by Ehud Diskin
In response, Alec slammed his fist into Meir’s face, and blood began to stream from his nose. I remembered the words of Yousef, who had said Alec wasn’t much of a boxer. Meir’s sobs indicated that Yousef was wrong.
“Drop your trousers and underpants,” Alec instructed. When Meir hesitated, Alec punched him in the face again. “I’m going to break your bones one by one until you get undressed.”
Meir quickly removed his shoes and his trousers. He hesitated slightly before taking off his underpants, but one look from Alec was enough to prompt him into action. Alec pushed him to the ground and started lashing his exposed rear with one of the whips, counting out loud—“One lash for the rat, two lashes for the rat”—until he reached eighteen.
Our plan had been to each take a turn, but when I saw Meir’s mangled and bleeding behind, I decided that he’d had enough. “I want you to know we have our eyes on you,” I said. “If we find out that you’ve told anyone what happened here, or if you rat out one more Jew, we will find you again. And it won’t be just a beating next time—you and your mother will be dead.”
Meir could barely manage to dress or put his shoes on. “You’re going to tell your mother that you tripped coming through the field and fell into a ditch,” I added. “If you try to get clever with us, your fate will be a bitter one.”
“You have nothing to worry about,” he said, and with tears running down his bloody face, he slowly limped away.
ON SATURDAY, MARCH 1, A loud explosion rocked Jerusalem. The Irgun had attacked the British officers’ club in the Goldsmith House on King George Street, not far from the offices of the Jewish Agency. The Goldsmith House was very close to the Yeshurun synagogue, and the news claimed the bombs had been set to go off an hour after the Shabbat morning prayers ended to prevent any Jewish casualties.
The operation had apparently come on the heels of the British interception of the Arlosoroff off the coast of Haifa. The ship had been carrying some thirteen hundred refugees, including nearly five hundred women who had survived the Nazi death camps. The British authorities had boarded the ship, severely mistreated the refugees, and then taken them to an internment camp in Cyprus.
The British responded to the attack on the officers’ club by imposing martial law in Jerusalem and other cities around the country. All civilian courts of justice were afforded military powers, and soldiers were given the same powers as the police. The British hoped that martial law would paralyze the underground operations and undermine the Jewish economy, but we could tell they were losing control. This was the beginning of the end of Britain’s rule over Israel.
Stanley contacted me at the beginning of the second week of March, a few days after the Purim holiday. I was at work, and when he came into Café Pinsk, dressed in civilian clothes, he asked me to join him for half an hour at Café Wien.
Stanley seemed angry and didn’t say a word to me on the walk to Café Wien. He didn’t start talking until after our coffee had been served.
“Those bastards who blew up the officers’ club didn’t merely make us bleed,” he said. “They dealt a big blow to morale. London seems ready to capitulate. It makes me sick that Churchill—such a hero in the war—submitted a no-confidence motion against the government, saying we should leave Palestine. Thousands of parents with children serving here called on members of parliament to work toward a pullout. And our supposed allies, the Americans, are also trying to suck up to the Zionists. They want to give immigration permits to a hundred thousand Jews!” He shook his head. “Since the war, Britain is hurting economically, and we’re financially dependent on the Americans. Even here, in the British civil service and the military, there are cowards who are shitting in their pants because of Jewish terror. But my group and I have no intention of simply giving up.” His hands clenched around his coffee cup.
“I’m glad to hear that,” I said. “If the Zionists get their way, the Arab states will butcher us all within months.”
“Our group,” he continued, as if I hadn’t spoken, “is about to embark on a series of actions that will completely alter the situation. We know the location of several apartments and buildings that the Irgun uses to hold its meetings. Blowing up these terrorists will be fitting payback for the assault on the officers’ club. I suggested to my group that we include you in the operation, seeing as you’re a Jew who speaks Hebrew.”
“I’m honored that you thought of me,” I said.
