Avraham Azrieli - The Jerusalem inception

Earlier that year, Israel had opened the largest manmade waterway in the Middle East, connecting Lake Kinneret in the Galilee to the Negev Desert through open canals and underground pipes. The immense project had been the brainchild of Prime Minister Levi Eshkol, whose dedication speech predicted: This waterway will transform our barren land into fertile soil, like blood flowing in countless arteries to every part of the human body.

The Syrians responded with efforts to divert the Yarmuch River, intending to dry up Lake Kinneret. When diplomatic mediation proved futile, Israeli fighter jets destroyed the Syrian dams. Lemmy thanked the anonymous IDF pilots whose attack had kept the water flowing south to nourish this watermelon field.

He was chewing on the last piece when rocks tumbled from a nearby hillside. He placed the watermelon on the ground, rubbed his sticky hands against his pants, and reached for the Uzi.

A man’s silhouette appeared against the starry sky.

Lemmy pressed the Uzi to the inside of his forearm, aimed at the figure, and threaded his forefinger into the trigger slot.

A watermelon burst open.

Lemmy’s forefinger eased out of the trigger slot. He picked up a piece of watermelon skin and tossed it.

A cry came in response, and an Uzi was cocked.

“Don’t shoot,” Lemmy yelled, laughing.

“Gerster! I’ll kill you!” It was Ronen, who had jumped from the plane right after Lemmy.

“Chill out. And let me help you with this watermelon.”

“Steal your own watermelon!”

“I already did. They’re so good.” Lemmy strapped on his backpack and shouldered the Uzi. “How many targets have you found?”

“Only two. The first was real close, but I got lost, had to go back and start over.”

“Don’t shoot anyone unless they speak Arabic.” Lemmy started running, and a piece of watermelon chased him.

The IDF lent Elie Weiss four reservist officers to assist him in setting up the Civic Defense operation. They put up a tent near the entrance to the IDF command center and posted signs in Hebrew and Yiddish. It was Passover Eve, and large numbers of Orthodox men showed up to volunteer. He watched with satisfaction as they arrived by foot or by bus, chattering in Yiddish as they queued up to register. The stories of Arab atrocities in the Old City in 1948 had been told and retold over the intervening two decades, and now the Jews of Jerusalem seemed determined to prevent a repeat.

Per Elie’s instructions, each volunteer had to present a form of identification and provide the names of their community, yeshiva, and rabbi. For Elie’s Special Operations Department, this was a treasure trove of new information, to be added to the existing files. He estimated that the next few days would double his already vast database of potential religious agitators who were hostile to secular Zionism.

Many of the black hats mentioned Rabbi Abraham Gerster’s proclamation, which had been printed and plastered on walls all over West Jerusalem: The duty to guard Jerusalem supersedes the duty to study Talmud until the evil forces of the Muhammadians have been repelled from our sacred city. Such words from the leader of Neturay Karta-the most virulent anti-Zionist sect in Jerusalem-left all the other rabbis no choice but to permit their followers to volunteer for the trench-digging effort.

The reservists at the makeshift desk took down the information, handed out the shovels, and sent the volunteers to dig trenches near their homes, not only for their convenience, but to create a closer association between the physical work, which they were unaccustomed to, and their own families’ safety.

Shortly before noon, Elie noticed Tanya Galinski arrive at the building. She wore a light-blue dress, and her hair was gathered under a khaki cap. Elie followed her inside.

The office of Brigadier General Tappuzi was filled with officers, who congregated around a map of the city. Elie poured himself lukewarm coffee in a paper cup and stood in the back, listening.

“I have some bad news,” Tanya said. “General Bull has allowed the Jordanians to run cables from their anti-aircraft batteries to the UN radar station. There was some talk about safe passage for UN personnel to the airport in Amman, where General Bull’s private plane is kept.”

“There you have it,” Tappuzi said. “If we don’t disable that radar, Jerusalem is lost!”

“Not if the front remains quiet,” Tanya said. “We’re still hoping to avoid war or at least keep Jordan out of it.”

While they argued, Elie elbowed his way between the uniformed men and looked closely at the map. He found Government House on a ridge south of the city, controlling both parts of Jerusalem while guarding the roads to the southern half of the West Bank and east to Jericho and the Jordan River.

Tappuzi fingered the point on the map. “I’d like to get over there and blow up the radar, but there’s the Armistice Line, the Jordanian bunkers and patrols, the UN observers, the fences and landmines around Government House-”

“Getting caught by the UN,” Tanya said, “will make Israel look like the aggressor and destroy any chance of obtaining American and French support..”

“And in the hands of the Jordanians?” Tappuzi passed a finger under his throat. “Immediate execution!”

One of the officers said, “How about destroying the radar with artillery shells in the first moments of the war? We could later claim it was a mistake, a misfire, or something.”

A major in olive drabs and a large mustache said, “I don’t have precision artillery for something like this. The radar operates on Antenna Hill in the rear of the compound, protected by sandbags and concrete. It would take a lengthy barrage to do real damage, and I’ll probably hit the main building multiple times, kill a couple of hundred UN observers, and so on.”

“Forget it,” Brigadier General Tappuzi said. “The only option would be an attack from the air, which can’t be done until the radar is disabled, It’s the chicken and egg thing.”

“Same with the Jordanian anti-aircraft batteries,” the artillery major said. “Their bunkers are vulnerable only to surprise attack from the air, but our planes would be detected by the radar and shot down.”

Elie had heard enough to outline an operation in his mind that would save Jerusalem from Jordanian bombing and allow him to pluck Abraham’s son from the paratroopers’ corps. But a room full of loudmouthed sabra officers wasn’t the right forum. He would approach Tappuzi in private.

L emmy reached the final destination in the early morning, finding Captain Zigelnick and a driver roasting potatoes by a campfire. He showed Zigelnick the codes he had jotted down at each of his destination points, which the captain compared to a list. They were correct.

Sanani showed up almost an hour later and cursed at the sight of Lemmy chewing on a piece of potato skin. His dark face shone with sweat as he dropped to the ground, panting. “I’m going to beat you next time, Gerster!”

“Good luck,” Lemmy said.

The rest of the soldiers trickled in, handed in their lists of scribbled codes, and unloaded their gear while sharing experiences with the others. Meanwhile, the surrounding yellow dunes began to heat up under the morning sun.

Captain Zigelnick beckoned Lemmy. He was only a couple of years older than his trainees, but his rank and seniority made him seem like an adult. “Training is almost over. You feel ready for battle?”

Lemmy realized his commander wasn’t joking. He was talking of a real battle, with Arabs shooting to kill, with blood and death all around, like the war stories Lemmy had read in Tanya’s books. “I’m ready,” he said. “We’ll beat them back and then some.”