In the beginning of the autumn of 1948, much of the land which constituted the pre-Six Day War Jewish State was still in Arab hands. Part of Upper Galilee was occupied by the Arab Liberation Army and Syrian troops; the Valley of Jezreel, the coastal plains between Tel Aviv and Haifa and the new city of Jerusalem were threatened by Transjordan’s Arab Legion and by Iraqi forces entrenched in the hills in the central part of the country; and large stretches of the Negev were controlled by the Egyptian Army.
Officially there was a truce, but sporadic fighting occurred along the extended front lines, claiming many victims.
But posters proclaimed from walls in villages and cities throughout the country: “Kol HaAm Tzava, Kol HaAretz Chazit,” “The entire people an army, the whole country a battle zone.” And so it really was. The whole population was in arms, manning the trenches opposite the enemy position.
Matzav Hachen- a state of preparedness- was the order of the day in all army camps. No leave was granted.
For weeks the men of the 72nd battalion of the Seventh Brigade had been confined to their camp in Somaharia, several miles north of Acre. Daily we hoped for the “state of preparedness” to be lifted so that we might visit near and dear ones. Many of us had come from afar to join the battle. Straight from the boat or the plane which had brought them, they had gone to the front and were now eager to see and to know the country for which they were fighting. Yet day after day passed with no change in the strict preparedness order.
With the approach of Rosh Hashana, spread through the camp; single fellows must remain in the camp, married men would be given leave. But this, alas remained a rumor. Matzav Hachen prevailed- no one was to be granted leave.
And then- one day before the eve of Rosh Hashanah—happened what could not happen in any other modern army.
The Israeli army of 1948 was different from any other army in the world. Its victories ran counter to all military theory. Its equipment was poor, its spirit extraordinary. It was well disciplined, yet no difference existed between soldiers of different rank. Its men came from all corners of the globe and spoke dozens of languages, yet the Hebrew commands were understood by all. One day before the eve of Rosh Hashana our officers met in session and came to a decision: if the mountain could not go to Muhammad, Muhammad must come to the mountain. In other words, if our men could not be released to spend New Year with their families, then their families would be brought to the camp.
We were overwhelmed with joy. These married men, naturally were delighted at the thought of being with their wives and children and we poor bachelors joined in our comrades’ happiness.
Erev Rosh Hashana buses were sent to Tel Aviv and Haifa to pick up the families. At the camp we were busy pitching new tents, washing and pressing our uniforms and setting up two large halls to serve as synagogues. There were to be two separate services: Ashkenazi and Sefardi.
Like various other units of the Army of Israel, the72nd battalion was composed of Jews of many nationalities. In the month of May our battalion had participated in the fighting for the road to Jerusalem and in a crucial battle near Latrun had suffered many casualties. The depleted ranks however, were soon filled with volunteers, who kept coming from all parts of the world.
Comrades
As I write these lines, there pass before my mind’s eyes, many of my comrades who came from afar to do their share in Israel’s struggle for survival.
Next to me in our tent was a fellow from Stockholm, Sweden. Communication was very difficult since he spoke only Swedish. He knew only one Yiddish word, “Zeide”. He knew little of Jews and Judaism, yet he came to the aid of his people. Why? When the State of Israel was proclaimed and the Arabs states attacked, the Jew in him was aroused and he left his family and home to join the battle.
Next to him was a lad from Rotterdam. He came from a completely assimilated family, some of whom had intermarried. But when fighting broke out in Zion, he knew where his duty lay.
There were also two young men from Benghazi. They kept us awake many a night telling of the Libyan Jews self-defense against attacks by their Arab neighbors. With us was also a fellow from Budapest, who had spent his formative years in England. He came from a very rich and religious family and was related to prominent rabbis.
Young fair-haired David had run away from his parents and from his studies at the University of Zurich to join the Israeli army.
“Be Careful not to catch cold, and change your underwear frequently. If you should lack anything, write to your uncle in Jerusalem. He will give you whatever you need.”
Thus read the parents’ letters to their runaway son. I bet he never told them that he was injured while placing a heavy machine gun in position just opposite the tomb of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai at that time still held by the Arabs. He showed me his parents’ letter when he was my neighbor in a camp hospital in Safed.
And there was the little fellow from Bombay, whom I once overheard telling a friend: “After the war I will go back to India to fetch my mother. She is blind and will not be able to behold this wonderful country, but I want her to feel it with her hands and to tread its soil with her feet.”
He kept his promise. Some years later he was my neighbor in Jerusalem and almost daily I would see his blind mother sitting in the sunshine outside his apartment, singing lullabies to his children as my firstborn played nearby.
Herman was a religious lad from Los Angeles. I first met him at our minyan. He was standing quietly in a corner saying his prayers. After giving him Sholom Aleichem, he told me his “story.” He had just finished his mathematical studies at the university, and his first real step in life was the Israeli army. I remember well one of my last meetings with him. I visited his company in the trenches near the Syrian border and he handed me a beautifully worded birthday greeting to his mother, asking that I cable it to her. In the same trench were Neumann and Singer. Both were originally from Germany and had spent the war years in Great Britain. In charge of their platoon was Stanley Medicks from Nairobi, Kenya.
David Sidorsky, always agile and with a pocketbook protruding from his hip pocket, is now a professor of philosophy at Columbia University, New York. Yehuda Shulewitz came from a town near Chicago. He was a student at the Hebrew University when the war broke out. A very tall fellow, he had considerable difficulty getting into our Sukka.
