As the Mufti spoke, the Arab world seemed to heed his words.
Syria and Lebanon were in the hands of Vichy French, and German materiel was pouring in to pave the way for an invasion of Palestine and Egypt.
The Egyptian chief of staff sold secrets to the Germans. King Farouk of Egypt refused to give the British a single soldier for the defense of Egypt against Rommel. Further plots hatched in Iraq.
The only avowed friend of the Allies was the old despot, Ibn Saud, who had been bought with American dollars. But Ibn Saud did not so much as offer a single camel to the British Eighth Army, which was fighting for its life.
In all the Middle East the Allied Powers had but one true fighting friend-the Yishuv!
Rommel, flushed with victory in Libya, stood poised to break through to Alexandria where German flags were being prepared to welcome the “liberators.”
On the Russian front, the Wehrmacht stood before the gates of Stalingrad!
This was the Allies’ darkest hour.
The prime target of the Germans was the Suez Canal, Egypt, and Palestine-the solar plexus of the British Empire. A break-through at Stalingrad could form another arm of a pincer movement to sweep through the Caucasus Mountains and open the doors of India and the Orient.
At last the British came to Yishuv Central and asked the Jews to form guerrilla units to cover the retreat of the British and harass the German occupation. This guerrilla force was called the Palmach. It was later to become the striking arm of the Haganah.
Ari Ben Canaan sat down for supper one evening. “I enlisted in the British Army today,” he announced quietly.
The next day Ari reported to kibbutz Beth Alonim, House of the Oaks, where youths from all over Palestine had assembled to organize the Palmach.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Kibbutz Beth Alonim stood at the foot of Mount Tabor in the center of the Jezreel Valley. Ari was given a commission in the British Army and placed in charge of operations of the guerrilla units of boys and girls, most of whom were in their teens. Most of the officers were “old-timers” in their mid-twenties like Ari.
Many of the former Raider Unit men joined the Palmach to indoctrinate the youngsters in the methods of Major P. P. Malcolm.
The troops wore no uniforms nor was there rank below the officers, and boys and girls were treated exactly the same. They were trained with the same sense of Biblical destiny that Malcolm had given his fighters.
Two of the soldiers showed such promise and leadership that they were advanced to lead units directly under Ari. One was a heavy-set kibbutznik from Galilee. His name was Zev Gilboa. He wore a big black mustache which later became the badge of a male Palmachnik. The other was a small interne young student from Jerusalem named David Ben Ami. Neither David nor Zev was yet twenty.
One day they were paid a visit by General Haven-Hurst. He was a tall thin blond man in his early fifties. As he inspected the camp he was aware of the coldness which greeted his presence. After the inspection, Haven-Hurst asked Ari to report to the camp’s headquarters.
As Ari entered the office, the two men nodded stiffly, neither concealing his dislike for the other.
“Sit down, Lieutenant Ben Canaan,” Haven-Hurst said. “You are to be commended on your work here with these Palmach troops.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Matter of fact, I’ve been studying your record … or your case history, if you will. You’ve been a busy chap.”
“The conditions of my environment and the unfortunate circumstances of my birth have dictated it,” Ari said. “I am a farmer at heart.”
Haven-Hurst took the rebuff without showing it.
“My main purpose for coming to Beth Alonim today was to ask you to volunteer for a special assignment. I know that when you enlisted it was on the proviso that you could train Palmach troops, but we feel this is urgent enough to alter that.”
“I am a soldier in the British Army, General Haven-Hurst. I will accept any assignment given me.”
“Good. Briefly, here is what it consists of. There has been a large German build-up in Syria. We feel they may attempt an invasion of Palestine this spring.”
Ari nodded.
“We are not at war with the Vichy French and we cannot invade Syria, but we do have sufficient Free French forces to do the job, provided we get flawless intelligence. We have selected you for this job because you know Syria and Lebanon from your Ha Mishmar days, and also because of your mastery of Arabic. We want you to reassemble those lads who were at Ha Mishmar with you and return there to use it as a reconnoitering base. When the invasion begins there will also, be special assignments. There will be a captain’s rank in this for you.”
“I see one problem, sir.”
“Yes?”
“A great number of my comrades from Ha Mishmar have been thrown into jail by the British.”
Haven-Hurst’s face turned crimson. “We will arrange releases.”
“Yes, sir. One more thing, sir. I have two men here who are exceptional soldiers. I would like to take them to Ha Mishmar with me and have them transferred into the British Army.”
“Very well,” Haven-Hurst said, “take them with you.”
Ari walked to the door. “An invasion of Syria at this time is excellent strategy, sir. It will give the British Eighth Army plenty of room to retreat to India.”
Haven-Hurst glared at the Jew. “I suppose it is unnecessary to say, Ben Canaan, that you and I will be on opposite sides of the fence one day.”
“We already are, sir.”
Ari left Beth Alonim with Zev Gilboa and David Ben Ami as his sergeants and returned to Ha Mishmar on the hill which held such bitter memories for him. Fifty of the original Haganah gang were assembled-some from many parts of the world where they had been serving in the British forces.
Using Ha Mishmar as headquarters, Ari’s patrols worked all the way up to Damascus. Extreme caution was needed, for the invasion was to be a complete surprise. Ari’s basic method was simple. Most of his people spoke fluent Arabic and were familiar with the territory. He sent them out during the day, dressed as Arabs, and they merely walked along the roads gathering information. Although his intelligence was
proving flawless, Ari wanted to get right inside Damascus and Beirut. This was a touchy job, and Ari reckoned it called for an individual foray. The one selected had to be able to move perfectly without raising suspicion. Ari checked with Haganah and they sent him a seventeen-year-old boy named Joab Yarkoni.
Yarkoni was a Moroccan Jew born in Casablanca and could indeed pass for an Arab anywhere. He was small, with saucer-like flashing black eyes and an overabundant sense of humor.
In Casablanca he and his family had lived in a mellah, the Oriental-African version of a ghetto. These Oriental and African Jews had little in common culturally with their Russian or German counterparts. Most of them were descendants of ancestors who had fled the Spanish Inquisition. Many still had Spanish names.
In some Arab lands the Jews were treated with a measure of fairness and near equality. Of course, no Jew could be entirely equal to a Moslem. A thousand years before, when Islam swept the world, Jews had been among the most honored of the Arab citizens. They were the court doctors, the philosophers, and the artisans-the top of the Arab society. In the demise of the Arab world that followed the Mongol wars, the demise of the Jews was worse.
There were Jews in Bagdad and Cairo and Damascus and Fez and Kurdistan and Casablanca, throughout the coast of Africa and deep into countries of the Middle East.
The Moslems never went to the extremes of the Christians in the matter of killing Jews. Arab riots were always kept within reasonable bounds-a few dozen murders at a time.
Joab Yarkoni and his family had escaped the mellah of Casablanca when he was but a youngster. His family settled down in a kibbutz in Samaria that hugged the sea. It was at Caesarea and called Sdot Yam, Fields of the Sea. Many illegal boats beached near Caesarea and it was here that Joab first went to work for Aliyah Bet as a gun runner when he was only twelve years of age.