It was August 1948. I had been training for the Haganah in Johannesburg, and now the time had come to leave for Israel. I sat out the night with my sister and brothers, as well as several of my fellow students and teachers. My brother Bernard kept on making coffee for us all, and we passed the time chatting until I was called for.
We were a group of 20 passengers on a Universal Airlines Dakota plane. When we got to Ndola, the air pockets defeated us and all of us, excluding one, were sick – our faces were green, the sickest of all being the only doctor on board.
We spent the night in Entebbe, choosing to stay at the River Boat Hotel. The following day we flew to Rome, where at the airport it was revealed to us that I was the only one without a visa for Italy. It was just a formality but caused a delay, so the others had to leave without me.
I remained behind in Rome for another day or two, together with the crew, in a lovely hotel near a beautiful park. I did a lot of walking about Rome with the captain. Everything in Rome was so pretty, and full of color, and the people beautiful.
I think it must have been the following afternoon when I boarded the plane again, with different passengers. I spent much time in the cockpit and served as a mini-hostess, handing out the sandwiches. No luxury trip, this!
We landed in Haifa long past due time and the landing was very bumpy. Then I was bumped again, in a lorry which took us to a camp by the beach. Later on – the time and length of time remains vague after so many years – we came to Tel Aviv to Zamenhoff, I think, for a physical check-up. Next I was taken to the Recruiting Camp “Kelet” at Tel Litvinsky.
There I met up with my friends from the plane who were in the men’s camp. One of them came to the gate to fetch me, but I wasn’t allowed out without a pass. A girl from my tent showed me a hole in the fence which I climbed through, so we had a lovely reunion.
I had the choice of training in Ma’ayan Baruch, where there were other South Africans, or at the local camp. I chose the local camp as I knew that at Ma’ayan Baruch I’d learn little colloquial Hebrew. Here we had no choice, Hebrew was the medium, whether we spoke it or not.
While visiting my friends at their camp, the cultural officer offered me a job teaching Hebrew to the English-speakers, once I completed my training. That was settled and the idea pleased me.
In the training camp there were eight of us in a tent. We got on very well together. One of them, Esther, is still my friend today. The cultural officer gave me a printed invitation to their party and ball. There was one slight problem – nobody was allowed out of the camp.
Six of us decided to slip out of camp in twos, and one of the girls fixed apple-pie beds, using our plates and cutlery to represent feet. Then we crept out through a hole in the fence and went to the dance. It was lovely dancing inside the hall, and later on, on the lawn.
While we were out, the officer Devorah came to check on us, and getting no answer, she tried touching the “feet,” but the cutlery rattled against the plate; she tried with each of the six beds, and in the end had a good laugh!
I think I had four or five days leave, when I visited my aunt. I returned to Tel Litvinsky to work with the cultural officer. We were not properly organized, so didn’t really do any teaching. The adjutant didn’t like me – nothing personal I was told – he just wanted his daughter to have my job.
After about a week or so, the cultural officer Chaim said he was going into town and would give me a lift to my auntie – I had to meet him very early the following morning outside the “Palestine Post” office. He made light of the fact that I didn’t have a pass. “Just keep your head down until we pass the gate,” he told me. It was so simple, after all.
The following morning, Chaim picked me up. At the camp the adjutant was waiting for me: “You’re going to be punished for leaving the camp without permission.” The punishment was immediate and two-fold. His daughter was given my job and I was sent off to the camp at Beit Lid together with another soldier who was also in disgrace.
I was first taken to the girls’ camp, where I shared a room with the nurse in her bungalow – the nurse was very nice, and so was the accommodation. My work was at the boys’ camp. It was very hot, but the soldiers were friendly and though I was busy all day, the atmosphere was pleasant. I made a good friend, Danny, who partnered me each evening at their dances and parties. When the week was up I was sorry to leave. I think the time I spent there was the highlight of my army service.
I was transferred to a small office under Lionel Schwartz, but I have no recollection of how much time I spent in this unit. Eventually I was moved to the Green House in Jaffa. I was given a Hebrew typewriter and told to type. I had never seen a Hebrew typewriter before, but fortunately I could look at the keys, as the material was read out to me. I was good at spelling, so it went quickly. I have no idea how long I stayed in Jaffa.
I was to have one last transfer to Headquarters in Ramat Gan. This time I typed in English – whether I still typed in Hebrew I don’t remember – and again it was dictated to me as I typed, several times by Vivian (Chaim) Herzog.
After my discharge I continued working there as a civilian, until my wedding, which three girls were allowed to attend.
My service as a Machalnik in the War of Independence in 1948 lasted about eight-and-a-half months.
Author: Rica Goldin (nee Klingman), December 2003