New Heavens (12 page)

The Auster was parked with its chocks on the grass. The immigration and customs officials were as usual perfunctory in their examination, and I smiled when one of them said, “
Le jour est jolie.
Don't lose your way.”

I submitted a flight plan direct to Croydon at a height of
4,000 feet with a flight time of two hours and fifty minutes. I had added about twenty minutes to cover the unofficial detours. The forecast was for good visibility with about one-third of the sky overcast with broken clouds at 3,000 feet. That looked good to me, affording cover for my straying from the flight path to England. I spent some time poring over the maps to satisfy myself that I could stray from my flight path after takeoff and again after crossing the English Channel without inviting too many questions from the French and British air traffic control authorities.

After takeoff from Toussus le Noble, I headed for the airfield where I intended to collect Yoel. Apart from two gliders circling nearby, there was no air traffic in the area. Time was important because I had to keep as closely as possible to the flight plan. I lost height rapidly in a steep dive and landed close to the clump of trees on one side of the field. A car was parked nearby.

I taxied fast to the trees and toward the group of five men and women, whom I had arranged would sidle up to look at the aircraft. I kept the engine running, and Yoel leapt into the plane while the rest retreated to the trees, bunched fairly close together so that nobody would notice that whereas five had come to the aircraft only four had retired to the trees. I took off quickly and climbed to cruising altitude in a northwesterly direction.

I had met Yoel only once before our flight but remembered him as an earnest young man not in the habit of wasting his breath in idle talk. Though we scarcely exchanged a word during the entire flight, I am sure that Yoel felt the bond between us.

When I saw the coast ahead and the English Channel, I opened the throttle, climbed to 12,000 feet, and eased back to a more-lean mixture. After my experience in the cold Adriatic off Venice two years before, I always took care when crossing the Channel to climb high enough to ensure that in case of failure of the single engine I would be able to glide either to England or to France. We got to 12,000 feet just before reaching mid-Channel, and I began to glide using short bursts of engine on the way down to prevent carburetor icing.

When the white cliffs of Dover appeared ahead, I lost height rapidly and began searching for the field near Canterbury. The tarred road appeared to the north of the field, and I followed it until I was sure of my target. I had made it exactly on time and could see a vehicle, presumably Ezer's, at the northern border of the field just beyond the low stone wall marking the edge of the property.

I flew one circuit of the field to verify there were no busy-bodies in the area and made a steep approach with plenty of power and a nose-up attitude to ensure a minimal landing run. Over the high trees almost at stalling speed, I made a hard landing. Before the aircraft had stopped its run toward the trees and the waiting car, I shouted to Yoel to jump out and run.

As soon as I saw him climb over the wall and into the waiting car, I swung the Auster around and took off hurriedly. Thirty minutes later, I landed at Croydon and taxied to the tower. Though my heart was pounding from excitement, I tried to walk as nonchalantly as I could toward the police and the customs sheds.

Though I had made the two detours in quick time, arriving only shortly after the time I had entered in my flight plan, the officials must have been tipped off, for as soon as I entered their office I sensed something was wrong. Their polite but thorough questioning confirmed my suspicions. I had by then made a number of flights to the Continent to put them off the scent, and only perfunctory questions had been posed to me by the customs and immigration officers in the past.

This time, though, they obviously were suspicious. They subjected me to a barrage of questions about what I had been doing in Paris, why I had flown there, and so on. I thought I fielded their questions satisfactorily but subsequent events proved they did suspect me of something. In the meantime, I was sure that Ezer and Yoel were well on their way to London.

After passing through the checks and completing the formalities connected with the aircraft, I made for my quarters in Bayswater, where I had moved to be with Ezer. By the time I arrived, Ezer and Yoel were already there. We were soon joined by Paul, a suave Irgun sympathizer who spoke English and French perfectly.

