I was born in Belgium where we lived when the Germans occupied the country in May 1940. With the start of deportations east, my parents, sister and I left Antwerp, heading west to France. We crossed the borders on foot and traveled on trains, avoiding the main rail lines wherever possible. We evaded German checkpoints and patrols. On the strength of a Cuban visa we entered Spain two months later. We sailed from Barcelona on a small converted cattle freighter, “Isla de Tenerife,” carrying 800 refugees to Cuba under very harsh conditions. We sailed the Atlantic for 28 days in waters dominated by German U-boats. We landed in Havana safely and immigrated to the U.S a few years later. Almost all the family members that stayed behind were deported to Auschwitz with over one-half of the Jewish population living in Belgium, and were murdered.
The war in Europe ended with the destruction of countless Jewish communities and it became more evident than ever that the Jewish people had to regain their homeland in Eretz Yisrael. I was an active member in the religious Zionist youth movement, and at the age of 18 joined a hachshara [agricultural training farm] in New Jersey at about the time the United Nations voted for the partition plan. My contact with shlichim [emissaries] led me, together with several friends, to collect weapons donated by WW II veterans; they were crated as “machinery” for shipment to Palestine. I learned of the recruiting activities at the ‘Land and Labor for Palestine’ offices located at the Breslin Hotel in Manhattan, and signed up. To my surprise, I was accepted although I had no previous military experience to offer.
Soon after the state was declared I was told to report to the ‘Land and Labor’ office and was sent to an assembly site on a farm located near Peekskill for briefings, while awaiting embarkation to Israel. In July 1948 several of us Machal volunteers were driven to the Manhattan piers and embarked on the “Marine Carp.” When I signed up with ‘Land and Labor,’ the Haganah operatives noted that I was able to obtain a Polish passport as my parents held Polish nationality. Because of the U.S. embargo, my Polish passport was of great interest to the Haganah. Shortly before sailing, the passport was “borrowed” and several volunteers hurriedly boarded at intervals, flashing the passport (mine) to the guard who waived each one on. The ship made a stop in Europe, arriving in Haifa in August 1948. My parents, who would have vehemently opposed my decision, did not find out about my departure until they read the message that I had posted to them from a Manhattan pier before we sailed.
Landing in Haifa, I joined the American chaverim [members] of Garin Netivot at Ein Hanatziv in the Bet Shean valley. The garin [group] was made up of “Anglo-Saxons” and members of Kibbutz Kfar Darom, who had withstood numerous attacks by Arab forces in the Negev for seven months. We were to create a new settlement in the south. Several of us served in the Golani Brigade. We were posted to the Tel Radra mishlat [outpost], engaging in night patrols and ambushes in the defense of the Bet She’an Valley border kibbutzim. The platoon consisted of kibbutzniks from the area, Rumanian and Moroccan new immigrants, and a sprinkling of sabras from the cities. The platoon leader was a Polish army veteran and the language barrier was an impediment. Fortunately, all the newcomers understood enough Hebrew to respond to commands given in the field.
There were enough personal weapons to go around, but they were a potpourri, with a few British Lee-Enfield rifles and Sten guns making up the bulk. Some were exotic, such as an Italian rifle, World War I vintage, with sparse ammunition. The miracle came in October when a crate of brand new Czech-made rifles arrived on the hill. The ammunition for the weapons, however, arrived a week later.
The garin settled the land adjacent to the Arab village of Isdud (south of today’s Ashdod) in February 1949. The Egyptian army had been expelled from the area two months earlier during “Operation Yoav.” 35 of us arrived at the site early in the morning and erected the prefabricated walls and roofs of the buildings. By nightfall a new settlement, today’s Bnei Darom, had been placed on the map of Israel.
I returned to the U.S in October 1949 to continue my education. I completed my studies in the field of Industrial Engineering and Management, earning an MBA at New York University. During the Korean War, I served with the U.S. Eighth Army in Korea. In civilian life I pursued a career in Management Consulting, specializing in Logistics Operations and Supply Chain Management. I taught in this field and served as consultant to major corporations in the U.S., Europe and South America, both on the staff of a major management consulting organization and running my own firm. I served as President of the American Veterans of Israel (AVI) in 1993-94 and again in the year 2001, and continue to be active in matters relating to AVI and Machal.
My time in Israel remains one of the most memorable parts of my life. The days and nights in the Bet She’an valley have remained carved in my memory. From the hilltop of the Tel Radra outpost, we observed to the east the outline of the Jordan River and to the west the town of Jenin, with Iraqi trenches just a few hundred meters in front of us. In the distance, to our rear, was Mount Gilboa. I would stare at the sloping height, remembering from history the clash between our forebears and the Philistines that took place there some 3,000 years earlier. It was on the slopes of that mountain that King Saul with his three sons and Jonathan fell in the battle for the control of this valley. It was imperative that the new State of Israel prevail in the land that was home to our forebears and for which they had fought and had given their lives. I often think about the miracle of our people’s survival while other great civilizations have succumbed over the centuries. In spite of the terrible sacrifices of the Holocaust, we go on as a people and even flourish. The rebirth of the Jewish state is no longer a dream, but a historical fact. We were privileged to help make it happen.