Shilansky
“A” Company was composed of members of the Irgun Zvai Leumi. Many of them were Yemenites. Others had arrived on the Altalena. They were commanded by Dov Shilansky. A native of Lithuania, he had suffered much during World War II. After the war he was a commander of the Irgun in Europe. He was one of the best commanders of our battalion. His men loved and adored him. A few years later he made headlines when he carried a bomb into the Israeli Foreign Offices in Tel Aviv in protest against the reparations negotiations with Germany. In 1977 he was elected to the Israeli parliament as a Likud representative. He is now the Speaker of the Knesset.
I will stop now. But let me mention just two more, two who are no more among the living. Benjamin Hirschberg was born in Antwerp. His father was in the diamond trade, a Zionist- Revisionist leader and a member of the Belgian Anti-German Boycott Committee. Benjamin and his brother Abraham escaped to England following the German invasion of Belgium. I made their acquaintance in London and we became good friends. Serving with the Belgian Forces, Abraham was wounded in France shortly after D Day. Later he took a part in the organization of “illegal” immigration into Palestine. Benjamin joined the Jewish brigade and saw service in Italy and in Western Europe. He volunteered for the Israeli army immediately after the outbreak of the Israeli-Arab war.
When I arrived in Israel, I received part of my training in a regiment of the Palmach. I requested a transfer to the Seventh Brigade in the hope of meeting Benny. I did not make it in time. When I arrived at the brigade’s headquarters, I learned that he had been killed fighting several days earlier. I was told that because of his command of languages, he had been offered an administrative job in the battalion. He refused the offer. He wanted to serve his people and country at the front. Later when I was working at our battalion’s headquarters, I chanced upon Benny’s file. Attached to it was a slip reading personal articles returned to next of kin. It listed two items: a pair of Tefillin and a Tanach.
Together with Benny on the same day at the same outpost, in Tamra in Galillee, died Shlomo Bornstein. I did not know him, but I had seen his father many times in the streets of London. Little did I imagine that the short bearded rabbi, whose face radiated kindness and goodwill and whose thoughts were certainly far removed from militarism would one day offer his son as the supreme sacrifice for the restoration of the sovereignty of our people
Rosh Hashana
On Rosh Hashana , 5709 young Jews from many countries assembled to pray for a new and happy year for all of Israel.
The prayers of the day were of special significance to us. UvchenTen Kavod… LeAmcha “Give honor to Thy people” Give victory to their arms. Veal HaMedina Bo Ye’Amer Eizo Lacverev V e’eizeh Leshalom…”And the fates of states are to be decreed on that day, which one is to be destroyed and which one shall enjoy peace.”
When throughout our long history were these words so pregnant with meaning as they were now!
Unetane Tokef Kedushat HayOm Let us tell the great holiness of that day on which it is being decreed who is to live and who is to die.
Standing only a few miles away from the frontline, surrounded by memories of our fallen comrades, we said these prayers with great and deep devotion.
And the blowing of the Shofar! Generations have known it as the call to repentance, as a reminder of the Akeda (Abraham’s sacrificial offering of Isaac) – the symbol of Kiddush Hashem (martyrdom of G-d) throughout the ages, and as a precursor of the great trumpet blast, which would announce the coming of the Messiah. Here in Galilee, where according to tradition the Messiah would appear first in a camp of the first army in Israel in almost two thousand years; a few years only after the greatest massacre of our people in history and in the midst of the nation’s valiant struggle for independence—the Shofar was sounded and young Jews from all over the world who had travelled thousands of miles to offer their lives on the altar of their people and country ,lifted up their hearts to the G-d of Israel to be of assistance to them in this great and sacred hour…
The main festive meal was held on the first night of the festival. Different, indeed, was this night from all other nights of the year.
All other nights we ate our supper in darkness, because of the blackout. This night all the windows and doors of the big dining hall were carefully covered with blankets, and we sat in the soft glow of electric bulbs and candles.
All other nights of the year a tablecloth was never thought of. This night all the tables were gaily bedecked with tablecloth and flowers.
All other nights of the year we had to queue up to get our portions. This night however, we were served. And who were the persons waiting upon us? Our officers! And we certainly made them work, asking for extra portions and special service.
All other nights we ate our food either well-cooked, just cooked or not so well cooked… it depended on the boys who were on duty in the kitchen that particular day. This night however, everything was delicious. The food had been prepared with the help of the wives of our married comrades.
After Kiddush our commander addressed us, wishing us and all Israel a year of victory and peace.
In between the various courses we sang. At that time the Israeli Army was poor. Its equipment was not of the best. Our guns were an odd assortment. We had not enough spades for digging in. The shoes, Khakis and battle dresses we were issued were seldom new. But the army was rich in songs and songs flowed freely that night.
Surprise
At the end of the meal, we had a wonderful surprise. We were showered with chocolate and candy by our officers. It was their gift to us. And let it be said that the buying of the sweets on their part constituted no small financial sacrifice. In 1948-1949 members of the Israeli Defense Force received almost no pay. The few pounds we received were for the barest essentials not provided by the army. Officers received only a little more than soldiers of lower rank. We appreciated our officers’ gift very much.
I had longed to spend my first Rosh Hashana in the Land of Israel in one of the big cities among the broad masses of our people. But the “state of preparedness” forbade the granting of leave. My comrades and I had to remain in the camp. It turned out to be my greatest Rosh Hashana ever.
Jewish Tradition (South Africa) Sept. 1990