The Last Rain (29 page)

23
. “Hallah” is a biblical word (see Ezekiel 43:27), meaning “onwards” or “further”; it may originate from the interjection HA-LA-AH. In Arabic, the highly idiomatic Yallah, which probably evolved from Ya-Allah (O God), has by coincidence (?) a similar meaning: “let’s go,” “get a move on,” “hurry up.” Modern Hebrew has adopted the Arabic idiom and expanded its usage.

24
.
Tiger, Tiger Burning Bright
by Paul Burlin (1886–1969).

25
.
Landscape with Garage Lights
by Stuart Davis (1894–1964).

26
.
Guerrillas
by Joseph Hirsch (1910–1981).

27
.

28
. Dori is unfamiliar with the Hebrew for “prophet” (
ha-navi
) and confuses it with the word for “grapes” (
anavim
).

29
. In 1961 an unusually cold and rainy winter led to shortages of vegetable crops.

30
. In Modern Hebrew, the word
zona
is equivalent to “whore” (in biblical Hebrew the word is closer in nuance to “harlot”). According to Hebrew’s usual gender markers, the masculine of
zona
would be
zoneh
; the masculine form, however, does not exist.

31
. Camp Bilu’im, a Young Judea camp for older teenagers, was named after the small Zionist movement BILU (a Hebrew acronym based on Isaiah 2:5—
House of Jacob, let us go
) which was founded in Russia in 1882 in response to a wave of pogroms. In colloquial Modern Hebrew
bilu’im
refers to enjoyable activities (derived from Job 21:13). The homonymic overlap is coincidental.

32
. Dori’s account is translated from Hebrew. Since Hebrew has fewer words than English, one term often serves many purposes, and words which seem advanced for a young child (
unfortunately, symbol, longing
) are everyday words in Hebrew. When Dori switches to English, the text is printed in an alternative font.

33
. For the banned rendition, see www.youtube.com/watch?v= d43h6tJlgUY.

34
.
Dimitri, just back from reserve duty, recalls:

I first heard about Petra when the army sent me to guard an archaeological expedition, but I didn’t think of going there until I heard about Meir’s trip. We considered Meir a demigod, we followed his every thought; if Meir could go, why couldn’t we?

The trip to Petra was only one of the plans floating around back then. For example, there was a plan to go to Mecca. They wanted me to join, but it was cancelled for a thousand reasons. We decided to go to Petra. We wanted to know what people are like there. Nabataean sand. Castles. It aroused our curiosity. And also the danger, to prove something about ourselves—the fighters of the 890 [Paratroopers Brigade]. Our military service wasn’t dangerous enough, it wasn’t life-threatening.

I met Dror, may he rest in peace, in the army. He was a guy with ambition. A good friend. Loyal. One of those healthy, well-built types, walked tall. Back then there were no jeeps. Patrols went out on foot for days, weeks, months. One day we were patrolling in the Judean desert, in the evening, and we sat next to the Cave of Horror [where Jews are believed to have taken refuge in the war against the Romans in 133–135 CE], we lit a bonfire, drank coffee, and Meir told us about Petra.

Later, when Dror and I were patrolling together in Jenin, we began to talk about the Red Rock again. On the way back we had to submit a report to the Northern Command. As it happened, there was a 1:1000-scale map lying around. Dror and I nicked it, and we began planning our trip.

I don’t remember exactly when we left, but it was around Passover 1956. I didn’t know who had gone before us, but I did know we were following in the tracks of a man and a woman.

We went out at dusk and walked all night. We came across a Bedouin tent and we bypassed it. In the morning we got to Petra. When we saw it, our eyes widened. We’d heard about it but we never imagined this.

We continued as far as we could, walking a few dozen metres behind a group of hikers. A guide was telling them about the history of the city in English. I don’t speak English but Dror understood. We took what photos we could and saw what we could. We didn’t get too close; in any case, we were in uniform. Uniform and Australian hats. I had the camera. The pictures didn’t come out that well, we weren’t great photographers. Today the photos are all over the place—Davidi [Gen. Aharon Davidi, then Paratrooper Commander] has some, and Arik [Ariel] Sharon, and other people.

