Avraham Azrieli - The Jerusalem inception

Lowering his binoculars to just outside the fence, Elie traced the Jordanian anti-aircraft batteries along the ridge, only the tips of the barrels showing above the surrounding defenses.

A commotion in the courtyard drew his attention. A white vehicle with the UN insignia drove around to the front of the main building. The driver stepped out to open the door. General Odd Bull emerged from the front doors and got in. The gate opened, the two sentries saluted, and the vehicle drove through. Elie followed it with his binoculars. The commander of UN forces in the Middle East was driven around the Old City, disappearing from view for a few moments behind the ancient walls. He reappeared near the Mandelbaum Gate and was waved through by the Jordanian border guards. The UN observers saluted, and the Israeli soldiers did the same. Once in West Jerusalem, he drove south to the IDF command center. Elie knew that, after the parade, Chief of Staff Yitzhak Rabin was going to take Bull on a helicopter tour along the borders in order to refute the Arabs’ allegations that Israel was preparing to attack them.

He got down from the roof and drove off. The streets filled with civilians. Locals walked home, and a string of buses with out-of-town revelers crawled toward the city exit. He turned on the radio for the 1:00 p.m. news. The Voice of Israel reported that over two hundred thousand Israelis had attended the parade, which instigated an immediate UN resolution declaring Israel in violation of the Armistice Agreement. Egyptian President Nasser again threatened to remove UN observers and blockade the Straits of Tiran, cutting off Israel’s shipping routes to Asia and its oil supplies from Iran. A blockade, Elie knew, would mean war.

He found General Bull’s vehicle parked in front of the IDF command in West Jerusalem. He walked around it, taking a closer look. It was a Jeep Wagoneer, which resembled a tall station wagon with large tires and an elevated stance for off-road driving. The white paint seemed fresh, and the UN insignia on the doors shone as if the letters had been polished that morning.

“Is there a problem, sir?” Bull’s driver was a young, darkskinned UN sergeant, who spoke English with his native singsong Indian accent.

“To the contrary.” Elie returned his salute. “Happy Independence Day.”

I t took an hour for the army truck to get through traffic, but Lemmy and his friends didn’t mind. They sang patriotic songs and ate candy that civilian pedestrians tossed in through the open back. The hearty adoration infused the soldiers with a sense of purpose that months of drills could never have achieved.

Once out of Jerusalem, on the open road to the Negev Desert, the excitement gave way to exhaustion. Lemmy’s mind was still racing with flashes of the day’s events. He was a real Israeli soldier, ready to defend the nation with his life, to fight shoulder-to-shoulder with his friends. His old life in Neturay Karta seemed like a distant memory. He hugged the Uzi to his chest and remembered what Zigelnick had said to them on the first day of boot camp: Your Uzi is your new mother, father, and girlfriend!

He dozed off.

After what seemed like a few minutes, the truck’s hydraulic brakes screeched and groaned, waking everyone up. A thick cloud of desert dust penetrated through the back and filled the truck.

“You have ten minutes,” Zigelnick yelled, “to change and get ready for tonight’s drill. Come on, ladies! Ten minutes!”

Sanani cursed in Mehri, an Arabic dialect from Yemen that his parents still spoke, making Lemmy laugh. The soldiers unloaded all the gear from the truck and changed into olive field drabs.

“Hey, Gerster,” someone yelled, “you have a visitor.”

In the parking area outside the camp, Lemmy saw a gray Citroen. The driver stepped out-a woman in a sleeveless, white-cotton dress and black hair. He ran over and took Tanya in his arms.

E lie watched the military helicopter approach from the south. The landing area near the IDF command was barely enough to clear the rotors, and the evening wind had picked up enough to challenge the pilot, who struggled to keep the craft pointing into the wind, its stubby nose downward. As soon as it landed, an aide ran to open the sliding door.

Chief of Staff Yitzhak Rabin stepped down, followed by UN General Odd Bull, who held his blue cap as they jogged from the helicopter, which departed immediately.

The Indian driver held the door for the UN general, and a moment later the Jeep drove off. Elie glanced at his watch, noting the time.

“Weiss!” Rabin noticed him and came over. “Impressive work with the black hats.”

“Fear is a great motivator.”

They strolled to the end of the parking area and stood by a stone wall, which offered southern views across a ravine, the border fence running north to south, and Government House on the opposite ridge.

Elie turned his back to the wind and lit a Lucky Strike.

Rabin pulled one from Elie’s pack and used his burning cigarette to light it. His fingers shook, and his eyes were bloodshot.

“Is Bull going to help?”

“A pompous old stiff.” Rabin drew deeply and held the smoke inside. It drifted from his mouth when he spoke. “I took him everywhere-the Galilee, the coastal strip, the Negev. Wherever he pointed, the pilots went. He kept looking for the attack forces we’re accused of building up along the borders, but all he saw were our thin lines of defense, manned by our regulars and some very frustrated reservists. It confirmed what we’ve been telling him. He couldn’t argue with his own eyes, but he said that the Arabs have legitimate concerns about our belligerent intentions. Legitimate concerns! ”

“They’re lying to justify attacking us first.”

“Bull said they’re afraid of us because of Dimona. Can you imagine? They are afraid of us! ”

“Nuclear bombs are a scary thing.”

“But we don’t have anything useable!”

“Not yet.”

General Rabin took another cigarette from Elie’s pack and lit it with the stub. “I need a vacation,” he said. “Maybe we’ll all end up together in a POW camp-a long vacation.”

“You don’t really believe that, right?”

“No. There won’t be any POW after an Egyptian first strike.” Rabin made a cutting gesture. “They’ll demolish our air force on the ground and own the sky. Their tanks and infantry will swarm us like arbeh!” He used the biblical word for the locusts God had sent to scare the Egyptians into freeing the Israelite slaves. “The Jordanians and Syrians will jump in, and we’ll be dead in twenty-four hours.”

The wind, which had calmed down for a while, suddenly lashed at them. The chief of staff shielded his cigarette. “Our only chance,” he said, “is a preemptive strike.”

“What about the UN radar?” Elie motioned at Government House across the gulch. “Won’t they notice our jets taking off?”

Rabin sucked on his cigarette as if it were oxygen. “I’m still waiting for a Mossad assessment of the radar system’s range. We know it can detect planes approaching Jerusalem. But if this radar is strong enough to track our jets over the Negev and the Mediterranean, then Bull could alert the Egyptian high command. That kills our first-strike option. Which is our only option.”

“I’m not an expert in radars,” Elie said, “but the rotating reflector on that thing is huge.”

They stood together, gazing at the radar on the hill behind Government House, smoking their cigarettes.

“Whatever the range of this thing,” Rabin finally said, “without an order from our government, there won’t be a first strike. I need Dayan to take over the defense ministry.”

Elie pulled a few photos from his pocket. They showed Moshe Dayan holding various antiques for the camera, directing uniformed IDF soldiers at an archeological dig, and sitting in his garden among valuable treasures.