Although priority was given to pilots and seasoned soldiers among the many South Africans who rushed to volunteer at the outbreak of the War of Independence, a decision was made to allow each youth movement to send representatives.  I was one of six members of the Zionist Socialist Youth Movement told to pack my bags.  In those days it was at least a two day journey with an overnight stay in North Africa.  Before leaving we were called for briefing and issued with strict instructions:

“Sit separately.”

“Do not speak to each other.”

“Do not let anybody know that you are together.”

Our first stop was Rhodesia and on the way I learnt what air sickness was.  We had to disembark and as we boarded as we boarded again, the air hostess asked me “Are all the six of you flying on to Israel?” So much for secrecy!

We had to sleep over in Rome but sadly we had not been informed of that and all that George, my traveling companion, and I could afford was gelato Italiano of which we tried pretty well  all the flavors. At that special meeting we were also given an address in Rome and told – “Remember the address.  Do NOT keep this information on you. In a crisis you have to swallow the paper!”  In Rome we boarded a bus and asked the conductor to tell us where to get off – “Ah!” he said, “So you are also going to the Israeli offices!”

Duly we arrived in Israel and I traveled to Haifa seated on a Tnuva box.  Today there is a dual carriageway but then there was just a narrow inland road where two vehicles could barely pass one another.  Indeed one volunteer unknowingly sat with his arm out of the window – he never made it into the army! Georgie and I found ourselves conscripted into military service in spite of having no previous training. We arrived in Tel Litwinski only to be informed that there was a four-day truce and we could have  leave.

I was blessed with family in Israel and so I made my way to visit, laden with gifts from my mother. I reached the family home in Petach Tikva and there found two ladies in the yard, bent over a washtub, scrubbing the laundry and nearby a little old lady was issuing orders – it was my adorable savta and my mother’s two sisters. They had not set eyes on me since I was three years old yet one of the aunts lifted her head, looked at me and exclaimed in Yiddish “Du weiss ver do es? Dos es Yossele!”

The next day I made my way to Jerusalem to see my father’s family in Rehavia.  The only means of travel was in convoy. This was the home of my father’s youngest sister – I also had gifts for them and food from the family as there were food shortages in Jerusalem. My aunt had also not been informed of my coming but as she set eyes on me she shrieked “Mordechai!” – my father’s name.  This surprised me as I did not look like him in the least but that is what excitement does.  She had already lined up a shidduch for me with her husband’s niece! I didn’t refuse the shower they offered and only afterwards did I learn that I had used up their week’s supply of water. I left Jerusalem the next day in the dead of noght, part of a convoy that had to travel in complete darkness due to imminent danger on the Burma Road. We lost sight of the vehicles ahead and we were on our own.  As dawn broke we indeed reached a town – but not the one expected.  Where were we? Strange people filled the narrow streets. I was in shock but an Israeli local calmed my fears “You are in Rehovot,” he explained, “and this is the Yeminite Quarter.”

The truce came to an end and I was back in Tel Liwinski.  My army career was about to begin – but that is a new chapter. If you are interested in reading it please let me know.