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their contribution to the war effort using electricity. We provide the lighting for the fences
around the kibbutzim. Can I plunge the entire valley into darkness, into chaos? No, no.
That could seal the fate of the entire Jordan Valley. Had they come to me demanding
a handover of the station by day, perhaps I would have acceded; but at night – no!
S uddenly I feel that there is a purpose in resisting. The lives of thousands of people
might depend on me. I still hold an important position. I grab the telephone and call
headquarters. I have almost no doubt that I will receive the order that I want.
After that conversation I get back to Rutenberg, who is waiting on the line to hear
headquarters' response.
"I received an order not to open up," I tell him.
"Very good," he tells me. "Don’t open. Keep us informed of what is going on."
I go out to the staff. The responsibility of the position is already weighing down on me.
"Did you hear? We're not opening the gates."
The telephone clamors from the station courtyard, and to my great surprise it is the
local commander.
"Kachal, open!" Two words. An order.
"I'm very sorry, but I have orders from headquarters not to open."
"Open!" he demands; "you know me."
I suddenly suspect that he has been brought under armed guard to pressure me to
open. If so, I certainly cannot accept his orders. Perhaps they are forcing him to speak to
me in this way? No. I know him as a courageous man; he is not the sort that can be forced
to speak like that. Apparently, he thinks the matter is lost, and he wants to spare further
casualties.
"I can't open up," I answer. "There's a heavy attack on Ein Gev."
"Open the plant gates!" he yells at me.
"I'm very sorry. I can't do that."
A short while later the local commander calls again, his voice less strident than before.
He asks me to open. There is no doubt that the man is in a difficult position, because
he is being threatened; they are demanding that he persuade us to open the factory gates.
But at the same time it is clear that we are all lost in any case. We can no longer change
the fate of Naharayim, nor help the people who are already in Arab hands. If we open up,
we'll be just like them. So long as we don't open, we are able to do something for the entire
front. It is clear to me that this game involves not only my own life, but the lives of all the
people who are with me. But the calculation is a simple one: throughout the country, the
lives of thousands of Jews are in danger, and we must keep the enemy at bay, and continue
to provide electricity. That much we are still able to do. Let that be our final service.
It is now 11:30. I must go back to the command room. I start dealing with the batteries
of direct current, trying to calculate the water. It's not clear to me what level the pool must
reach by morning. The station engineer has been taken captive, and he left no instructions.
U pon returning to the command room, I immediately discern that while I was away a
sort of revolt has organized itself against me. Someone has called the company's security
134 The Friday That Changed Destiny
around the kibbutzim. Can I plunge the entire valley into darkness, into chaos? No, no.
That could seal the fate of the entire Jordan Valley. Had they come to me demanding
a handover of the station by day, perhaps I would have acceded; but at night – no!
S uddenly I feel that there is a purpose in resisting. The lives of thousands of people
might depend on me. I still hold an important position. I grab the telephone and call
headquarters. I have almost no doubt that I will receive the order that I want.
After that conversation I get back to Rutenberg, who is waiting on the line to hear
headquarters' response.
"I received an order not to open up," I tell him.
"Very good," he tells me. "Don’t open. Keep us informed of what is going on."
I go out to the staff. The responsibility of the position is already weighing down on me.
"Did you hear? We're not opening the gates."
The telephone clamors from the station courtyard, and to my great surprise it is the
local commander.
"Kachal, open!" Two words. An order.
"I'm very sorry, but I have orders from headquarters not to open."
"Open!" he demands; "you know me."
I suddenly suspect that he has been brought under armed guard to pressure me to
open. If so, I certainly cannot accept his orders. Perhaps they are forcing him to speak to
me in this way? No. I know him as a courageous man; he is not the sort that can be forced
to speak like that. Apparently, he thinks the matter is lost, and he wants to spare further
casualties.
"I can't open up," I answer. "There's a heavy attack on Ein Gev."
"Open the plant gates!" he yells at me.
"I'm very sorry. I can't do that."
A short while later the local commander calls again, his voice less strident than before.
He asks me to open. There is no doubt that the man is in a difficult position, because
he is being threatened; they are demanding that he persuade us to open the factory gates.
But at the same time it is clear that we are all lost in any case. We can no longer change
the fate of Naharayim, nor help the people who are already in Arab hands. If we open up,
we'll be just like them. So long as we don't open, we are able to do something for the entire
front. It is clear to me that this game involves not only my own life, but the lives of all the
people who are with me. But the calculation is a simple one: throughout the country, the
lives of thousands of Jews are in danger, and we must keep the enemy at bay, and continue
to provide electricity. That much we are still able to do. Let that be our final service.
It is now 11:30. I must go back to the command room. I start dealing with the batteries
of direct current, trying to calculate the water. It's not clear to me what level the pool must
reach by morning. The station engineer has been taken captive, and he left no instructions.
U pon returning to the command room, I immediately discern that while I was away a
sort of revolt has organized itself against me. Someone has called the company's security
134 The Friday That Changed Destiny
