Bialystok Aharon


Aharon was born on 15 December 1932 in Radomsk to his parents Kopel Bialystok and Hela née Goldberg. While he was a young boy, he experienced the terrible hardships of the Holocaust. Later, when he was a teenager, he experienced the life of a refugee in Western Europe. Then, a ma'apil in the illegal immigration to Eretz Yisrael, a deported prisoner in Cyprus and a detainee at the Atlit Detention Camp. After all this, he arrived in December 1947 with the youth group Eitan to Kibbutz Beit HaShita where he lived for two years in the framework of the youth society. In December 1949, he settled with his group in Kibbutz Netiv HaLamed-Heh, in Bayt Nattif in the Valley of Ella, at the foot of the Judean Mountains. Here, he fell ill and came from the kibbutz to his mother in Tel Aviv for a period of recuperation. At first, he recovered a little and even immersed in continuing education, but the disease did not let go of him and he passed away on 20 January 1954.

My dear friend! I did not see you at your death, did not visit your grave, and I would never visit it. In my short life I saw enough dead people, graves and tears, and I know for sure that you will understand and forgive…

It happened in 1949. I learned that Aharon arrived in Israel and is in Kibbutz Beit HaShita. On Saturday I travelled to see him, and our meeting was like two brothers who met after a long separation. His friends from Aliyat Hano'ar [Youth Immigration] marveled at the emotion and love in our meeting. And indeed, a stranger would not understand this. We lived and suffered together and here we are meeting again, and, this time, in Israel.

Aharon Bialystok

Do you remember, Aaron, that I owe my life to you? It happened after the end of the war. I fell ill with typhus and was admitted to a Russian hospital in Theresienstadt. Of course, the situation there was unbearable, thousands died every day without beds and medical care, and my end was to die among strangers.

You Aharon, you are the one who brought life back to me, you stole me from there and smuggled me out with only a shirt on my skin. You put me in a Jewish hospital and there they saved me from death. Is it possible that this friend of mine will never return, and your understanding smile and joyful face will not be seen again?

It is true, Aharon, I am guilty. I admit and confess I did not visit you in the hospital. I was in Jerusalem, I traveled there to see you, I walked around for hours in front of the hospital, I did not have the courage to go inside, and I did not enter. Of course, you understand, Aharon, I did not want to see you on the cruel deathbed. I wanted to remember you as a friend with a fresh and friendly smile. I remember Voroshilov (a nickname given to him in Częstochowa Ghetto for the Russian hat he was wearing), the good and healthy friend who always existed in my memory.

You have suffered enough, Aharon, our generation, the generation of the ghettos and death camps, has seen enough in its short life. And you were proud and loved the homeland more than anything, because you felt in your flesh how bad it was without it. And even here, in Israel, you have chosen the most difficult, a life of fulfillment and a building in a new kibbutz on the border. There you fell ill and died from it after much and prolonged suffering.

It is hard to come to terms with the fact that Aharon, the strongest member of the group, was cut off.

It is amazing how Aharon managed to keep the image of the person in him, the purity of his soul, despite the years of Nazi hell. Freed from any complex, healthy in body and soul and full of creative joy.

Aharon, a nice young man, upright and sturdy - arrived with the “Eitan” group to Kibbutz Beit HaShita and, despite his family's temptation, he refused to part from the group.

In Kibbutz Beit HaShita he worked in the fodder and was the work organizer for his group. He was alert for studies and work and to all the problems of the time.

With his group he joined a young kibbutz - Netiv HaLamed-Heh in the Judean Mountains across from Gush Etzion. During the year he was able to live in the kibbutz - he stood out as a central force in agriculture and as a person who rises and promises a lot.

For three years he was tormented by his illness, struggling with all the strength of his youth with the illness, until he collapsed.

To his last days he never stopped being interested in the kibbutz. One of his last wishes was to sit on a tractor again and plow the fields.

My contact with Aharon was at work. I met a youth who spent his childhood years in torn and wild Europe during the Second World War. And it was a wonder in my eyes that a boy, who went through all this and understood that he cannot be innocent, preserved the purity of his heart through it all.

As Aharon told me, he worked in the first months of his training in clearing rocks and later started working with the sheep. He did not like the work of walking in the pasture and milking. Then, he moved to work in the fodder. A lot of young men worked with me on this job. The young men love the harvest work with the scythe which refreshes them and develops their muscles. They are not interested in growing the plant from seed to ripening. Aharon was one of the few who persevered in this work.

I will not forget this tall boy, with a somewhat childish face and eyes that express kindness!

On a hot day, in the afternoon, an order came to our youth group that the young men, who had recently finished training, should be ready at eight o'clock in work clothes in front of the dining hall. We wondered why we were being called and waited impatiently for eight o'clock.

