. Our soldiers held the height overlooking Ajjur. Kfar Etzion was visible in the distance. Bureij was also in Israel hands. The foe had lost no time.

Chickens; emaciated, Arab chickens were abundant but they were thickly covered with fleas. It was difficult to even enter an Arab village without collecting fleas on one’s person. I preferred to deny myself tasty (if tough) poultry if I could avoid the fleas. But it was a collective matter. The fleas jumped with remarkable agility and if anyone near you had them the chances were they would jump on to you too. Coming in on leave to Tel Aviv from the field there was always a dread that one would, unwittingly carry fleas into a nice civilian house. I made a habit of dusting myself with D.D.T and sprinkling layers of the powder over my blankets and clothes. It was a grim struggle.

In the Galilee the ‘Arab Liberation Army’ of Fawzi Kaukji was busy looking for trouble, attacking the Israeli lines, snipping at Jewish traffic and generally making a nuisance of themselves.

It was rumoured that forces of the Arab Legion had taken over the triangle formed by Beit Jibrin, Bethlehem and Jerusalem and that they were thus facing us.

Guya was more loquacious than usual one morning. He gave an account of his life in Israel where he had been since 1935. At one time or another everyone unburdened themselves. Guya said he hadn’t led a normal life since 1936. There had been riots and more riots, slumps and depressions, war and now more war. One must try to make life normal he said - marry and have children and snatch what normality one could from the busy tide of events.

At this time many marriages were solemnised in Israel - a soldier about to marry obtained seven days’ leave and a gratuity of ten pounds.

During the morning of Thursday, October 28^th we sent a party to Beit Nattif to scavenge for what they could find. Some soldiers loaded half a truckload with grain and collared several chickens. Meanwhile our new officer, Alex, a sabra, and I went further forward to the advanced infantry position overlooking the road running from Beit Jibrin to Bethlehem. The enemy positions were a short distance away and we had a Czech Bizet, a heavy machine-gun, trained on them.

We saw some Arabs moving around and the machine-gunner opened up. One fell. The others ran for cover. Our three-inch mortars fired and a mortar shell fell smack on a position where two had taken cover. Three of our armoured cars were due on patrol and the Bizet had to protect their advance. They rode along the highway, slowly and elegantly. Arab machine-guns opened up. Bullets pitted harmlessly against the armour. For short bursts the guns were turned on us. The armoured cars arrived safely.

We returned to Beit Jimal. I was informed that I had some leave. The same evening I was in Tel Aviv. That morning the situation had been so different - a Bizet and mortars and enemy casualties. Israel is a small country.

On the way to Tel Aviv the soldiers tried to sell the grain. Our ‘agents’ were terrified of giving anyone a lift in case the nature of the load should be revealed. After I left them at Rehovot they sold the grain for more than one hundred pounds. Technically it was an illegal black-market deal. All field units engaged in similar activities and most divided the money from the spoils amongst their members. Several days later we had a meeting to determine the disposal of our assets. Some wanted the money shared amongst the soldiers of the troop. They were in the minority and we formed a unit fund to assist members and their families in needy and deserving circumstances. This I felt in some way mitigated the gravity of our offence.

In Tel Aviv everyone was enthusiastic about the victories in the Negev and particularly the role played by the air-force.

Possible sanctions from U.N.O. tempered the celebrations. I met many friends in Tel Aviv. I also discovered that there were several whom I would never see again. There is rarely warfare without any casualties.

In Tel Aviv there was a family, mother, father and son, named Wurman, who treated me very well and were what might be called my ‘Foster-parents in Israel.’ I had met their son at Pardess Katz where he had been attached to assist us because he knew English. Through him I met his parents and visited them regularly enjoying many a delicious meal at their home in a pleasant family atmosphere.

Originally from Germany, the Wurmans had come to Israel shortly before the advent of the Nazis and were a cultured and charming family. Many other English-speaking soldiers enjoyed the hospitality of their home. Eli, their son, was an only child and according to army regulations, being an only child and minor, was not supposed to participate in any actions. But being a spirited youth, imbued with the Israeli spirit, he tried his best to land up wherever fighting was the toughest. He generally succeeded and in doing so gave his mother and father anxious hours and days. He was in the Negev fighting and his parents had been very concerned and worried.

In Tel Aviv I learnt that little ships were ‘illegally’ carrying refugees to Israel from the Cyprus detention camps.