We walked until 3:00 in the afternoon and then we headed back. When we got to the mountain of Ras al Naqab, we saw an eight-man patrol approaching. They were about fifty metres away and didn’t notice us.

We hid near a ditch. When they reached the path, they saw that the footprints in the sand suddenly vanished. They began to look for us and when they found us they opened fire from both sides. We killed two of them and even took loot— a small knife, an English rifle, binoculars and other things.

We had an Uzi and a Czech rifle. When they began shooting, we had to return fire. I fired first and Dror covered me. I was wounded in my hand and leg. Then I covered Dror, and he was shot in the head and died on the spot. I went over to him, took his compass, the maps, and the Uzi. Bullets were flying all around me, they hit my canteen, my grenade carrier, my hat. I tried to run. I ran along the path. I felt the blood dripping; I saw blood stains. I bandaged the wound on my hand.

Next to the path there was a ravine. I had no choice. I jumped four metres and sprained my ankle. I hid in the ravine. I had to wait for hours, until dark. They continued to look for me until nightfall.

At night I climbed out and headed back towards Petra. I skirted it and returned not by the path that we came on but through Wadi Musa [lit. Valley of Moses, then a tiny village, today a small tourist town].

I walked slowly, leaning on the barrel of the rifle. All night I walked. On the patrol path I came across a smuggler on a camel. He shot at me and I shot at him. I only wanted to take his camel and ride it back but I missed him.

Before we left, we’d arranged with friends that they would wait for us near the memorial. The signal was three shots on either side. I saw them in the distance. They were sitting on the memorial. I didn’t know whether they would recognize me. I was wearing an undershirt on my head. We’d been two and I was now alone. I fired three shots and they responded. Suddenly I realized I didn’t have any bullets left. But they saw through their binoculars that it was me and they sent two people to help me.

They bandaged me, gave me water, and sent me to the hospital. On the radio it was announced that two had died on the way to Petra, then things were clarified. When I got better, I had to stand trial, but I was acquitted. In return I had to complete an officers’ training course. That was an order from Arik Sharon—he would try to get me off and in exchange I had to take a course.

The trial was a long story. Meir Har Tziyon came to testify and Aharon Davidi and Arik Sharon. They testified on my behalf, saying that patrols often go to distant areas. After that Dror’s parents sued me, how come he was killed and not me, how come I was acquitted. But I wasn’t found guilty in the civil suit either.

A few months after this, when others were killed going to Petra, it wasn’t because of anything I said. I didn’t give anyone directions or anything like that.

But after they were killed I was discharged from the army.

They simply sent me home.

I feel at one with myself regarding my trip to Petra. Though of course it does weigh a little on my conscience. But it was Dror’s idea too. It was equal, both of us. I didn’t force him to go, he went of his own free will. But all the same it weighed on me quite a lot. And I was kicked out of the army.

—Interview for
Ma’ariv,
1971

35
. The fifty-page dual-language Haggada was typed painstakingly over a period of several weeks and printed on a mimeograph machine. A neighbouring kibbutz helped with the Hebrew typing and translation. From the Haggada:

How is this night different from all other nights?

That on this night we, Jewish youth from America, celebrate Passover in Eldar in the Galilee.

That we have the night
[Hebrew version: right]
to celebrate our holiday in a conquered Arab village?
[Hebrew: no question mark]

That we prophesy about our future.

Why are we celebrating our holiday in an Arab village?

One year ago, the fields we tend today were tended by others. And when we came, the desolation of their lives cried out to us through the ruins they left behind. Cried to us and reached our hearts, coloured our everyday lives. One day they were here and the next they were gone. Victims of war. So we search for justification for the right to be here.

It isn’t difficult to imagine how life must have been. Here a slipper, there a mirror, here a sack of grain, there a family portrait, a broken toy, a student’s English textbook.

Daily I walk the familiar paths

With open eyes that see not

Not only bitter but rank

Is our once-hallowed ground

And blood too stains our hands

Who said “might is right”