Eyewitness to Israel’s Birth
By Zipporah Porath
When I waved goodbye to my family at Pier 84 in New York, in September 1947, headed for a year of study at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem, I had no way of knowing I would be caught up in Israel's War of Independence. It turned out to be a year that changed my life, as well as the course of Jewish history.
I had been awarded a scholarship by the Zionist Organization of America. To go or not to go? How could I turn down a year’s free tuition, a hard-to-get visa to British Mandatory Palestine and a chance to find out what being a Jew meant, not at Zionist meetings in New York, but in the reality of Eretz Yisrael?
The reality hit me on arrival at Haifa port as I watched the stevedores unload the ship. They formed a human chain, passing hefty baggage hand to hand and shouting at each other in Hebrew; rowdy, muscle men dressed in grubby khaki shorts – a new kind of Jew for me. Then I met the local students -- sabras, kibbutzniks and new immigrants – another breed of Jew. Within days, I felt a real sense of belonging, a firm connection to my people in its long chain of history, which had its roots here.
I was totally unprepared, however, for what I found in Jerusalem: a city bristling with barbed wire and barricades, divided into British, Jewish, Arab and mixed sectors. Trigger-happy “Tommies” were everywhere enforcing curfews and forbidden arms searches. The situation was out of control: the British had passed the problem to the United Nations for a solution.
On November 29, 1947, the UN voted to end the British Mandate and approved a Partition Plan for Palestine, calling for an Arab State and a Jewish State. The fulfillment of our 2,000 year-old dream was within reach. Not just a dream, but a desperately needed haven for survivors of Hitler’s death camps. Jerusalem went wild with joy. History was in the making and I was where it was happening.
The euphoria soon evaporated. All the Arab countries rejected the plan. It became clear that we would have to fight for a Jewish State. Arabs hostilities began in earnest. Within weeks, the campus on Mt. Scopus was inaccessible and classes were suspended. Tension mounted. A series of full-scale explosions in the heart of the city was a grim signal to American students to go home or join the forces helping to defend Jerusalem. A handful of us stayed on believing it was a time for Zionists to stand up and be counted. We counted, just by being here.
I joined the Haganah, Israel’s pre-state underground defense force, in a cloak and dagger induction ceremony, with one hand on a Bible, the other on a pistol. The first aid course I took to become a medic ended the very day terrorists blew up Ben Yehuda Street. Amazingly, I soon found myself not only treating wounded but setting up infirmaries in Haganah outposts. Before long, Jerusalem was under total siege with critical shortages of water, food, fuel and ammunition. The only road link to the rest of the country was under constant attack: convoys were ambushed and their precious cargoes confiscated. We were the target for relentless sniping, shelling, bombing. It was terrifying.
The State of Israel was proclaimed in Tel Aviv on May 14, 1948. Light years away in Jerusalem, with our electricity cut off and batteries gone, we never even heard the broadcast. Only during the cease-fire at the end of June, when I was assigned to accompany the first United Nations convoy of wounded out of the city, did the full impact of the reality hit us: we were actually in the State of Israel. A wondrous, joyous moment. The din was deafening as my patients, mostly amputees, banged their crutches and canes on the ambulance doors and windows.
Today, thanks to letters I wrote to my family during Israel's War of Independence, I can describe in vivid detail what living through that incredible period had been like. The letters were lovingly cherished and preserved by my parents: I found them in a frayed packet nearly four decades later, after their deaths. The book, “Letters from Jerusalem 1947-1948” captures the thrill and pride I had experienced as an eyewitness to Israel’s birth. I told it as it happened. I was there!! In the final letter I wrote: “I have been part of it and it will forever be part of me. I intend to see this war through and then remain on, whatever happens. This is now my home.”
The passionate sense of commitment I had felt toward the new born state is echoed in “Alex, Building a Life,” letters written by Alex Singer, a young American who made aliya in 1985 and fell serving in the IDF defending Israel. He wrote that joining the army “has given me the opportunity to play a part in making the one Jewish state in the world a place where Jews can live without fear as Jews.”
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