The Haj - Leon Uris [36]
‘Ten, twelve. They must speak Arabic fluently. I’ll teach them what the Bab el Wad means to Jewish fighters if you’ll do the tracking for us. Give me two weeks.’
‘I’ll have an answer for you tonight,’ Gideon said.
‘I jolly well told General Clay-Hurst you’d go for it,’ Foote said jubilantly.
‘Captain Wingate,’ Gideon said, ‘you didn’t come upon this by revelation in the middle of the night. What is your theory?’
‘I am a dedicated Zionist. I believe this is Jewish land. I also believe that the ways of using these valleys and hills and deserts for defense have all been writ in the Bible. If there is ever to be a Jewish nation in Palestine, I feel destined to be a part of making it.’
‘What is the rest of your theory, Captain?’
‘The Jews, we Zionists,’ he said, ‘will never be able to settle more than a few million people here. That is reality. What is also reality is the fact that such a state will always be surrounded by tens of millions of hostile and unforgiving Arabs. You cannot expect to hold them at bay forever. Sheer weight of numbers and a Moslem society that perpetuates hatred makes that impossible. If you are to survive, you must establish the principle of retaliation. For example, I am going to need several squads of these night fighters to guard the Iraqi oil pipeline into Haifa. It covers hundreds of miles and obviously a few dozen men can’t protect it from sabotage. What the Arab must understand before he cuts the pipe is that he is going to face a reprisal... massive retaliation—it is the key to controlling forces a hundred times the size of your own.’
‘Captain Wingate,’ Gideon said, ‘what kept you so long?’
12
Summer 1937
DEPENDING ON WHOSE GRANDMOTHER was telling the tale, the olive press belonging to Ibn Yussuf of the Village of Fakim was anywhere from two hundred to two thousand years old. Four to five centuries was most likely. Ibn Yussuf’s ancestors had made a meager but passable living from the press for generations.
The Village of Fakim was midway up the Bab el Wad, off the main highway, embedded in the plunging ravines and terraces of the Judaean wilds. Despite its dire location, villagers came from miles around to avail themselves of Ibn Yussuf’s press, which owned a magical reputation. Its product could not be matched. The more ancient the press, the more splendid the oil’s fragrance, taste, and character.
Even the Jews, with all their modern skills, could not match Ibn Yussuf’s oil press, and eventually representatives of kibbutz after kibbutz found their way into the hills for Ibn Yussuf to convert their crops. Ibn Yussuf, scratched out a living, generally getting paid for his services in grain and other staples. One day the manager of the olive groves at Shemesh Kibbutz came to Ibn Yussuf with an idea that changed his fortunes considerably.
The idea was simple. Instead of accepting grain, Ibn Yussuf would charge a small percentage of the oil he produced. The kibbutz set up for him a one-building cottage industry to can the oil and they marketed it through their own cooperative. The size of the cans was either one or two liters and bore the words IBN YUSSUF’S OLIVE OIL in Arabic, Hebrew, and English. Beneath that was a sketch of the famed old press and the words FOUNDED IN 1502, FAKIM.
Ibn Yussuf and his wife were a childless couple, a considerable tragedy that bleached out their lives. Since he dealt with the Jews on a regular basis, he was convinced by them to allow himself and his wife to be examined at the Jewish hospital in Jerusalem. It was ascertained that a simple corrective operation performed on his wife could make her fertile. Afterward she bore him two healthy children, one of them the desired son.
The boy was nearly killed in a highway accident in infancy. Again it was the Jewish hospital that saved his life. Ibn Yussuf was a meek, humble little man, but his gratitude proved immense.
Gideon Asch found him in the normal course of events and over a period of years cultivated a special relationship.