The Haj - Leon Uris [125]
At the same time, the Haganah tightened the lines around Jaffa. Their objective was to remove all Arab resistance between Jaffa and Lydda, so they could have a clear shot at the airport without fear of Arab reinforcements.
Jewish plans to capture Jaffa sat like acid in the British stomach. Saving the Arab city had become something of an obsession with them. Although they had been pulling out of Palestine in droves, they sent out an emergency order to immediately return some units from Egypt and Cyprus.
After an appraisal of the situation, the British command reckoned that the Jews had Jaffa bagged and there was nothing, really, that they could do about it. Their mission then became to force an exit open to allow the Arabs to escape, if they wished. There was but one avenue left down the southern highway to safe Arab country around Gaza. The Jewish city of Bat Yam blocked the way.
The British struck Bat Yam with an authoritative artillery barrage and strafing from the air, then pushed in tank patrols to clear the road. It was like uncorking a highly charged bottle of fizz water. The Arabs gushed from Jaffa, plunging south in a tumultuous exodus. The Haganah allowed the Arabs free passage to the south, deftly avoided battle with the British, and continued reinforcing their encirclement of Jaffa on the other fronts.
From our monk’s cells at St. Peter’s Church, we were on high ground and could witness the gunfire and shell bursts throughout the nights. On the third day of battle, Brother Henri brought us the devastating news that Bassam el Bassam was gone. He did not know if Bassam had fled or had been murdered by the Irregulars for helping us.
Brother Henri told us the British were still holding the road open through Bat Yam and suggested we try to lose ourselves in the flood of refugees. My father rejected the offer, telling Brother Henri a small untruth. There were only two ways out of Jaffa—the single road to the south and by the port. My father pointed out that Kaukji had men posted in both places searching for him and were checking everyone with great scrutiny.
Secretly my father favored staying put in St. Peter’s.
He had confided in me that when the British finally withdrew, the Jews would capture the city. While he was afraid of Kaukji’s revenge, he had no fear whatsoever of a Jewish massacre.
What was really in the back of my father’s mind was the hope that the Jews would take Jaffa, which would allow him to return to Tabah and pay a visit to Uncle Farouk. It was what he lived for. If the regular Arab armies defeated the Jews later, what of it? He would have settled his score with Farouk.
Two days later, Brother Henri came to us in a state. Kaukji’s men had been snooping around the church, asking questions about us. The monk quivered and said that the church could no longer grant us sanctuary. We had to move.
Haj Ibrahim reckoned that our last hope was Gideon Asch. He had saved the phone numbers Gideon had given him, but Brother Henri said that all telephone lines from Jaffa had been cut. My father and I concocted a desperate plan.
Late in the afternoon, I slipped out of St. Peter’s and made for the Manshiya, edging through the narrow streets toward the front lines. I felt safe, in that one more little kid running around wouldn’t get much notice. Moreover, there were boys in a youth militia, my age or only a few years older, who were in the fighting.
I had become an urban rat. It was no trick for me to work my way to find the best possible observation point. I had an instinct. Something in my gut told me that the flea market between the two cities might still be operating, despite the heavy gunfire from both sides. I was right.
From my rooftop, I could clearly see that the market was crowded and there were no soldiers in it. Everyone who was leaving was selling off anything they couldn’t carry. As though by