The sun had already set behind the hill on the horizon, and we were ready to go. We sat on the grass in front of the dining hall, and talked with the boys and girls who did not have to participate in the outing. We talked as if we were leaving for a long time.

Members of the kibbutz, ready with weapons, also gathered there and we knew that we would go into action. We saw the difference between us and them: they were trained and participated in many actions, and we, who had recently come to Israel and trained for only a few days, already participate in the action. The commander approached us, took out five guys: three as scouts, one for the first squad and me for the second squad. I was given a rifle, bullets and two grenades and left for the rollcall. In total, there was one unit divided into squads. We all listened to the commander who gave us all the


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details. I was in a comfortable position like a trained veteran soldier. My rifle is in standby position. We have been told that we are leaving for a night ambush. According to a silent command, we set off in a single line to the road that led us to the place of action. From us there were only five of us, the rest remained in the camp, ready to come to our aid when needed. We climbed the hill, which was hundreds of meters away from the Arab village in which there was not a single living soul. With a stooped walk we entered the field of action, inside it passed a short passage twenty meters wide. We lay on one side of the line the entire length. The headquarters and first aid were behind us. The order was to make shelter and wait for the Arabs who should appear at the beginning of the night to harvest sorghum. And, if they appear on the other side of the line, we should open fire. I remembered what I had learned in the few days of training and began, with the member who was with me, to dig out the soil under us. We made a small mound in front of us and that was our position.

We lay quietly. The rifle was loaded and ready to my right. Darkness has already fallen. There was a warm easterly wind and not far away the sound of a tractor was heard. We lie down and wait for the enemy. All kinds of thoughts run through my mind: we, a youth group that arrived in Israel only a few months ago, and trained for only a few days, is already participating in a night ambush from which a serious battle may break out. Sometimes I was attacked by fear and again thoughts. I remember being in a concentration camp behind an electric fence and armed guards next to me. Hungry and freezing cold and asking for a country and a home to live in quietly and peacefully. And here I am already lying in an open field fighting for my country and for freedom.

The middle of the night is already approaching, and we continue to lie down. Sometimes it seemed that some figure was approaching from afar. With every rustle I thought - now we begin. And in this manner half the night had passed. Sometimes we heard the voices of the liaisons who were on the side of the village. There were moments when I wished in my heart that they would come so I could shoot them, or throw a grenade, and they did not.

The Arabs did not come. At one in the morning, we received an order to gather on the road. We are returning to the kibbutz. We returned in a straight line, and with great joy we met the friends who were waiting for us, who had to come to our aid.

Arye, son of Sara and Ezra Gelbard from Radomsk, was born in Germany. He studied in a public school, but he had to stop his studies because of the economic situation and anti-Jewish laws. He worked for about two years. At the age of sixteen he immigrated to Eretz Yisrael in the framework of a youth group, to Kibbutz Givat Brenner. He did not finish his training and moved to Kibbutz Holata. Here he entered the life of the kibbutz and worked in fishing. At the outbreak of the war, he was constantly fighting for his enlistment, and even tried to enlist on his own accord.

Arye Gelbard

Arye was not with us for a long time. The members did not know him well. He came to us while he was young, before he finished his training. It was difficult for him to be absorbed among us, but he always tried to overcome the difficulties and integrate into society. He rarely spoke and kept to himself. He slowly learned the fishing trade and was liked by his friends at work, but one thought always crossed his mind: revenge.

At the outbreak of the war, he immediately wanted to enlist in the army. With many efforts we managed to delay him, mainly because of his young age. We explained to him the priority of his enlistment to ranks of the kibbutz defense force, and he accepted that. With the first recruitment to a naval unit, he immediately volunteered, even though he knew the dangers involved in the operations of this unit. When we reminded him of these dangers, a smile hovered on his lips, and he repeated and emphasized that his ambition is to take revenge. But fate did not let him fulfill his wish: he disappeared on his first mission and his burial place is unknown.

To commemorate his name, one of our boats is named after him - the boats he loved and was attached to.

In his memory

Yosef Waldfogel was born in 1927 in Tel Aviv to his parents Dov and Yehudit - a working family who immigrated from Radomsk to Eretz Yisrael with the Third Ailyah (1925). At home he absorbed the values of Judaism and the labor movement, and the impressions of this education were clearly visible in him. After graduating elementary school Yosef joined the young family of workers and was one of the activities of HaNoar HaOved [Working Youth]. He took on the organization of the cultural and professional life of the branch in Tel Aviv. With great dedication and enthusiasm, he fulfilled every role the movement assigned to him, and his soul sought roles that filled his whole being.

