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April 2001 Issue

When it Comes to Jewish History, We Were All Somehow There

By Nomi Eve

When I was twenty-one, I was leafing through a history book when I saw a horrible photograph with a caption that read, "Two British sergeants hanging in a citrus orchard near Netanya." My grandmother lives near Netanya, in a house that sits in the middle of the citrus grove that my grandfather tended for most of his life. I stared at the lifeless pendant bodies wondered, "did that happen in my grandparents' own backyard?…or nearby?"

*******

On a visit to Israel, I asked my grandmother if she knew anything about the hanging of the British sergeants. "Know anything about it?" she looked surprised. "Well of course I do, we all did, it happened right here, the night before a local wedding." She then proceeded to tell me an amazing story. I wrote the story down, and it became the first part of my novel to actually exist in the world.

*******

The story behind the horrible photograph is as follows: In the years leading up to the War of Independence in 1948 there were several groups of Jews in Palestine actively resisting British rule. One was the Haganah. Some of the groups were more militant than others, a difference that led to occasional flare-ups of internecine friction. There was a group called Etzel, which was particularly militant and claimed responsibility for many of the bombings and booby-trappings of that era.

In May 1947, the British hanged two militant Jews from the resistance cell Etzel. In retaliation, Etzel kidnapped and threatened to execute two British soldiers. They kidnapped the soldiers from outside a pub in Netanya, the city near my grandparents home.

The incident with the British sergeants occurred when my father was ten years old. When the sergeants were kidnapped, the British put the entire valley under a curfew, and then they cordoned off the area and wouldn't let anyone leave.

After a few weeks of holding the sergeants in a secret prison underneath a diamond factory in Netanya, Etzel hung them from a citrus tree in one of the local orchards. The grotesque photograph which I had seen in a history book depicted two men hanging from the squat, twisty, beautiful trees that looked identical to the ones I had grown up loving in my grandparent's back yard.

*******

My grandmother told me that the night after the night of the hanging there was a wedding in our village. All of the guests came with heaping plates of food. In those days there was no catering, only kind and generous neighbors.

After the ceremony, my grandparents danced all evening. And then suddenly, in the middle of the festivities, a neighbor ran in and whistled loudly for everyone to get quiet. The neighbor then told everyone that the British army was hunting through all the surrounding orchards for the corpses of the two British sergeants.

Once the bodies were found, the British would burn the closest village. The bodies were not in my grandparents village, but supposedly, Etzel was going to try to move the murdered sergeants into an innocent orchard and in this way hide their own guilt and trick the British into punishing the wrong people.

Everybody left the party immediately. The men stood all night long and deep into morning in a protective ring around our village's orchards. Throughout the night the women took the uneaten wedding feast and walked from man to man, feeding them.

According to my grandmother, the bride and groom did not "go off alone," but stood with their "guests" all night long, celebrating their first night as bride and groom by standing in solidarity with their neighbors.

*******

When my grandmother told me this, I was shocked. When I had asked her about the photograph I had expected a nod, or a one-line acknowledgment that "yes, such a terrible thing happened nearby."

I didn't expect such an intimate story. I didn't expect such a beautiful story. I didn't expect my grandmother to have brushed right up against the history. I hadn't expected that she would be there too, in the photograph, hidden behind the trees.

Of course, now I have learned that in Israel, no story is remote. Nowadays, anytime I ask my grandmother about a seminal event in modern Israeli history I expect to hear that she was either there herself, or knew someone who was there, or knew someone who knew someone who was a crucial part of the story.

That's about as remote as we get. Knew someone who knew someone. But usually she or my grandfather, or a cousin, or a great uncle or a great aunt played bit parts in the drama that is Israel. I have come to take this for granted.

*******

This past fall I traveled around America reading parts of my novel, The Family Orchard to various audiences. Often, I read at Jewish Community Centers or synagogues. As I looked out at the faces in these audiences I recognized the features of my own family. I recognized the faces of our neighbors in my grandparents' village. Eyes, noses, mouths, foreheads, hair color, skin tone, expressions, they were all so familiar.

It is clear to me that we are all in some way connected to those wedding guests. We may not all know it. We may not all be able to trace our connections directly…but the connections are there.

When I look out at a group of Jews listening to my stories, I wonder which of their great aunts is the sister of someone who so carefully prepared a plate of knishes for the wedding feast? I wonder which of their great uncles had a cousin who ran swiftly through the night and stood bravely by a lemon tree, guarding it against the coming of a stranger's corpse? I wonder, whose grandmother's sister helped the bride dress for the wedding? Whose grandfather's childhood best friend helped hold up the chuppah?"

I read from my book, I tell this story, I look out and see so many familiar faces, and then I think about the corpses of those poor British sergeants, and then I think about the bride and groom, newly husbanded and wived, sweetly holding hands as they stand in the ring of their neighbors. I see these things, and I know that it is all of our story, and yes, we were all somehow there.

Nomi Eve has an MFA from Brown University and is the author of The Family Orchard. She lives in Brookline, MA with her husband and son.

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