The Gates of Zion (29 page)

19

Haganah Woman

The Old Man flipped through the pages of the December 15, 1947, issue of
LIFE
magazine, pausing at an advertisement showing Santa Claus puffing away on a Chesterfield cigarette. “Hmmm,” he said, turning the page, then peering at Ellie from beneath his bushy white eyebrows. “Your photograph sells the magazine, and Santa sells cigarettes. Not exactly full of Christmas cheer, your photograph, eh?” He folded the cover back and laid the magazine faceup.

Ellie gazed at the shot of the tailor grasping his heart as the murderer’s knife plunged deep into his back. “No, sir. It was like a nightmare,” she said softly.

“Moshe tells me how you saved the boy.”

Moshe cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“You have a commission now from the publication to stay in Jerusalem and cover the story?” David Ben-Gurion asked.

“Yes.” She nodded, still staring at the tailor, remembering his choking cry.

“That is good. Very good. Perhaps you can help the world see what we are up against here. That is very important, Miss Warne. We are alone and outnumbered, we Jews. We have been around quite a while, and I hope that when the dust clears, we shall still be here.

But we will not do it without public opinion on our side.”

Ellie looked into his eyes. “I was right in the middle of that, you know. I saw what was going on. I still can’t figure out
why
it happened, but it happened. So what do you want from me?”

Ben-Gurion looked first at Moshe, then back to Ellie. He frowned and pursed his lips thoughtfully. “If it is pictures you want, we can make sure you are right in the thick of it. Moshe says you are made of pretty tough material.”

“He says that, does he?” She eyed Moshe, who shrugged and grinned self-consciously. “I’m not running for the first freight back to America, if that’s what you mean.” She sat back in her chair.

“Good. If you can take it, we will have all the story you can use.”

“I know you’re worried that
LIFE
isn’t sending some big tough war correspondent to Jerusalem for this. I know I’m a woman and―”

“On the contrary. The Agency has no qualms about your ability, or the ability of any dedicated woman. I would ask a man the same questions. Where you’ll be going, the other side will be shooting real bullets in your direction. You have to understand.”

“You think after what happened to me two weeks ago I am not aware of the danger? Jerusalem is a keg of dynamite with the fuse lit. And I’m lucky enough to have plenty of film and an assignment to be here when it blows.”

“Lucky?” the Old Man repeated.

“That’s the word.” She held her chin up.

Ben-Gurion rocked back in his chair and tapped the photograph of the tailor’s murder. “
Lucky
is not a word many residents of Jerusalem are using right now.”

“Then it’s settled.” Moshe rubbed his hands together. “You are staying!”

Ellie raised an eyebrow. “You’d have a terrible time getting rid of me, Moshe.”

“Perhaps we should begin with the
Ave Maria
?” the Old Man asked Moshe.

Moshe grinned and nodded, then turned to Ellie. “How would you like to take a little Mediterranean cruise?”

“Romantic?”

“And dangerous.”

***

Fumbling with excitement, Ellie stuffed a heavy cable-knit sweater and an extra pair of Levi’s into the blue canvas duffel bag on her bed. As an afterthought she tossed in a pair of wool socks and two changes of underwear
. Moshe said we would only be gone overnight, but it never
hurts to be prepared.

Her bedroom door squeaked on its hinges, and Miriam entered, carrying a small brown-paper sack. “I don’t know where you are going or why, but you will need to eat, eh? Chicken sandwiches and zucchini bread. The bread is frozen but will thaw soon. Also two oranges.” She tossed the sack onto the bed and stood with her hands on her hips, shaking her head in disapproval. “You are wearing this?” She squinted at the Levi’s and denim shirt, then shook her head again.

“This is not a picnic, Miriam. I could get dirty.”

“What is this?” The old woman picked up Ellie’s stocking cap and held it between her thumb and forefinger, as though it were contaminated. “You will wear this?”

“Probably.” Ellie continued to pack, wishing Miriam would go away.

“Ah!” She pitched the cap into the duffel bag. “You will look like a sailor.”

“I guess so.” Ellie avoided answering the question she heard in Miriam’s voice.

“So you will not tell this old woman where you are going?”

“I can’t.” Ellie put her arm around Miriam’s shoulders and gave her a quick hug.