On my return to Beit Jimal I visited some friends at Rehovot. One of them, a married man with three children, had been suddenly conscripted for the Negev campaign, given hurried training and sent into action with mortars. He had been in heavy fighting. I had thought that now that the army was organised married men were no longer conscripted for short, limited periods.

Back at Beit Jimal there was that tension and expectancy in the air which one was easily able to scent. Intangible and based on fancies and rumours but generally proving the adage that there is never smoke without a fire.

In the Galilee our troops had replied to Fawzi Kaukji’s taunts by routing his forces in a short, forceful campaign of two days duration, with very few casualties sustained on our side.

Len arrived and told me that there was to be some more fighting in our area. First we would probe the enemy defences and then strike. Two guns were left in reserve and we went forward with the other two. That evening comparatively large forces converged, including Bren gun carriers and armoured half-tracks. Vehicles and men were concentrated ready to leap forward. And nothing happened. We fired a few shots and withdrew to rear positions. Apparently, the plan for the attack had been conceived too late.

The following night we repeated the performance. Again the attack was postponed. Orders were given and countermanded. There appeared to be some hesitancy and indecision. From what I heard I had my suspicions and gathered that our brigade was acting on its own initiative and launching a private attack without the consent or even knowledge of Army General Headquarters.

Our tentative thrusts and preparations brought results. The Arabs withdraw from a large slice of territory and we walked in.

Later Len told me the whole story. The Palmach had decided to launch an attack of their own and had asked Len for artillery support. Len agreed and brought artillery from Jerusalem for which action he was censured and removed from his post in Jerusalem. Later an army tribunal cleared him since our operations had placed a large area in Israeli hands at very low cost. In April 1949, when Israel concluded an armistice agreement with Transjordan, this territory came in useful as a bargaining counter. It was returned to Transjordan in exchange for a strip of territory near the ‘triangle’ at Tulkarm, along the Tel Aviv - Haifa railway-line.

Ben Simcha was a good friend of mine. He knew no English and spoke a fair Hebrew. He was always helpful, pleasant and smiling. One day he found me at the well at Sara and we had a long talk. Ben Simcha (son of joy) told me his life story. A difficult life replete with hardships. Uprooted by war in Europe, then serving as a soldier in the Red Army. Wounded by shrapnel at Stalingrad and in hospital for many months. When peace came, he searched for his family and found few members surviving - the others had died in the concentration camps. Now he was in Israel, free and happy and confident. Without family but between fellow Jews and with friends. He knew he would have to work hard here and perhaps struggle, but he would be working for something worthwhile. Life was good now. We had defeated the Arabs and the war would soon be over. He, Ben Simcha, would marry and have children and create a new family.

Abulbul, our Sephardi orderly-room clerk, was streaming with blood when he struggled up the road that afternoon and collapsed in a heap before arms could catch him. Their truck had overturned. Ben Simcha, Shames, a driver and he had gone to Ajjur to find chickens and now Ben Simcha was unconscious and pinned beneath the truck. Shames was badly hurt. The driver was safe and had been left with them. He was notorious for his reckless driving, but that was no consolation.

Ben Simcha was dead when he was extracted from under the truck. He had been killed instantly. The reality took a long time to sink in. Smiling, happy, optimistic Ben Simcha dead - gone to join the others of his family.

Chapter 12 - Jerusalem

On November 4^th, the Security Council ordered a withdrawal of all forces in the Negev to the lines they had held before the reopening of hostilities on October 15^th. A sanctions sub-committee was appointed. Both Jews and Egyptians refused to budge so we remained at Beit Jimal - not that the Egyptians had anything to surrender as a result of the recent fighting.

Dan and I, sleeping outside, feared the approaching rains and decided to find accommodation indoors. All the occupied rooms were stuffy so we chose an empty room in an outhouse. Thick layers of blood covered the floor for the sergeant-major, a butcher in private life, had slaughtered a calf there. Dan and I moved in with disinfectants, shovels, brooms and water and in a few hours had the room spick and span. We installed electricity, scrounged chairs and tables and had a cosy little room.

Ravlevai, watching us work and impressed by the result, had dropped a hint that he would like our quarters and the sergeant-major approached us on his behalf but only to meet with a point-blank refusal. Since we had done the work we intended living there, commanding officer or no commanding officer. The authorities acquiesced.

