Ari had been able to acquire a small Italian Fiat, a 1933 model The drive to Tel Aviv took only a few hours under normal conditions. Inasmuch as he had never known conditions to be normal he suggested they depart Haifa early, They drove down from the Carmel and took the coastal road along the edge of Samaria. Kitty was impressed by the greenness of the fields of the kibbutzim near the sea. Their color showed more brilliantly by contrast to the drabness of the hills and the dulling glare of the sun A few minutes’ drive from Haifa they met the first roadblock. Ari had warned Kitty to expect it. She watched his reactions. He was apparently not at all annoyed, despite the fact that many of the
soldiers knew him and taunted him with the reminder that his amnesty was only temporary.
Ari left the main road and drove to the Caesarea ruins on the sea. A lunch had been packed for them at the pension and they ate it on the ancient sea wall. Ari pointed to the Sdot Yam-Fields of the Sea-kibbutz where Joab Yarkoni lived and where he had spent much time with the Aliyah Bet when they beached the illegal runners during the 1936-39 riots. Ari showed Kitty how the Arabs had built their town on ruins, some Roman, some Crusader. The Arabs were experts in building on other people’s civilizations and had, in fact, constructed only one wholly new city in all of Palestine in a thousand years. Some of the magnificent Roman statuary and columns had been dragged off from Caesarea and could be found in Arab homes throughout the Samarian and Sharon districts.
After lunch they continued south toward Tel Aviv. The traffic was light. There was only an occasional bus load of either Arabs or Jews or the ever-present donkey cart. Every now and then a speeding, siren-screaming British convoy raced past them. As they passed Arab sections Kitty noticed the contrast of these villages and lands. The Arab woman toiled in the fields and the Arab fields were stony and drab. The women walked along the roadside encased in cumbersome robes with enormous loads balanced on their heads. The coffeehouses along the road were filled with listless men sitting motionless or lying down playing backgammon. Below Zichron Yakov-Memory of Jacob-they passed the first barbwire-enclosed ominous-looking Taggart fort. At Hadera, a bit farther, they came to another, and thereafter they seemed to pop up at every town and crossroad.
Beyond Hadera the land around the Plain of Sharon was even more lush and fertile. They drove between enormous archways of Australian eucalyptus trees.
“Everything you see was waste just twenty-five years ago,” Ari said.
In the afternoon they entered Tel Aviv-the Hill of Spring.
Along the Mediterranean coast arose this city “so white it dazzled the eye in the afternoon sun. Tel Aviv was like frosting on a cake. Ari drove on broad, tree-lined boulevards between rows of ultramodern apartment houses. The city was alive with bustle and movement. Kitty liked Tel Aviv the instant she saw it.
On Hayarkon Street, right on the sea, Ari checked into Gat Rimon Hotel.
In late afternoon all the shops reopened after the siesta period. Ari and Kitty strolled down Allenby Road. Kitty had to change some currency, purchase a few things, and
satisfy a lot of curiosity. Beyond the Mograbi Theater and plaza the road was filled with small shops, the honking and rushing of buses, cars, and people. Kitty had to see every last shop. There were a dozen or more book stores, and she paused to gaze at the cryptic “Hebrew letters. They walked and walked, up to Rothschild Boulevard past the main business district. Here was the older town where Tel Aviv had begun as an outgrowth of Jaffa. The closer they came to the Arab city the more rundown the buildings and shops became. Walking along the streets connecting the two cities, Kitty felt as though she were walking back in time. The surroundings grew dirtier and more odorous and the shops grew smaller and shabbier with each step. They circled back to Tel Aviv through a market place common to both Jews and Arabs. The narrow street was a mass of haggling people crowded around the stalls. They returned down the opposite side of Allenby Road, back to the Mograbi plaza and turned into another wide, tree-lined street. This was Ben Yehuda Street and it was filled with sidewalk cafes. Each cafe had its own distinctive flavor and its own distinctive clientele. There was a cafe for the gathering of lawyers and there was a cafe of the socialist politicians and a cafe of artists and a businessmen’s cafe. There was a cafe where fellow travelers of the terrorists hung out and there was a caf6 of old retired folk playing never-ending chess games. All the cafes of Ben Yehuda Street were filled and were bursting with chatter and arguments.
The news hawkers of the tiny, four-page newspapers shouted out in Hebrew of the Maccabee raids on Lydda and the Haifa refinery and of the arrival of the Exodus. There was a steady stream of people flowing by. There were Orientals in mideastern habit and there were well-groomed women in the latest of fashions from a dozen European countries. Mostly, there were native men in khaki pants and white shirts opened at the necks. They wore thin chain necklaces with a Star of David or some Hebrew pendant. Most of them sported the black mustache which was a trademark of the native born They were a rugged lot. Many were in the blue of a kibbutz with sandaled feet. The native women were tall, angular, and high breasted in plain dresses or slacks or shorts. There was an aggressiveness and pride about them, even in their walk.
Then Ben Yehuda Street became quiet.
It was the same sudden quiet that Kitty remembered from the night before at the restaurant in Haifa.
A British armored sound truck inched down the middle of Ben Yehuda Street. Tight-lipped Tommies manned machine guns on the car.
“attention all jews, the commanding general has ordered a curfew. all jews must be off the street by dark. attention all jews. the commanding general has ordered a curfew. all jews must be off the street by
DARK.”
A ripple of applause and laughter broke out from the onlookers.
“Watch it, Tommy,” someone called. “The next intersection is mined.”
When the trucks had passed, the scene quickly returned to normal.
“Let’s get back to the hotel,” Kitty said.
“I told you you’ll get so that you won’t be able to live without excitement inside a month.”
“I’ll never get used to it, Ari.”
They returned to the hotel with their arms filled with Kitty’s purchases. After cocktails in the small quiet bar there was dinner on the terrace overlooking the sea. Kitty could see the sweep of the coast line where the new city of Tel Aviv ran into the ancient city of Jaffa, the oldest port in the world.
“Thank you for a very nice day, British patrols and roadblocks notwithstanding.”
“You’ll have to forgive me,” Ari said. “I must leave after dinner for a while.”
“What about the curfew?”
“That only applies to Jews,” Ari said.
Ari left Kitty and drove from Tel Aviv to the adjoining suburb town of Ramat Can-the Hill Garden. It was a contrast to the apartment-house city of Tel Aviv in that it was a town of individual homes set in lawns and trees and gardens. The houses were of stucco with red tiled roofs, and they ranged from cottages to huge villas. Ari parked the car and walked about for more than a half hour to make certain he was not being followed.
He came to Montefiore Street 22, a large villa owned by a Dr. Y. Tamir. Dr. Tamir answered the knock, greeted Ari with a warm handshake, and led him downstairs to the basement.