After settling down we began the search for General Barker. Our Irgun contact in London owned a large, black Hudson Terraplane car. We covered hundreds of miles in our search, struck up a friendship with the local publican in the area of his family home, and spent many hours in the bar, but had no success. We also scouted around one of the military camps reputed to have been his base unit, but he seemed to have disappeared into thin air. We had no
backup intelligence force and had to rely on ourselves for everything: the search for Barker, preparation of the mission, and everything else. In retrospect, it is clear that we had not done enough preparatory work before the operation.

During the hunt for General Barker, and while I was in my room, the housekeeper of our building in Kensington Gardens Square whispered to me in a confidential tone, “The coppers are here asking for you.” She could have had no idea of what we were up to as we had always acted like two students attending lectures at the university. She must have sensed they were police.

I felt vulnerable because they wanted to question me in my room, which was full of incriminating printed material from Palestine, and the walls were covered with maps of England, France, and Belgium. They seemed to know a lot about me and asked if I had friends in Paris. They were quite pleasant, questioning me politely without threatening. The man in charge was an Inspector Dyer, and though he acted correctly throughout the questioning, he was obviously suspicious. I later learned that Dyer was in charge of the Palestine desk.

The next move came from the Civil Aviation authorities. I was called to appear before them. They cancelled my flying license without explanation.

In the end, the operation failed because we couldn't find General Barker, and I left for Johannesburg. Ezer and Yoel were told that they were not welcome in the United Kingdom and had to leave. When I was about to board the flight from London to Lisbon to catch the Pan American flight to
Johannesburg, there was consultation and argument among the immigration officials at the airfield. I was sure they were arguing about whether to let me leave.

When I arrived in Johannesburg with forty-four other passengers, I was called to the passport control officer before any of the other passengers. The man in charge turned to me and in an Afrikaans accent asked me, “Man, what have you been doing? The police all over the world are inquiring about you. Even if you had landed in Hong Kong, the British would be waiting for you!” His strong accent left no doubt in my mind about his sympathies. He was certainly not pro-British. Whatever the reason, I was not detained and went home to my anxious parents.

The struggle for a national home in Palestine became the focus of world Jewry and offers of support poured in from Jewish centers the world over. After Britain prevented refugees who had managed to survive the Holocaust from finding a haven in Palestine, it was decided that Jewish nationhood and independence had to be achieved whatever the cost. After years of activity and lobbying on the part of Jewish organizations and the unrest as a result of the attacks by the Irgun in Palestine and abroad, the United Nations Organization in November 1947 voted and decreed that Palestine was to be partitioned into two states, one Jewish and one Arab. The vote had the support of the Soviet Union and the United States, while Britain abstained. The decision
was a cause of rejoicing for all Jews and disappointment and opposition for the Arabs of Palestine. The British government decided that the end of the mandate was to be on 15 May 1948 and that Britain would evacuate Palestine by that date. War between Arabs and Jews was inevitable in Palestine.

For many months before the UN resolution on partition, the opposing forces had begun organizing. The Jews had some 20,000 Haganah fighters and 3,000 Palmach (shock troops), which were trained mainly in commando tactics and night fighting. The Palmach had its origin during World War II when it was partly financed by the British. After the danger of a German invasion of Palestine passed, it went underground because of the British policy of banning arms for Jews.

The Palmach units moved to kibbutzim and worked part time while continuing their military exercises. No wages were paid, and this elite unit became the training ground for leading generals of the future Israeli army: Moshe Dayan, Yitzhak Rabin, Yitzhak Sadeh, and Yigael Alon. The force was finally disbanded and absorbed into the official Israeli army in November 1948 during the War of Independence. The Irgun's much smaller groups were based in the cities with the main thrust of their activities directed against British military forces in Palestine and abroad. Facing them were 10,000 soldiers of the Arab Legion (which used British officers), with its armor and artillery financed and supported by Britain. There were many thousands of trained Arab irregulars. At that time, but still in the background, were tens of thousands of men in the standing armies of
Egypt, Syria, Lebanon, Iraq, and Saudi Arabia who were soon to be committed to the forthcoming battle. All these armies were equipped with the arms of a regular national army, and many of them were stationed on the borders of Palestine well before the end of the mandate.