The days passed. Dan and I came to know the surroundings well. We found well cultivated Arab gardens each with its own primitive well and irrigation system and containing an abundance of tomatoes, radishes, eggplants, pumpkins and marrows. In Tel Aviv these articles were in short supply and expensive. And at Beit Jimal they were rotting in the fields. Yet there was nothing we could do about them. We could obtain no transport to carry the vegetables to the city - the army was not interested.

I came to know my fellow soldiers better. Whenever I was on guard with one of them, I’d encourage him to talk and an interesting life was generally revealed. Many would be problem cases for Israel. Like Mensell. About twenty years of age, he had been in Israel for five months. For many years he had lived in Czechoslovakia and during the war he was interned in the Auschwitz concentration camp. Mensell said that he was no idealist. After his release from Auschwitz he had done well in Prague “in the currency and jewellery business” and made good money. And spent it on a gay life with many night-clubs. An easy life. He was due to be conscripted for two years’ service in the Czech army and to escape this had come to Israel - a Jew might as well be a soldier for the Jewish cause. “Lots of dollars” were confiscated when he left Czechoslovakia. “I want to move around,” he said. “I must make up for the lost time in the camps.” People worked too hard in Israel. He, Mensell, would perhaps have to go somewhere else, always on the move.

The first Israeli national census was held on November 9^th. We answered questions at Beit Jimal and those who could write Hebrew filled in the forms. The authorities were most inquisitive and their questions ran to two pages.

Rumours of peace talks circulated up and down Israel, originating from a variety of sources. But like most rumours they died a rapid death.

A peaceful lull in the air. Units moved back to base. We returned to Sarafand with loads of equipment and on arrival endeavoured to dash off on leave immediately. First, however, we had to fold all our tents. Then we were off to Tel Aviv.

Many Mahal members were returning home already for a variety of reasons, genuine and otherwise. Some left to complete their studies, others were recalled to sick relatives and many were simply tired of the army and often of Israel itself. Generally the Mahal who had come the latest were the first to leave.

Dan and I were tired of Tel Aviv and decided to spend our leaves in Haifa. We found fewer queues and a clean hotel. The food at the soldiers’ restaurant was good and once, when we arrived late for a meal, we gained admittance and were given food by looking mournful and hungry and talking English.

U.N.O. continued discussing the situation in the Negev. Dr Ralph Bunche introduced a plan for the demilitarisation of the whole Negev. It seemed unlikely to be accepted by the contestants.

At Sarafand there were discussions on an impending artillery officers’ course and recommendations had been called for from the commanding officers. Ravlevai broached the subject to me. Was I interested? He said that I should have gone on a course before. He admitted that he had been selfish and apologised for keeping me back, but he had wanted me as an ‘ack.’ Now he would not stand in my way.

Together we had an interview with the second-in-command of the regiment and as a result I expressed my unwillingness to go on an officers’ course. The course was to be of six or seven-months duration and many interesting things might happen during that time. I could not face the thought of being cooped up in a military school for half a year or more and after that being under moral obligation to remain on in the army longer than I might otherwise have. The whole course was to be in Hebrew and I did not believe my Hebrew to be sufficiently fluent to justify my taking the course.

With my refusal I made a request - that I be transferred to Jerusalem.

“But Len is no longer there” Ravlevai interjected.

The 2 I.C. laughed; “On the contrary, while Len was there I would not send an English-speaking ‘ack’ to Jerusalem for I wanted Len to learn Hebrew. Another problem was that we needed ‘acks’ here too.”

I presented my case. And shortly after that interview I was transferred to Jerusalem where, with short intervals of absence, I was to remain for five months, until my discharge from the army.

It was one of the finest areas in which to be stationed. The enemy was on most sides but the people and the soldiers were confident and strong and not perturbed. We were like one big garrison, knit together by a common danger and an excellent spirit reigned amongst the defenders of the Holy City. One big, happy family with Arabs here and Arabs there, but life continuing very much as usual. One faced the Arabs and held ones’ positions and not many yards behind and not many minutes away lay a big city with culture and music and life, where snatches of leave could be profitably and pleasantly spent.

A city in a front-line. A front-line in a city.

I grew to love Jerusalem, New Jerusalem, modern Jerusalem and its peoples and became embittered at the proposals to take it away from the Jews.

