Page 83 - big friday
P. 83
33 Minutes
Impressions of the declaration ceremony
Yitzhak Ziv-Av, HaBoker
Thirty-three minutes. That was how long the ceremony lasted. It took seventeen
minutes to read out the Founding Charter, and another sixteen minutes to sign it. The
ceremony was very brief, slightly hurried, overly dry and without external markings of
festivity. No characteristics stimulating excitement or imagination. The ceremony began
with the pounding of a gavel, and without words. With nothing more than a gesture of his
hand Ben-Gurion invited us to stand for the singing of the anthem. While some might
have expected to hear grand words – about fire, blood, shadows of the past, an end to
subjugation, and an historical occasion – these words were not voiced. Everyone kept his
emotions inside. One day we will appreciate the great modesty with which an embattled
nation declared its state, its dream that had come true. Some perspective of time is needed
for a person to understand that those 33 minutes changed him to the core – himself and
every other Jew.
The ceremony that began without speeches, with the words of the anthem, ended with
six words spoken by Ben-Gurion. The Founding Charter was read. The members of the
Council rose, one by one, and signed it. We waited for a speech – but no speech was
forthcoming. We were puzzled, and suddenly from a hidden corner the sounds of the
anthem started to emerge. The Jewish violin poured out emotion at the words, "Our hope
is not yet lost." We stood. Someone tried to sing along with the violins – and choked. We
knew, something momentous had happened. And then Ben-Gurion declared, "The State
of Israel has arisen; this session is concluded." And that was all. Six words [in Hebrew].
Without pathos. Without raising his voice. With solemnity, and with no display of joy.
P eople knew that Friday, May 14, 1948, was not like Saturday, November 29 [1947],
and restrained themselves. This time it was not a matter of having attained something
rightfully ours. This time, the nation had committed itself in a manner that could not be
retracted. And there was no way of compromise. No softening of its terms. A state, nothing
less. We were ready for the worst. There was talk of the possibility of an assault on Tel Aviv
before or during the proclamation. Outside, the Civil Guard had pasted huge notices, but
the proclamation was not interrupted. The bombardment was delayed. That night Tel Aviv
was blacked-out, and at dawn the city was bombed. There had been talk of an invasion at
midnight. The invasion came. In the Galilee and in the Negev, at 1am. There had not been
talk of a war. "We extend our hand… in an offer of peace and good neighborliness," the
declaration said. And at those very moments the fighters were struggling to break through
the road connecting Acre and the western Galilee. At those moments a convoy of the
A State is Born 81
Impressions of the declaration ceremony
Yitzhak Ziv-Av, HaBoker
Thirty-three minutes. That was how long the ceremony lasted. It took seventeen
minutes to read out the Founding Charter, and another sixteen minutes to sign it. The
ceremony was very brief, slightly hurried, overly dry and without external markings of
festivity. No characteristics stimulating excitement or imagination. The ceremony began
with the pounding of a gavel, and without words. With nothing more than a gesture of his
hand Ben-Gurion invited us to stand for the singing of the anthem. While some might
have expected to hear grand words – about fire, blood, shadows of the past, an end to
subjugation, and an historical occasion – these words were not voiced. Everyone kept his
emotions inside. One day we will appreciate the great modesty with which an embattled
nation declared its state, its dream that had come true. Some perspective of time is needed
for a person to understand that those 33 minutes changed him to the core – himself and
every other Jew.
The ceremony that began without speeches, with the words of the anthem, ended with
six words spoken by Ben-Gurion. The Founding Charter was read. The members of the
Council rose, one by one, and signed it. We waited for a speech – but no speech was
forthcoming. We were puzzled, and suddenly from a hidden corner the sounds of the
anthem started to emerge. The Jewish violin poured out emotion at the words, "Our hope
is not yet lost." We stood. Someone tried to sing along with the violins – and choked. We
knew, something momentous had happened. And then Ben-Gurion declared, "The State
of Israel has arisen; this session is concluded." And that was all. Six words [in Hebrew].
Without pathos. Without raising his voice. With solemnity, and with no display of joy.
P eople knew that Friday, May 14, 1948, was not like Saturday, November 29 [1947],
and restrained themselves. This time it was not a matter of having attained something
rightfully ours. This time, the nation had committed itself in a manner that could not be
retracted. And there was no way of compromise. No softening of its terms. A state, nothing
less. We were ready for the worst. There was talk of the possibility of an assault on Tel Aviv
before or during the proclamation. Outside, the Civil Guard had pasted huge notices, but
the proclamation was not interrupted. The bombardment was delayed. That night Tel Aviv
was blacked-out, and at dawn the city was bombed. There had been talk of an invasion at
midnight. The invasion came. In the Galilee and in the Negev, at 1am. There had not been
talk of a war. "We extend our hand… in an offer of peace and good neighborliness," the
declaration said. And at those very moments the fighters were struggling to break through
the road connecting Acre and the western Galilee. At those moments a convoy of the
A State is Born 81
