The Lemon Tree: An Arab, A Jew, and the Heart of the Middle East by Sandy Tolan
Authors: Sandy Tolan
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in their homes by the militia of the Irgun and Stern Gang. There were rumors of rape. Ahmad and Zakia were terrified. They had nine children, seven of them girls.
In one day, the Arabs of Palestine had lost their greatest commander, their most important battle, and dozens of innocents at Deir Yassin. Just as disturbing for the Khairis, in the aftermath of the attack on Hassan Salameh's headquarters, al-Ramla seemed more vulnerable. Already the strategically located town had become a flashpoint in the ongoing struggle to control the supply routes between Jerusalem and the coast. Ahmad and Zakia saw that their children's lives might be in danger.
Yitzhak Yitzhaki had similar concerns. He had written home to Bulgaria of his assignment on Mt. Scopus with the Haganah to protect the university and the hospital. In Sofia, Moshe and Solia were following Yitzhaki's movements and had learned through his letters that Arab forces had cut off Jewish supply lines at the mountain pass of Bab al-Wad and that hunger was growing among the Jewish population of Jerusalem. "But at Mt. Scopus, we had food," Yitzhaki would recall. "We received parachuted supplies by night." At Passover, in early April 1948, Yitzhaki and his fellow Haganah recruits succeeded in securing the road between Jerusalem and Mt. Scopus. "Then we could take a little twenty-four-hour vacation in Jerusalem." There he mailed a letter home to Bulgaria, telling his family he was on his way back to Mt. Scopus the next day.
"The next afternoon, I show up at the appointed place ready to go up with the caravan of the three Jewish buses back to Mt. Scopus," Yitzhaki said. Varda wanted him to stay in Jerusalem for one more night. "But I have to go back," Yitzhaki protested. Varda had connections in the Haganah and succeeded in winning her boyfriend another day off, though the commander warned Yitzhaki: "Tomorrow's caravan will not be as safe as this one."
That evening, April 13, Yitzhaki and Varda went to see a movie at Cinema Edison in West Jerusalem. Yitzhaki couldn't concentrate. "I had a bad feeling and I felt very restless. Suddenly, we heard shooting and explosions. 'This is our caravan. I know it,' I said to Varda. I ran out to the headquarters. There I was told that armed Arabs stopped the caravan." Arab fighters had attacked the convoy on its way to Hadassah Hospital. The attackers burned the buses and killed everyone inside. Seventy-eight people died. Most were doctors and nurses.
"Up on Mt. Scopus, I was counted as one of the dead," Yitzhaki said. "And indeed, I felt that I myself was there in those buses. It was terrible, terrible to live with this. When my family heard of what happened, they were sure that I was killed. What added to the anguish was that most of the bodies could not be identified, except through someone's personal objects, like rings." In Bulgaria, Moshe's, Solia's, and Yitzhaki's immediate families in Sliven and Burgas went into mourning.
Even in the midst of the fighting, some Arab leaders in al-Ramla and neighboring Lydda were trying to maintain contact with their Jewish neighbors. Two months earlier, the mayor of Lydda received his Jewish counterpart, Ziegfried Lehman, a medical doctor born in Berlin and now a leader from the nearby Jewish settlement of Ben Shemen. The mayor agreed to Dr. Lehman's request to keep the road open between the communities. In a few places, hope remained for a peaceful settlement.
In early May, Bedouin fighters began arriving in al-Ramla from the east on the orders of King Abdullah of Transjordan. "We slaughtered many lambs in their honor and received them as a liberation army," Khanom remembered. "They gave us assurances and the word of King Abdullah himself that we would be safe and be able to stay in al-Ramla." Many of the Bedouins were barefoot and in the coming days would use their rifles to shoot pigeons for food. They would be remembered as moody, mercenary, and courageous. With their small numbers and meager
In one day, the Arabs of Palestine had lost their greatest commander, their most important battle, and dozens of innocents at Deir Yassin. Just as disturbing for the Khairis, in the aftermath of the attack on Hassan Salameh's headquarters, al-Ramla seemed more vulnerable. Already the strategically located town had become a flashpoint in the ongoing struggle to control the supply routes between Jerusalem and the coast. Ahmad and Zakia saw that their children's lives might be in danger.
Yitzhak Yitzhaki had similar concerns. He had written home to Bulgaria of his assignment on Mt. Scopus with the Haganah to protect the university and the hospital. In Sofia, Moshe and Solia were following Yitzhaki's movements and had learned through his letters that Arab forces had cut off Jewish supply lines at the mountain pass of Bab al-Wad and that hunger was growing among the Jewish population of Jerusalem. "But at Mt. Scopus, we had food," Yitzhaki would recall. "We received parachuted supplies by night." At Passover, in early April 1948, Yitzhaki and his fellow Haganah recruits succeeded in securing the road between Jerusalem and Mt. Scopus. "Then we could take a little twenty-four-hour vacation in Jerusalem." There he mailed a letter home to Bulgaria, telling his family he was on his way back to Mt. Scopus the next day.
"The next afternoon, I show up at the appointed place ready to go up with the caravan of the three Jewish buses back to Mt. Scopus," Yitzhaki said. Varda wanted him to stay in Jerusalem for one more night. "But I have to go back," Yitzhaki protested. Varda had connections in the Haganah and succeeded in winning her boyfriend another day off, though the commander warned Yitzhaki: "Tomorrow's caravan will not be as safe as this one."
That evening, April 13, Yitzhaki and Varda went to see a movie at Cinema Edison in West Jerusalem. Yitzhaki couldn't concentrate. "I had a bad feeling and I felt very restless. Suddenly, we heard shooting and explosions. 'This is our caravan. I know it,' I said to Varda. I ran out to the headquarters. There I was told that armed Arabs stopped the caravan." Arab fighters had attacked the convoy on its way to Hadassah Hospital. The attackers burned the buses and killed everyone inside. Seventy-eight people died. Most were doctors and nurses.
"Up on Mt. Scopus, I was counted as one of the dead," Yitzhaki said. "And indeed, I felt that I myself was there in those buses. It was terrible, terrible to live with this. When my family heard of what happened, they were sure that I was killed. What added to the anguish was that most of the bodies could not be identified, except through someone's personal objects, like rings." In Bulgaria, Moshe's, Solia's, and Yitzhaki's immediate families in Sliven and Burgas went into mourning.
Even in the midst of the fighting, some Arab leaders in al-Ramla and neighboring Lydda were trying to maintain contact with their Jewish neighbors. Two months earlier, the mayor of Lydda received his Jewish counterpart, Ziegfried Lehman, a medical doctor born in Berlin and now a leader from the nearby Jewish settlement of Ben Shemen. The mayor agreed to Dr. Lehman's request to keep the road open between the communities. In a few places, hope remained for a peaceful settlement.
In early May, Bedouin fighters began arriving in al-Ramla from the east on the orders of King Abdullah of Transjordan. "We slaughtered many lambs in their honor and received them as a liberation army," Khanom remembered. "They gave us assurances and the word of King Abdullah himself that we would be safe and be able to stay in al-Ramla." Many of the Bedouins were barefoot and in the coming days would use their rifles to shoot pigeons for food. They would be remembered as moody, mercenary, and courageous. With their small numbers and meager
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