The front-line in Jerusalem was jagged, but definite. In some buildings; Jews; in buildings opposite, Arabs. On one side of a street, Jews; on the other side, Arabs. The walled Old City, in Arab hands, stood out in relief, something like a cardboard model. But it was alive and dangerous. Snipers shot at the Jews in the New City, guns shelled them, mortars pounded them. Arab Legionnaires with their red ‘Keffiyehs’ and black-coated Palestinian Arabs opposing us. In the South, around Ramat Rahel, were the Egyptians.

I was senior ‘ack’ in Jerusalem; a mobile ‘ack,’ moving from position to position to observe. At places we were very close to the Arabs. So close that you could hear them talk and laugh and watch their movements with ease.

On November 30^th 1948, a ‘real truce’ was a signed between the Israeli and Transjordan commanders and from December 1^st there was supposed to be genuine peace on the battlefront, no shelling and no sniping.

With few exceptions this truce was honoured to the very letter. But once or twice our men were fired at. The difficulty was that one never knew when some enemy soldier was going to violate the truce. So one had to be careful all the time. The early days of December were halcyon days at the Jerusalem front-lines. Momentarily everyone was suspicious.

It was difficult to trust a party who had continued shooting and shelling for many months after the U.N.O. truce. One or two brave spirits ventured forth and drew no answering fire. Others followed. Jews spoke to Arabs and Arabs spoke to Jews. A bizarre situation. Jews and Arabs stared at each other, arose from their dug-outs, stood erect, laughed and chatted. Cigarettes and other little items were exchanged. It was reported that friendly football matches were played, but I cannot confirm this story and believe it to be a bit far-fetched.

On the wall of the Old City the Arabs played cards, drank tea and sunned themselves. Within the Old City, under our very eyes, they drilled, without arms, and danced their folk dances. Around lay the ruins from bitter, close fighting. Ravaged, twisted, junk-heaps of stones and ash, debris and metal. To get to some of our positions, without being observed, we had cut holes through walls of buildings with ropes to lead the way at night, along ruined rooms, up steps and down steps, twisting and turning. Empty, gloomy houses, holed and defaced, dirty, burnt and scarred. Barbed wire, sandbags and spent cartridges and empty cases. Quiet and dead. No souls!

And we were waving and talking to one another. It seemed so unreal and so untrue. The reality was fascinating. I never tired of visiting the position, of seeing the Arabs and of photographing scenes - although the Arabs didn’t like that.

Later our commander, Moshe Dayan, and the Arab Legion commander, Abdulla el Tel, had frequent meetings to discuss matters of mutual interest. It was said that a direct telephone line had been laid between Jewish and Arab lines and that each commander simply had to lift the receiver to speak to his counterpart. Indeed a queer war!

Jerusalem has a variegated community. From all four corners of the world, of different races and religions, of different thoughts and creeds, I came to know Jerusalem very well and found some of its areas most interesting, particularly Mea Shearim inhabited by very orthodox Jews. Inquisitive and seemingly hostile eyes followed strangers. Closely packed older buildings, often squalid. Little children with forelocks under peaked caps or wide-rimmed, black hats.

Dingy shops cluttered with musty goods. Narrow alleys, market-stalls laden with favourite Jewish foods, pickled and spiced. Yiddishe Mamas, heads covered with kerchiefs. Untidy streets. And everywhere bomb damage. These citizens refused to be moved by Arab guns and shells. Their parents had lived and died there and they would too. Nothing could move them. Only the Messiah would stir them.

Talmudical colleges in every street with pupils from bearded, muttering aged men, to squeaky, soft-faced youths. Pupils and teachers, praying and studying.

Our unit in Jerusalem was one happy family, hardworking and full of initiative and, fortunately, not hidebound. All friends. Living together, eating together, no saluting, no parades, no unnecessary regulations.

Our quarters were in the German Colony, in a large stone building formerly belonging to the Arab High Command, well furnished, large and spacious.

The O.C. was an English Jew who had been in Israel for a few years. An excellent organiser. Noach, fat and fatherly, was the sergeant-major. He would have broken a stereotyped, regimental sergeant-major’s heart.

No parades for Noach, no drill, no orders. Instead a friendly but firm request. An appeal to a spirit of co-operation. Industriously he showed the way with tireless effort and example, carrying on for hours and days on end, without respite or sleep. Roaring and shouting and threatening when he was angry. Hearing him for the first time, watching his bulk shaking and his hands gesticulating, a novice would be sore afraid. But those who understood Noah’s ways and moods knew that his bark was worse than his bite.