“Well then, our Lord knows. May He be merciful and keep you safe.” Miriam sighed and turned to leave. “And take a warm sweater.”

“I will.”

“And if you are going to sea, take extra woolen socks.”

“I did.”

The old woman smiled broadly. “And stay dry,” she said finally, chuckling as she left the room.

Ellie rolled her eyes in exasperation and tied the duffel, then followed Miriam and called after her, “Take the day off. Go visit your son.”

Miriam raised her hand in acknowledgment and disappeared into the kitchen.

There is no use in the old woman staying home and worrying,
thought Ellie as she grabbed her camera bag and skipped into the study to kiss Uncle Howard good-bye.

He sat among the empty shelves and cases, scribbling notes as he studied copies of the scroll photographs. When at last he looked up, his eyes were rimmed with weariness. “Leaving, child?” He held his hand out to her.

“On a convoy to Tel Aviv. They say Arabs don’t bother convoys leaving the city.”

“Only coming in. When will you return?”

“Tomorrow night. David will fly me back. It’s all arranged.” She stood over the desk and stared at the photographs. “I’m sorry the Bedouins didn’t come back with the scrolls.”

Uncle Howard stretched in his chair. “To be expected. It is, after all, dangerous for them as well. Perhaps when it is all settled here, quiet again.”

“When will that be?”

Howard shrugged and smiled. “God knows.”

“I’m glad somebody does.” She leaned down and kissed him lightly on the forehead.

***

Ellie sat across from Moshe on a metal jump seat inside the heavily armored transport. The morning light streamed through the slits just above their heads.

They shared the transport with four others—two men and two women. Destinations were unspoken but somehow understood. Ellie recognized one, a man with thick glasses in a rumpled business suit carrying a bulging briefcase. He and the slim, muscular Sabra man in khaki had been in the waiting room at the Jewish Agency building.

She could only guess at their assignments.

The two women looked equally intent. One was thin, almost frail.

Probably not yet twenty,
Ellie thought.
How much like a high
school girl she looks!
The other was heavyset and thick-featured.

Her kindly brown eyes smiled from behind a very large nose. Her graying hair was pulled back in a bun, and she wore a plain, blue-wool dress and black low-heeled shoes that looked like they had walked many a purposeful mile. The woman smiled and nodded at Moshe and called him by his first name, but―as if by some unwritten law―no one asked the others the reason for their travel to Tel Aviv.

“The weather seems to have turned for the better,” said the heavyset woman, turning her eyes toward the streaming light as the vehicle lurched into motion.

“It is warming up,” said the bespectacled man, clutching his briefcase to him. “This morning my long underwear didn’t need defrosting.”

“Much better for the roads, eh?” said the Sabra man. “We are less likely to get bogged down if it’s not raining.”

“Hmmm,” agreed the first. “Less mud for politicians to sling,” he said with an impish grin.

The descent from Jerusalem to Bab el Wad was much slower and more uncomfortable than Ellie had remembered it. Rocks and ruts seemed to jostle the travelers every few feet, and the monotonous drone of the engine soon was the only sound in the armored vehicle.

Twenty minutes down the road, the Sabra began to hum a sad-sounding melody, and soon Moshe joined in softly until everyone was singing but Ellie, who could not understand the words. The tempo increased, filling the faces of the travelers with joy as they clapped and stamped their feet in time.

“That is beautiful,” Ellie said when at last the song ended. She reached out and took Moshe’s hand. “What does it mean, Moshe?”

“It is called ‘B’Shuv Adonoy,’” he answered quietly. Then he frowned thoughtfully and began to translate: “When the Lord brought back those that returned to Zion, we were like them that dream.

Then was our mouth filled with laughter,

And our tongue with singing;

Then they said among the nations;

The Lord hath done great things with these, The Lord hath done great things with us.

Turn our captivity, O Lord,

As streams in the dry land.

They that sow in tears shall reap in joy.”

“Will you teach me?” Ellie asked brightly.

“Oh, there are many songs to learn,” the Sabra chimed in. Then he burst into song again, and the others joined him as the grinding miles melted away. After each song Moshe would translate; then the group would sing it again more slowly so she could sing along.