“My idea didn’t go over so well at first, but I won them over. I reminded my fellow soldiers that the Irgun’s assault on the Jerusalem train station failed only because we had a Jewish collaborator on the inside. And when they still weren’t convinced, I retrieved your dossier in which Inspector Jeffries himself, God rest his soul, wrote about your cooperation.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing just yet,” Stanley said. “Wait for my instructions. We’ll meet here again in two weeks—same day and time.”
“All right,” I said and stood up to leave.
“Just a moment,” he said, stopping me. “I have some good news. We’ve made contact with Abd al-Qader al-Husseini, the cousin of Haj Amin al-Husseini and the leader of the Arab guerillas in Jerusalem. He’s helping us in various ways, including financially, and I’ve already received a substantial advance from him.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved a bundle of cash, which he placed in my hand. “This is for you,” he said, “for personal expenses.”
Surprised, I thanked him and slipped the money into my pocket. I would hand it over to Zvi as a donation to the Wolves from Mr. Al-Husseini. I smiled, wondering what the Arab guerilla leader would have thought if he’d known his money was going to a Jewish underground organization.
IN MARCH, THE IRGUN ATTACKED military bases near Beit Lid, Kfar Yona, and Hadera. Sabotage operations were carried out against military vehicle depots in Haifa and Rishon Lezion and on police stations in Rehovot and Sarafand. On March 12, the Irgun carried out its daring assault on the Schneller Barracks. After breaching the base’s perimeter wall, Irgun fighters planted and detonated explosives that caused extensive damage to the barracks. As expected, the Irgun’s operations led to increased demands for a withdrawal from Israel by the British public.
Stanley showed up to our next meeting in an even worse mood. “My ears were ringing for two days after the Irgun’s attack on the Schneller Barracks,” he said. “The nerve of these terrorists is reaching new heights. Even our top brass sees we have to take action. I’ve shared our plans with my commanding officer, a chief inspector. He’ll give some support but will lay low.”
“So this isn’t an official operation?” I asked.
“It can’t be. The higher-ups have to maintain the façade that we won’t do anything that puts civilians in harm’s way—and normally I would agree. But we must strike back against these vermin.”
“I understand. Have you selected a target and date for our attack?” If I could find out enough details ahead of time, it would help me prepare the best way to thwart them.
“You want to get moving, I know,” he replied, “but it will be a while longer, unfortunately. We’ve decided to go for a big operation that requires a large amount of explosives. Our man can steal only small amounts of explosives from the storage facility each time. And the Irgun are constantly changing their meeting places, as well as the locations of their training facilities. We want to be one hundred percent ready. Can’t jump the gun. But I think we’ll be ready by the third week in April.”
From a purely professional perspective, I agreed with him. More so than operations carried out by regular army units, commando missions took meticulous planning because of the small number of soldiers involved. As partisans, we had witnessed both the Russian and German armies sustain heavy losses and keep fighting. But the men and women who had fought with me had been irreplaceable.
Stanley reached into his pocket, pulled out another wad of cash, and handed it to me. “We received more money from al-H
usseini, who asked us to kill as many Jews as possible,” he said. “Since you’re helping us, we might as well make it worth your while, eh? Then you won’t change your mind and turn on us.” He chuckled, but the sound was hollow. Did he suspect me?
“I won’t turn on you,” I said. “I’m in this because I believe the Jewish people will be slaughtered by the Arabs if the British pull out. However,” I raised one brow and smiled, “the money is appreciated.” I tucked the roll of bills into my pocket.
Stanley stared at me for a moment and then laughed, a real laugh this time. “Doesn’t hurt to oil the gears, does it now, lad?” I released my pent-up breath as he continued.
“The most important thing from our perspective is to crush their morale,” Stanley said. “Although the more casualties we inflict, the more painful and damaging the blow—so perhaps al-Husseini has a point.”
“Perhaps,” I murmured.
He tossed some money on the table to cover the bill and stood. “If I need you, I’ll come find you at the restaurant.” I waited until he had walked away and rounded the corner, then I headed straight to the restaurant and asked Max to set up a meeting with Zvi.