Gideon, the second-in-command, was even more taciturn than Guya. Strict yet fair. True to the word of the army code concerning leave and privileges and perfectly just and honest. Zaav, the chief signaller, who spoke a perfect Hebrew, a perfect German and a perfect English; Yehuda from Budapest, talented and ambitious, learning English and writing good Hebrew plays although he had only been in Israel for a year or two. And the young sabras, fresh from the schools, conscripted before the conclusion of their studies, keen as mustard and willing to take on all comers.

A free and easy spirit reigned. Provided you did your job efficiently you were allowed complete freedom. A contented atmosphere.

At times they came from Sarafand on tours of inspection. They could find nothing wrong with our work but they didn’t like our spirit. Too comradely and not like an army. Too democratic and unfettered. They wanted more parades and routine orders and restrictions.

So in our daily orders we included parades and routine orders and restrictions - and ignored them at Jerusalem. But down in Sarafand, reading them, they assumed that we carried them out and they must have been very happy.

We availed ourselves of the truce to intensify our training. Courses were held so that specialists in one branch could also quality in other branches. Signallers learnt driving and gunnery; drivers learnt gunnery and signalling and gunners learnt signalling and driving.

A community spirit reigned amongst the soldiers in Jerusalem. We came to know one another. Anglo-Saxons never numbered more than a handful and no Mahal clique arose. The residents were very hospitable on the whole, more so than in Tel Aviv. Soldiers were made to feel at home and clubs were organised for them. I was a regular frequenter of these clubs and sometimes spent hours at a stretch there, chatting, meeting friends, listening to music, drinking tea and coffee, eating cakes and sandwiches. But in the evening I could not tolerate the noisy, smoky and stuffy atmosphere of some clubs for more than a few minutes. One could hardly move in the crush and felt suffocated and confined.

‘Nachson’ was the largest club, open throughout the day and serving refreshments. About once a week ‘quiz contests’ were relayed from ‘Nachson’ over the army radio programme of the ‘Voice of Jerusalem.’ Some of the soldiers participating were very bright; others not so. One thought Belgium was in Scandinavia.

A Mrs Atlas presided over the ‘Chocolate Box,’ which served as a civilian café in the daytime and a soldiers’ club in the evening. She was the perfect hostess and possessed the knack of unearthing Mahal and Gahal soldiers from the crowd, assisting them and making them feel at home. Speaking seven or eight languages fluently she had no difficulty in conversing with them. And Mrs Atlas was tireless in her efforts. Without fail, every evening, after a hard day’s work in the café, she was in attendance at the club. Once I asked her whether she never tired and why she didn’t take a rest. Her answer was typical: “I am tired but when soldiers are risking their lives the least I can do is to give up my time.”

Through the soldiers’ hospitality committee soldiers not resident in Jerusalem, but only stationed there received invitations to meals, to parties and to teas at private homes. It made a big difference to one’s morale and all the efforts were deeply appreciated, the more so since we knew the difficulties under which the housewives had to work. The shortage of water and food. Water was a big problem in Jerusalem, even after the siege had been raised. There was enough to drink but only limited quantities for washing and cleansing purposes, particularly on the outskirts of the city. I found it most awkward. One never had enough water and such water as what was obtainable in our quarters was not even sufficiently clean to drink.

The people managed somehow or other. Soldier-guests lent a helping hand. After a meal it was our custom to clear the table and wash the dishes, ignoring the protests of the hostess.

There were many parties in Jerusalem. The festival of Chanukah saw one every evening for a week as each unit had its own dance with many guests from other units.

Politics made our social life easier. Before the elections, the major political parties vied with one or other in opening clubs in the hope of wooing votes and support. One went to any club that was pleasant, however, irrespective of whether one agreed with the views of that political party or not.

Chanukah was a joyous festival. Once before, thousands of years ago, Jews fighting for independence had resisted and subdued foreign invaders. History was repeating itself. Torch light processions and massive, illuminated candle-sticks are the order of Chanukah in Israel, but there was a blackout which spoilt the colour and the display. Illuminations could only play their part in the short period of semi-darkness between sunset and dusk.

