The Haj - Leon Uris [112]
‘We are aware. It is but one of many problems.’
‘But none is more important,’ Brompton answered. ‘There can only be one central authority.’
Later in the day, Gideon’s aide returned from Jerusalem and he found Colonel Brompton once more.
‘A press conference is being called in Tel Aviv now,’ Gideon said. ‘The raid on Deir Yassin is being denounced. We have also contacted the Irgun. They repeated their accusation that the village has been the principal base of operations against Jewish traffic. They also claim they had warned the muktar and the village elders on six separate occasions to stop it. They warn further that if the Arabs use villages as military bases in the future, they had better remove their civilian populations from them first.’
‘Well, that’s drawing the old battle line, isn’t it?’
‘Strange, isn’t it, that we Jews are once again stuck with a dirty job no one else wants? You and all your snide friends in all the foreign offices know in your hearts the cruelty, the evil that emanates from the Moslem world. But you are afraid to hold Islam up to the light and tell your people, “Look, this is what we have to live with.” No, let the Jews do it. We once again man the barricades alone, berated by our smug, so-called allies of the Western democracies. Islam is going to turn this world upside down before this century is out and you’d better have enough guts to deal with it. It’s lonely here, Brompton. It’s lonely.’
Frederick Brompton avoided the angry glare of Gideon Asch. ‘Shall I escort you back to Jerusalem?’
‘Please.’
‘Well, Asch, the first massacre is always the worst.’
‘If you are saying that this thing will ever become acceptable for the Jewish people, you are wrong. We’re not afraid to examine ourselves. We won’t hide our dirt.’
‘So be it, but I am afraid the Arabs have mortgaged their future generation for revenge.’
By the time Haj Ibrahim had returned from Shemesh Kibbutz, the entire village population had gathered in the square and others were pouring in from the outlying villages. A roar of relief went up upon seeing their muktar.
‘Haj Ibrahim! There has been a terrible massacre!’
‘The Jews murdered everyone in Deir Yassin!’
‘Thousands slaughtered!’
‘They cut off the limbs of babies!’
‘Old people were thrown down the wells to drown!’
‘They cut open pregnant women and used the fetuses for target practice!’
‘The Jews are attacking Tabah next!’
Ibrahim called a meeting in the khan of the sheiks and elders. It was chaotic. Everyone complained, but no one put forth an idea. Fear could be seen and smelled as well as heard. Ibrahim had come to a lonely conclusion. He decided to make a last-ditch stand to hold the village. It meant defying Fawzi Kabir, ridding Tabah of the Jihad Militia, and extracting a promise from Gideon not to attack. He ordered everyone to return to their homes and fields. They reluctantly obeyed.
As Haj Ibrahim set about desperately to get things turned around, the Arabs got their revenge for Deir Yassin. A convoy of medical personnel left West Jerusalem to relieve the staff at the Hadassah Hospital on Mount Scopus. It had to pass through Arab East Jerusalem on a road under British control. Within a hundred yards of a British encampment, the Arabs ambushed the unarmed Red Cross convoy in broad daylight and murdered seventy-seven doctors and nurses. The British made no response to the attack.
But the Jews did not flee Jerusalem or elsewhere.
The Hadassah convoy massacre seemed to have a boomerang effect on the already frantic Arab population. Having wrought vengeance, they now feared the Jews would retaliate in kind and their fright began to rise to epidemic proportions.
Although Haj Ibrahim had ordered his people to stand pat, they started to slip away and run. A dozen families one night, another dozen a second night. He had lost control of the situation.
On the third morning at the mosque, he studied the remaining families face by face and he knew he could no longer