SHIMON PICKED ME UP FROM my apartment the next morning, and we drove to Talpiot. “Have you come to give me news about Operation Blood and Sword?” Zvi asked the moment I walked in. He was sitting at a table and gestured to a chair beside him.
“The plans those bastards are making aren’t moving at the pace they’d like,” I replied, taking my seat. “They’re looking to carry out a big attack that requires a truck carrying explosives. Stanley believes they’ll be ready by the second half of April, but there are always delays, so they probably won’t be ready before May, especially since they have yet to even decide on a target. Oh, and we’ve received a donation from an admirer—Abd al-Qader al-Husseini himself.” I handed over the two large wads of cash that Stanley had given me.
“Is this some kind of joke?” Zvi asked.
“Al-Husseini is supporting Stanley’s group financially, and Stanley’s paying me out of that money.”
Zvi didn’t smile. On the contrary, my words made him even more somber.
“This is of grave significance,” he said. “As you know, last month, Bevin, the British foreign minister, decided to put the fate of Israel into the hands of the United Nations. The British public sees this as the first step to an exit. But achieving the two-thirds majority in the General Assembly to divide the country won’t be easy, because all the Arab states and their allies will oppose it. Bevin is a rabid Jew-hater and doesn’t think the partition plan will secure that two-thirds majority. If it doesn’t, the UN will be forced to place Israel under British trusteeship, only now with UN financial obligations for the occupation.”
“What about the backing from the Americans?” I asked.
He nodded. “We believe that in light of President Truman’s support for dividing the Land of Israel between the Jews and the Arabs, we will secure the required majority, albeit with some difficulty. But what will the British do then?”
“A very good question.”
Zvi drummed his fingers on the table for a moment, then glanced up at me. “I have a personal friend who served in the OSS, the Americans’ primary intelligence service during the war, and he’s set to fill a senior position in the new intelligence agency the Americans are currently creating. He was among the Americans who went into the death camps at the end of the war, and he supports our struggle and our right to independence in our homeland. A few days ago, I received a very worrying report from him. Even if our diplomatic activity is successful and the UN passes a resolution to partition the land, if the Jewish community comes under immediate attack by the standing armies of the surrounding Arab states, US intelligence is convinced we cannot emerge victorious. That would spell the end of the Zionist dream. I don’t necessarily agree, but—”
“—but it’s clear that the Arabs’ chances of winning such a war would increase if they were to secure the support of the British,” I interjected. Zvi nodded again.
“That’s why al-Husseini’s efforts to strengthen ties with the British are so troubling,” he said. “I’m worried about a scenario in which the British supply arms, maybe even personnel, to the Arabs to be used against us.”
I didn’t respond, and after a brief silence, he went on. “I realize you don’t have any details yet about the plan Stanley and his people have in mind, as they don’t really have a fixed plan themselves, but can you give me a general idea of what they are plotting?”
“Not really, but I’ve given the matter a lot of thought,” I replied. “If I can learn the location of their attack in advance, I can post Avrum as a sniper, and Shimon, Alec, and Misha will serve as my assault squad. Obviously, I can’t work out the details until I know exactly what Stanley has in mind, but I’ll let you know as soon as I do. In the meantime, it would be a shame for me to sit around doing nothing until then. Perhaps I could help with something else?”
“Don’t even think about it,” Zvi said. “The threat posed by Stanley is significant, and you’re the only person who can stop him. Under no circumstances will I allow you to put yourself at risk. Go home and devote yourself to your wonderful girlfriend. Take her out to the movies or go dancing. You both deserve it.”
I left, knowing Shoshana would appreciate Zvi’s suggestion. I, however, felt restless, itching to do something that would push the British over the brink and right out of Israel.
ON APRIL 16, FOUR IRGUN patriots I’d met during my detention in Jerusalem were executed at the Acre Prison. A deep sadness filled me when I heard about the killings. The Irgun, for its part, carried out reprisals against the British all across the country.