The civilian cafes were focal points of attraction in Jerusalem, but most of them lacked orchestras and music and closed rather early. Jerusalem was quiet and almost dead after even ten o’clock at night and coming home from late parties I was once or twice stopped and questioned by the police. They asked for my papers and were satisfied. Anyone around Jerusalem in the small hours of the morning was regarded with suspicion. It would only happen in Jerusalem. People in Tel Aviv considered Jerusalem so sedate and much too quiet.

Special performances of plays, operas and orchestral concerts were held for the soldiers at reduced prices. The Opera company, the ‘Ohel,’ the ‘Habimah,’ ‘Matate,’and ‘Chamber Theatre’ companies came from Tel Aviv and generally presented performances for soldiers at 6 p.m. and again at 9 p.m. that same evening and repeated the performances for civilians the following evening. It must have been tiring for the cast since the last performance often ended well after midnight.

Israelis have an extraordinarily mature and talented appreciation of music and the few occasions that the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra came to Jerusalem were red letter days. Soldiers’ concerts were generally held in the mornings and everyone who could get away from the camps and bivouacs was there. Complete silence reigned while the orchestra played. Row on row of khaki-clad figures in a variety of poses, listening intently, absorbed and critical. After the performance they poured through the doors exchanging critical remarks and analysing the performance of the orchestra and soloists.

There is a Hebrew University in Jerusalem, situated in imposing buildings on Mount Scopus. The Arabs cut the buildings off from the New City and the students and staff turned their attention to more urgent martial duties and studies ceased. In Jerusalem’s New City the spirit of the students and their associations still made themselves felt. The cultural life of the city revolved around the staff and students. Time was found for lectures, studies and discussions. And music. Record recitals were held thrice weekly in the Students’ Club. Lectures on literary and philosophical subjects provided a soothing change amidst the hardness and harshness of war.

It tempered the reality without being unreal. I have vivid recollections of one in particular. Professor Leon Roth delivered a lecture in Hebrew on Wordsworth. Discussion followed, we were a small audience and a diverse one. Professor Klausner, who the day before had been an unsuccessful candidate for the presidency of the state of Israel, made a moving little speech. In times of stress and travail he had found Wordsworth soothing, he said. His voice was soft and itself soothing. A young girl followed him. She spoke in a strong, emotional voice and begged to differ. The audience listened intently. The Arabs outside were forgotten. Here was culture in the midst of strife.

The students were keen to recommence their studies. Most of them had obtained commissioned rank by then, however, and the army was very reluctant to release officers. So negotiations continued. I attended the conference of students. Professors and students were overjoyed to meet but their joy was sobered by the irrevocable absence of their comrades who had died for Israel.

The discussions were sincere and appealing. They wanted to study. But was the war over? Many thought so. Students had been conscripted the earliest, months before the state had been proclaimed. They had fought in some of the hardest and toughest battles.

There were conflicts in Jerusalem between the army and the more orthodox elements in Jerusalem. Soldiers felt that the strict demands of religion imposed a heavy burden on those of them who were not religious. The soldiers’ clubs served no refreshments on Saturdays and the one or two cafes open in Jerusalem were too expensive for the average soldier on leave to eat there. So he had to go hungry.

The route to some of the Israeli forward positions passed through one or two very religious quarters. On Jewish holy-days members of the extremer sects sometimes stoned drivers and endeavoured to stop military trucks passing through on duty, carrying rations, supplies or Israeli representatives to attend discussions with the Arabs.

Once I witnessed a little incident outside a soldiers’ club in Jerusalem, which typified the conflict. It was a Friday afternoon and nearing the Sabbath. As they were wont, black-coated orthodox men were going from business to business warning the owners to cease trade for the day and close their doors. A boot-black, squatting outside the club, was engaged in cleaning a soldier’s boots. A man in black coat and broad-rimmed black hat loomed over him, hands folded, urging him to hurry for the Sabbath was approaching. The soldier became annoyed.

“Leave us in peace,” he said. “Is this not a free country?”

“The Sabbath is approaching and you cannot violate the holy laws. It is my duty to stop you.”

“If you wish to be religious you may; if I wish to be irreligious leave me in peace to be so.”

“It is my duty to save you from sin.”

“You save me! What did you religious people do when Jerusalem was being shelled and attacked? You prayed but we fought and had hard times and some of us lost our lives.”

“We saved Jerusalem. If we had not prayed to the Almighty, He would not have spared Jerusalem.”

A conflict which appeared irreconcilable.