As soon as the partition was announced, I booked a seat on the first available aircraft from Johannesburg to Tel Aviv in the hope of being able to consummate the dream Ezer and I had talked about in London, namely, the creation of an air force, which would play a key role in the establishment of an independent Jewish state in Palestine.

The long flight from Johannesburg to Palestine took three days with nine refueling stops en route. It was in a four-engine Lancaster bomber converted to carry fourteen passengers in relative comfort despite the lack of pressurization. I had cabled Ezer that I was coming, and when we landed at Lydda Airport, a flight controller gave me a message from Ezer, inviting me to Haifa to stay with his family. The controller was Yariv Sheinbaum, a former RAF pilot, who later flew a Norseman bombing Arab troops near Beit Mahsir, scene of fierce battles between Arab irregulars and the Palmach. Neither of us could have imagined that within a few months of our first meeting we would be in the air attacking the same target from different aircraft, nor that Yariv would not return from that mission.

As Ezer was busy in Tel Aviv at that time, I was to go to Haifa to stay with his parents, and they received me warmly. They lived in a pleasant stone house on Melchett Street, and I immediately sensed the informality that still pervades life in Israel today when Ezer's father slouched into my bedroom
wearing slippers and carrying a glass of black tea. I had met Ezer's father when he came to London in 1947, and it helped me to be with someone familiar when I first arrived in a country with an environment so different from my own background.

My first mission in Haifa was to contact Abraham Rutenberg, the main shareholder in the electric companies in Palestine. Rutenberg had British partners in the power stations, and before World War II, they had invested in a small airline, which flew from Haifa to Beirut. During the war the company had ceased operations, and the erstwhile partners in the flying venture were interested in recouping their investment by resuscitating the airline destined to be called Palestine Airways. I had discussed the project with South African businessmen, who were prepared to assist in financing the airline. In Haifa we were joined for discussions by the manager of a large British nonscheduled airline interested in taking part in the project. However, my own plans for the airline came to nothing when I joined the fledgling air arm of the Haganah two days after I arrived in the country in December 1947.

The Haganah general staff gave its tiny air arm the name
Sherut Avir,
which means “air service.” The headquarters were on Montefiore Street in Tel Aviv under the name “General Council of Jewish Aviation.” Besides a few pilots, there was one mechanic at the airfield of Sde Dov in Tel
Aviv, and eight or nine others dealing with engineering, operations, and supply matters, some former RAF members and some stalwarts of the Histadrut (General Trade Union).

Though the die was already cast for me after joining the air service of the Haganah, I was not entirely at peace with my decision to leave the Irgun's ranks. I wanted to discuss my position with Menachem Begin, the commander of the still-separate Irgun. In the years during which the Irgun carried out attacks against the British in Palestine and in Europe, Begin, the underground “terrorist leader,” had been the scourge of the government of Great Britain. Though he was the commander of the Irgun when I was in Paris, I had not met him before. As the most hunted man by the British authorities in Palestine with hanging his fate if ever caught, it was not an easy task to arrange a meeting. His whereabouts were a secret even to those working closely with him. He was reputed to move daily from hideout to hideout. Being hunted by the British was for him nothing new because he had been imprisoned by the Soviets and sentenced to eight years hard labor in the Arctic Circle.

The schism between the Haganah and the Irgun was so deep that it was impossible to be a member of one force while even hinting at sympathy for the other. Though fighting against the British forces and at the same time preparing for the coming battle with the Arabs, the two organizations were bitter rivals and refused to cooperate. This pattern of deep division seems to have been endemic in Jewish history and was one of the reasons for the final defeat when the Romans subdued Judea 2,000 years ago. (The force was finally disbanded and absorbed into the official
Israeli army in November 1948. There was much opposition to the breakup of this fine military organization with its special history and character. But Prime Minister Ben Gurion was rightly adamant there be only one army and one chain of command.)