A few days later, the British were preparing to execute Irgun fighter Meir Feinstein and the Lehi’s Moshe Barazani. Feinstein had participated in the assault on the Jerusalem train station, and Barazani had been arrested for plotting to kill a British general. But a few hours before the executions were to take place at Jerusalem’s central prison, Barazani and Feinstein took their own lives with a grenade that had been smuggled into the prison inside an orange.
They had intended to blow up their executioners along with themselves, but they had changed their plans after learning that a rabbi would be present at the hanging. Instead, after the rabbi had visited them in their cell, they embraced one another, placed the grenade against their chests, and pulled the pin.
24
“WE ARE THE SILVER PLATTER ON WHICH THE JEWISH STATE WAS DELIVERED”
(FROM “THE SILVER PLATTER,” A POEM BY NATAN ALTERMAN, 1947)
One evening toward the end of April, Stanley came into Café Pinsk and asked me to join him outside. When we were on the street, he said, “We will be ready for our operation in about three weeks. I’ll contact you again soon.”
“I look forward to it,” I said.
On Sunday, May 4, the Irgun carried out its most complex and impressive operation to date—an assault on the Acre Prison to free the underground fighters imprisoned there. Max turned up at the restaurant later than usual that day and seemed highly agitated as he came over to me.
“Zvi wants to see you tomorrow,” he whispered. “Shimon will pick you up here at seven o’clock.”
When I got to the house in Talpiot, I was surprised to find twenty other people there, including five women, all members of the Wolves. Shimon and Zvi were the only ones I knew. It occurred to me that Zvi hadn’t actually told me about a single operation carried out by his organization, unless I had been personally involved. The man certainly knew how to maintain secrecy—and to his credit.
Zvi kicked things off once everyone was seated. “Yesterday afternoon,” he said, “the Irgun mounted an assault on the Acre Prison with the purpose of freeing forty-one underground members—thirty from the Irgun and eleven from the Lehi. The fighters were dressed as British soldiers and arrived at the prison in a convoy that included a British military truck, two vans painted in
British camouflage, and two civilian vans. The assault force included twenty-three Irgun fighters, who were up against the prison’s hundred and fifty guards. The raid was carried out by Dov Cohen—or Shimshon, as he’s known in the underground—dressed in a British captain’s uniform, complete with British decorations on his chest.”
Zvi paused for a moment and cast his eyes over the room. “One of my favorite sayings of the sages is ‘From all my teachers I have grown wise.’ Although we are a much smaller organization than the Irgun, and we don’t have the ability to carry out operations on such a scale, we have to learn all we can from them to attain the highest proficiency in our planning and execution.
“The prison break went well, but problems occurred during the retreat. The escapees encountered a British force that opened fire on them and caused casualties. Furthermore, the Irgun’s blocking force, which was supposed to withdraw at the end of the operation, failed to hear the signal to retreat. They remained in place and were captured by the British. Ultimately, twenty Irgun and seven Lehi made it out of the prison. Three members of the Irgun’s assault force and six of the escapees were killed, and five Irgun fighters and eight escapees were caught and imprisoned. I don’t have all of the names of the dead yet, but I do know that Michael Eshbal and Shimshon were among them.”
I was overcome with sadness at the thought of Eshbal’s death. We hadn’t spoken much when we had been in prison together, but I knew he was a patriot, a skilled fighter, and a man of words who had given us the gift of his moving and inspirational poetry.
“The operation dealt a severe blow to British pride,” Zvi continued. “Although the Irgun sustained casualties, the bottom line is that the operation was a success—and showed an impressive level of planning and execution. Even the New York Herald Tribune dedicated its top headline to the operation, writing that the Irgun carried out ‘an ambitious mission, its most challenging thus far, in perfect fashion.’ Let’s just hope the operation will add to the pressure on Britain to withdraw from Israel.”