Джеймс Миченер - The Source

He himself moved among the Palmach, counseling Teddy Reich, Bar-El and the others: “You must not think of the odds against you as forty to one. Because most of the Arab soldiers are not fighting for a cause in which they believe. What do the Iraqis and Syrians really care for Safad? They’re good fighters and I’m sure they’re good men. But this holy place is not their home. It is ours.”

As Rabbi Gedalia talked, the tough young fighters gained strength from his quotations from the Torah, which they accepted as history if not as religion: “Moses our Teacher foresaw days when his Jews would have to storm up a hill to capture a town like Safad, and he said, ‘If thou shalt say in thine heart, These nations are more than I; how can I dispossess them? Thou shalt not be afraid of them: but shalt well remember what the Lord thy God did unto Pharaoh, and unto all Egypt.’”

As time for the assault approached, he quoted God’s heartening promise to His people when they faced trials: “‘And ye shall chase your enemies, and they shall fall before you by the sword. And five of you shall chase an hundred, and an hundred of you shall put ten thousand to flight.’” As he spoke, this thin, sallow man of forty communicated to all his conviction that the Jews would win.

On the afternoon of May 9, when Arab artillery looked as if it must knock out all Jewish resistance in Safad, Teddy Reich convened his last meeting of the men who were to storm the Arab heights. He spoke confidently, reviewed tactics, and advised everyone to get some sleep. “Till eight o’clock,” he said quietly, after which he lay flat on the floor and slept.

At Ilana’s the old gang met for the last time: Bar-El, Bagdadi, Gottesmann and Vered Yevneski. Ilana slapped together some food and studied her husband apprehensively: “You seem tired, Gottesmann.”

“I am,” the veteran confessed. “I wish it were ended’, the whole war.”

“Gottesmann!” Ilana laughed. “It won’t be over for years. After we take Safad we get right on a truck and move down to Jerusalem and from there we march to Gaza.” Her husband lowered his head.

Bagdadi chuckled when he thought how surprised the Arabs at the police station were going to be: “They must believe those concrete walls will protect them forever. Wait till the dynamite starts!”

“You think you can take it?” Gottesmann asked, looking up.

“Of course,” the Iraqi cried. “Don’t you think you can capture the ruins on top?”

“No,” Gottesmann said.

Bagdadi expressed no surprise at this assessment. Instead, he drew up a chair and placed his fat hands on the table. “To tell the truth, Gottesmann, I don’t have much hope, either. That is, not unless a miracle happens. But I’m sure one will.”

“What kind?” Gottesmann asked sullenly.

“Don’t mind him,” Ilana laughed from the kitchen of the old house. “Before a fight he’s always pessimistic. Remember how he was the day we bombed the lorry. I’ll bet you this, Bagdadi. He’ll capture the ruins before you take the police station.”

The five friends, the kind of young Jews upon whom the fate of Israel depended in those lonely days, ate a meager meal, then sat talking of the hours ahead. Ilana, still perplexed by her dialogue with the rebbe, said, “I wonder what kind of Israel we’re building tonight?” And the Mem-Mem said in his pragmatic way, “Kill enough Arabs now and worry about the state later.” She looked to Gottesmann for help to combat this grievous error, but he was staring at his knuckles.

“The Israel I have in mind,” Bagdadi offered, “is one where the Jews of Iraq and Iran and Egypt would be welcome. To work with the better-educated Jews of Germany and Russia. Believe me, Gottesmann, you may not think so now, but this state really needs the Sephardim. To build bridges with the Arabs when the war’s over.”

Bar-El yawned and said, “We need you, Bagdadi, but we need sleep more,” and the three men found places to catch a little rest before launching their assault up the hill. When they were well asleep Vered asked softly, “Is it nice, Ilana, living with a man?”

The older girl looked down at her tall German husband, twitching nervously in his sleep, and replied, “If you’re lucky enough to catch one like Gottesmann …”

“What is there … I mean especially?”

Again Ilana studied her sleeping fighter. “I can’t say,” she replied.

Vered was silent for some minutes, then asked, “Is going to bed … I mean, is it so important?”

Ilana laughed. “How important do you think it is?” she asked.

Vered blushed and smoothed her hair. “I suppose it’s very important.”

“Ten times that much,” Ilana said quietly. “Maybe fifty times.”

“I’m ashamed I made such a fool of myself the other night … when Teddy Reich came.” Neither girl spoke, then Vered asked shyly, “If you were me, and if Mem-Mem …” She hesitated, and the girls looked down at the sleeping dandy. He was a most attractive young man. Ilana could think of nothing to say, so Vered observed, “The trouble is, after the war’s over I want to go to university.”

“I’m going back,” Ilana assured her.

“Even if you have children?” Vered asked.

“Especially if I have children.” She grew excited and moved her hands as her grandfather had done when explaining to others what Kfar Kerem would one day be. “We mustn’t have the women of Israel a dull lot.”

And when the hour came, and the fighters moved out toward their horrifying targets, from the house next door appeared Rebbe Itzik’s wife in her wig, calling, “Go on, children. God will lead you as He led us out of Egypt,” but the rebbe himself did not hear his wife’s blasphemous words, for he was in the Vodzher synagogue praying with two old men, the last of his congregation to support him in opposing the battle that was about to start.

At eight o’clock all units were in take-off position. The night was dark and Teddy Reich was hoping that a surprise rush might carry the Jews well into the front lines of the Arabs before the latter knew what was happening; but as he was about to give the signal to move out, an ominous thing occurred. A drop of rain fell. Then another. Rain in mid-May was impossible. It rarely happened, but here it came, drop by drop. Frantically the Jews looked at each other, trying to assess this unexpected development, then Rabbi Gedalia whispered to Teddy Reich and Bar-El the tremendous commandment of the Lord to His Jews: “‘Behold, I have set the land before you: go in and possess the land which the Lord sware unto your fathers, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, to give unto them and to their seed after them.’” Reich whistled and the attack moved forward.

To climb from the Jewish quarter to the police station was difficult even in times of peace—one had to twist and turn up narrow alleys before attaining the upper plateau—but to negotiate this dangerous terrain on a rainy night, with Arabs blazing away at point-blank range, called for true heroism, and Reich’s men displayed it. When necessary they fired with cold resolution, astounding the Arabs by pressing forward until, at nine o’clock, they reached the gray concrete walls of the police station itself. Bagdadi and his team of dynamiters brought their stuff into position against the stout walls, but when they ran back to protect themselves from the blast, nothing happened. The unexpected rain had put out the fuses.

“In again!” Bagdadi shouted, and he led his angry men back to the wall. Two were killed.

Once more the rain put out the fuses, and for the third time Bagdadi called, “Here we go!” His fat, clumsy courage was the inspiration his men needed, and this time Teddy Reich’s team held off the Arab fire, and Bagdadi lost no one. Nor did he manage to ignite the stubborn dynamite. The Iraqi thought of the number of times he had seen dynamite go off almost by itself, and it made him curse.