Page 157 - big friday
P. 157
I had been warned that I would find all changed in the Yishuv [Palestine’s Jewish
community] since I left here last May. I felt a slight tinge of apprehension mixed with
exhilaration when in the sunset I again saw from the descending plane the sandy shores
of Palestine, the red-roofed settlements of the Sharon coastal plain, the winding Yarkon
River below me, and the white walls of Tel Aviv to my right.
W arlike enough was the scene into which I stepped from the special plane I was lucky
enough to get somewhere in Europe for Palestine, into which commercial airlines no
longer are running.
I saw a new Jewish airport north of Tel Aviv large enough to handle the biggest planes.
It was still unfinished but already operating and swarming with Hagana men, most of
them in khaki shirts and shorts, and other pistol-packers with Hebrew armbands denoting
airport guards.
There I ran into a young South African who was with me on my trip to the Negev
during my first visit to Palestine in November, 1945. This diffident youngster, member of
a wealthy family and now a Hagana pilot, told me that only a few days ago even pilots were
pouring concrete to rush completion of this field to take the place of Lydda, which is still
held by the British though presumably in Arab hands.
M y chief impressions were of informality and businesslike determination. It was hard
to distinguish "privates" from important staff officers as youthful as they, waiting to greet
a military figure already growing legendary who came on the same plane but of whom I
cannot write.
In a bare room with kitchen-type table I went through the Jewish passport control. It
was unexpected and amusing the grave way an officer of the new Jewish State asked to see
the visa I had wangled with great difficulty from the British Embassy in Paris last Thursday
after an appeal to a friend in 10 Downing Street. The shirt-sleeved young Jewish officer
treated His Majesty's visa with complete de rigueur and solemnly noted all down, albeit
with a stub pencil in an old-fashioned school style tablet.
There was some delay on customs and I was told that I was the first in a little matter
of 2000 years to go through Jewish customs control. The customs men, some in shorts,
others in odds and ends of British uniforms, gave my bags a thorough going-over on a
carpenter bench set up on the porch of the one-story unpainted control office. I was asked
whether I had any arms or ammunition and I replied in my bad Yiddish, "unfortunately
not," but the officer didn't seem to see any joke.
A s a car took me into town to my hotel, Tel Aviv seemed not at all a capital at war.
Children played in the streets and the cafes were full. The veranda of Hotel Armon, where
I checked in, was crowded with well-dressed folk enjoying cocktails or tea overlooking the
seaside, palms, gardens and promenade. Tel Aviv was enjoying unusually fine weather, and
I found a holiday atmosphere among old friends, including a famous painter I ran into
checking in at the hotel.
I went immediately after dinner to the Greek-style circular Habimah Theater packed
for the opening of the new $20,000,000, 10-year, 3-per-cent National Loan. There were
Before the Declaration 155
community] since I left here last May. I felt a slight tinge of apprehension mixed with
exhilaration when in the sunset I again saw from the descending plane the sandy shores
of Palestine, the red-roofed settlements of the Sharon coastal plain, the winding Yarkon
River below me, and the white walls of Tel Aviv to my right.
W arlike enough was the scene into which I stepped from the special plane I was lucky
enough to get somewhere in Europe for Palestine, into which commercial airlines no
longer are running.
I saw a new Jewish airport north of Tel Aviv large enough to handle the biggest planes.
It was still unfinished but already operating and swarming with Hagana men, most of
them in khaki shirts and shorts, and other pistol-packers with Hebrew armbands denoting
airport guards.
There I ran into a young South African who was with me on my trip to the Negev
during my first visit to Palestine in November, 1945. This diffident youngster, member of
a wealthy family and now a Hagana pilot, told me that only a few days ago even pilots were
pouring concrete to rush completion of this field to take the place of Lydda, which is still
held by the British though presumably in Arab hands.
M y chief impressions were of informality and businesslike determination. It was hard
to distinguish "privates" from important staff officers as youthful as they, waiting to greet
a military figure already growing legendary who came on the same plane but of whom I
cannot write.
In a bare room with kitchen-type table I went through the Jewish passport control. It
was unexpected and amusing the grave way an officer of the new Jewish State asked to see
the visa I had wangled with great difficulty from the British Embassy in Paris last Thursday
after an appeal to a friend in 10 Downing Street. The shirt-sleeved young Jewish officer
treated His Majesty's visa with complete de rigueur and solemnly noted all down, albeit
with a stub pencil in an old-fashioned school style tablet.
There was some delay on customs and I was told that I was the first in a little matter
of 2000 years to go through Jewish customs control. The customs men, some in shorts,
others in odds and ends of British uniforms, gave my bags a thorough going-over on a
carpenter bench set up on the porch of the one-story unpainted control office. I was asked
whether I had any arms or ammunition and I replied in my bad Yiddish, "unfortunately
not," but the officer didn't seem to see any joke.
A s a car took me into town to my hotel, Tel Aviv seemed not at all a capital at war.
Children played in the streets and the cafes were full. The veranda of Hotel Armon, where
I checked in, was crowded with well-dressed folk enjoying cocktails or tea overlooking the
seaside, palms, gardens and promenade. Tel Aviv was enjoying unusually fine weather, and
I found a holiday atmosphere among old friends, including a famous painter I ran into
checking in at the hotel.
I went immediately after dinner to the Greek-style circular Habimah Theater packed
for the opening of the new $20,000,000, 10-year, 3-per-cent National Loan. There were
Before the Declaration 155