Occasionally the small convoy would pass an Arab riding a donkey as his wife walked behind. And once, when Ellie rose to peek out the slit window, she glimpsed three silent Arab peasants standing on top of a boulder by the roadside, their battered rifles plainly in view.

They will not attack trucks coming out of the city,
Ellie told herself.
They are waiting for the convoy into Jerusalem.
Somehow the thought was not reassuring.

Moshe tugged on her sweater. “Sit down. Sometimes there are snipers in the rocks. They can see movement through the windows.”

Instantly Ellie planted herself on the seat and remained there until at last the road seemed to level out and the curves became less difficult.

“A few minutes to Latrun now,” the driver called back over his shoulder.

“Latrun?” Ellie felt her mouth go dry. “Isn’t that the place where the bus … ?”

Moshe nodded and closed his eyes.

Then the vehicle slowed as the driver downshifted and leaned forward to peer intently out the slit. “Roadblock ahead,” he said apprehensively. “British.”

The frail woman shifted uneasily as fear crossed her face. The older woman reached out and touched her arm reassuringly, then pulled herself up very straight.

The vehicle ground to a halt, and Ellie heard the accents of British soldiers shouting orders, then a loud banging on the doors at the back.

“Open up!” a harsh voice demanded.

“Bus fare,” quipped the little man. “Exact change or death.” He sliced his finger across his neck, but no one laughed.

“By whose authority?” shouted the Sabra man.

“By the authority of His Majesty’s Mandatory Government of Palestine.” The soldier pounded on the doors again. “Open up.”

The Sabra unlocked the doors and shoved them open hard, causing the soldier outside to fall back. Three other soldiers stepped forward with guns in hand.

“It is our information that this convoy is carrying armed members of the Haganah as guards. Step out please. Everybody step out.”

“I must protest!” snapped Moshe. “Arab territory is hardly the place for unarmed Jewish civilians to climb out of an armored transport.”

“Maybe not, mate,” announced a portly sergeant, “but them’s our orders. Ladies first.” He extended his hand and helped the heavyset woman out first, then the thin, frightened-looking girl. “You too.” He pointed at Ellie, who stood and inched her way through the tangle of legs to the back of the vehicle. She jumped down, feeling unwilling to accept the help of this intruder. He eyed her with interest, taking in her jeans and heavy field boots. “Goin’ campin’, are y’, miss?” He sneered. “We’ll start with you then. Get your ’ands on the truck.”

Angry, Ellie turned and placed her hands on the side of the transport.

She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth as the leering soldier frisked her. A wave of disgust and humiliation passed over her as the man ran his hands over her much too slowly for the purpose. “That’s enough!” she demanded, whirling around and staring straight into his smirking face.

“Got any luggage?” he asked. “Throw ’er bags out ’ere, mates,” he called as Ellie’s camera bag and duffel were passed out to the waiting soldiers. The sergeant pawed through her clothes, then unzipped her camera bag.

“A tourist are you, miss? ’ardly the place to take pictures.”

“I’m a journalist.
LIFE
magazine. You’ve heard of it?”

He blanched and zipped her bag and handed it to her. “American, I take it? Just following orders. Weapons check.” He seemed eager to explain. “We can’t ’ave Jews carryin’ weapons about the country no more’n the Arabs, now can we? Carries a death sentence, y’know, carryin’ a weapon.” He grinned obnoxiously. “You can get back in now, miss.”

“No thanks.” Ellie’s eyes narrowed as she remembered the Arabs and their rifles back up the road just twenty minutes. “I think I’ll watch.”

The older woman was quickly frisked and did not utter a word of protest. The thin woman grew paler by the minute and hesitantly complied with the order. Ellie thought she detected tears welling up in the thin woman’s eyes as she turned and placed her hands on the truck. The sergeant ran his hands over her, then shouted, “Aha!” as he touched her just above the knee. “Let’s ’ave it, darlin’,” he said triumphantly, extending his hand.

The woman raised her skirt and pulled a revolver from a leather strap on her thigh. She raised her eyes defiantly. “You don’t expect us to travel these roads without protection, do you? Not after what has been happening?”

“I don’t expect anything!” he snarled. “I’m just doin’ a job.” He handed the gun to a cocky private and led her by the arm to a waiting car.