On December, 22^nd, 1948, fighting again flared up in the Negev. The Egyptians had not been silent and had launched a few minor attacks against the Jews. On December 1^st, the Jews had agreed to allow a ‘relief convoy’ to go to Falujja to supply the Egyptians trapped there. On the discovery of arms amongst its contents it had been turned back.

The fighting waxed fierce in the Negev. Jewish columns struck far and wide, hard and fast. In Jerusalem the situation was quiet. The Arabs were letting the Jews tackle them one by one. Watching their own interests, divided by their own feuds in the midst of their ‘Holy War’ with the Jews. In Jerusalem we felt like idle spectators and were sorry that we were not in the Negev. Three or four days before the new outburst of hostilities in the South we had been placed on a standby in Jerusalem and had been awaiting events in our own area.

Nothing exciting happened. It was a phoney war. In the South the Jews were fighting Egyptians, but on the Jerusalem front peace reigned. All were ‘pals’ even those Egyptian soldiers facing Ramat Rahel, who were so close that we could hear them talking.

Yet the Egyptians from Egypt did not allow us a perfect peace. It was the night of January 2^nd, 1949 and I went to visit some friends on the Western fringe of Jerusalem - an area I rarely had occasion to visit at night. Nearing their house I heard the hum of an aeroplane engine overhead. Since no air-raid siren had sounded I presumed that it was ‘one of ours’ and continued on my way.

I rang the bell of the house. The effects of the manipulation of the button were more drastic than one could have expected, but the events were unrelated. Explosions and bursts rent the air. The lights inside the house went off in a flash and there was a muffled sound of movement of furniture and people. The door opened suddenly and I was dragged inside. We all waited in expectation. Jerusalem had been bombed and I had pressed the button at the same moment that the bombs had fallen.

The siren whirred through the night followed by the all-clear half an hour later. On my return I saw the damage. The bombs of 250 and 500 pounds had injured seven people, damaged a road and some buildings including an old-age home and a synagogue. Later that night another alert was sounded followed by explosions from the Old City. Were the Egyptians trying to involve Transjordan in the war too?

Israeli troops smashed the Egyptian armies in the Negev. By January 7^th, 1949 the operation had concluded. In 15 days battle the Egyptians had suffered an estimated 2500 casualties of which 700 were known dead and another 700 prisoners. An Egyptian brigade had been wiped out, the enemy’s armoured forces destroyed and large numbers of armoured vehicles captured by the Jews. The enemy had been surprised and outmanoeuvred. Israeli forces spent two or three days in Egyptian territory penetrating inwards for 50 or 60 kilometres. Enemy installations were destroyed, aerodromes raided, military trains derailed. Israeli ships controlled the coast and Israeli fighters and bombers ruled the skies.

Headline news was the shooting down of five R.A.F ‘planes over the Negev and the capture of two R.A.F. pilots inside Israeli frontiers. The mighty R.A.F. Served them right, the people said. The Israeli government charged that the British had to bear the blame for the loss of the planes since the aircraft had carried out, undeniably over Israel territory, a reconnaissance of Israel positions in a battle area in cooperation with the Egyptian air-force. They had no right to be flying over Israeli battle positions and had to accept responsibility for any untoward results.

British activities were hitting the headlines and causing alarm and excitement. We Anglo-Saxons were especially involved. In December England charged the Jews with incursions into Transjordan and issued a warning that she would be obliged to take action. Yet when the Arab states invaded Israel, against the orders of the United Nations, England was silent. In January she announced that her troops had landed at Akaba. Rumours were ten-a-penny. The British were supposed to be near Bethlehem and Hebron. Tension was heightened. At times it seemed as if we and the British might come to blows. No Israeli would have flinched despite Britain’s might.

The young Sabras were quite keen on the idea. They’d teach them to interfere in other peoples’ affairs. One or two Anglo-Saxons were mooting a plan for Anglo-Saxon units, which would volunteer to fight specifically against any British units which might attack the Jews.

Personally I was not keen to witness any such conflict. While I found the British Middle East policy wicked, unprincipled and dishonest, I was not happy to see young Jews and young Britons, (with whom we had no real quarrel for they were mere puppets) lose their lives for power politics. But if Great Britain tried to sabotage a little stage and a people deserving of independence. Israel would fight to the bitter end and inflict grievous losses on the encroacher.

Fortunately nothing happened. Bevin received such an attack in the House of Commons from Britons that he modified his policy. Perhaps a new era of British - Israeli relations had dawned?