Yosef had a special fondness for the landscape of our country which he got to know from his many trips. He tried not to miss every opportunity he had to get to know another corner of our beautiful country. He was enthusiastic about the landscape and the abundant vegetation in Galilee, and the wild and hidden majesty of the desolate Judean Mountains. With the ascent to the Negev, Yosef joined the settlers of Nachabir, and, since then, his fondness for the desolate and wide Negev increased. How great was his joy, when he heard that the Bir Asluj pools were suddenly filled with water after many days of drought. “Did you hear, there is water in the Negev, the pools in Bir Asluj have filled up” - he shouted happily. Yosef served in responsible positions in the Haganah^[1], did not shy away from any risky action. He fulfilled all the tasks assigned to him with joy and dedication.

Before his climb to Masada, he told me: “I would like to see Masada, the historical place where the last of the rebels against the Romans fell, I know that the road is difficult, but I really want to be there.”

When he ascended, his lips whispered: “To see Masada - and die.” In 1947, about four months before the Independence War, he participated in Heil HaSadeh [Field Corps] trek to Masada. He died on this trek and never reached Masada.

“The list of the fallen in battle”

Dedicated to those who are gone and no longer with us

I am twenty years old. and fell at one of the actions of the Jewish rebellion. I resurrected on the occasion of the elections to the congress, and allow myself to surprise with a special list, “The list of the fallen in battle.” I was a member of a Zionist-Socialist movement. I received a pioneering education, studied the problems of the labor movement, the Jewish problem, the issues of the Haganah and Hashomer^[2] in Israel. I absorbed all these values and ideals into me, and out of full recognition of our destiny in Israel, out of faith I volunteered to the need present need. Before the end of the war, I enlisted in the kibbutz. I was a member of Hakhshara^[3]. I read about the six million slaughtered brothers, heard about the torture and cruelty of the Nazis, but I knew that I would not be able to help.


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Y. Waldfogel

Three months have passed since the day of victory, thousands died in concentration camps, the aliyah^[4] is closed and in Israel - silence. Arguments about the Biltmore Program, free aliyah, a binational state, etc. The answer - Ernest Bevin declaration. War was declared. The disappointment is hard, and arguments again. To go, or not to go, to the commission of inquiry. And, as usual, we went. Somewhere something is lively in Israel. The struggle has begun. Ha'apala^[5] ships arrive at the shore. In short – “rejoicing.”

In one of the days, the weather was lovely, everything was vibrant and alive, I was called… I knew that the moment had arrived. I ran around all day with one thought in my mind: Will we succeed? Toward evening everything was ready. We left. And in my heart faith and hope. I did not know that I would never return. But I knew I was going for those who live, for those who want to live. I fell for the motherland. For the Ha'apala and the freedom of aliyah.

I might not have been resurrected, but because of the election I was forced to do so. I felt I was missing because my list is missing: - “The list of the fallen in battle.”

And here is the beginning of my work after my resurrection: I went through all the newspapers from that bitter and hasty day when I fell. On 29 June^[6] the leaders were imprisoned - searches, imprisonment of thousands, searches for weapons in Kibbutz Yagur. I was sure that in the same week I would find the population's response. I searched in all the daily newspapers, in all the weeklies - in vain. I read that the general assembly of the Jewish National Council converged, and it was decided on a population plan. And I continue to read every day, because they discuss the implementation of the population plan, discuss the struggle of the population, and not cooperating with the government. They discuss and discuss. The leaders are still imprisoned, the searches are still ongoing. I can't describe it - it's just hard to put it on paper. Running to London, and from London to Paris, and from Paris to Washington. They spread out. The population plan was entered into the Zionist archive in Jerusalem, and the National Institutions Building.

I read and read, and here I was shocked: expulsion of maapilim from Israel. It is not possible. I don't believe it. I don't comprehend. My blood cries out. I searched and continued to read: protest meetings in Tel Aviv, Jerusalem and Haifa. Cessation of work, debates, speeches, the gathering of the National Committee. The population plan is about to be launched. I relax. Impatiently, I went through the newspapers and arrived at the day when I read: “Civil disobedience has been declared, non-cooperation with the government.” But what happened? I can't describe… Simply, it's hard to put it on paper. I read: “The Jewish Agency is eagerly waiting to receive an invitation to the “Round Table^[7].” I think I may have missed a few newspapers and was too hasty to understand what was written. Maybe the leaders have already been released. The searches were stopped, and thousands were sent home to Latron and Rafa. Maybe the persecution and the hunt for the maapilim has stopped?…

I returned and read the papers and found the declaration of the British government on Ha'apala. I found the diagnosis that Britain found for the Jews' disease- fascism germs. And I continue to read about the flights and the official and unofficial meetings, about the debates and the judgments and accounts, and finally I read about the Partition Plan that the management of the Jewish Agency for Israel submitted, and the discussions with the British government on cooperation in suppressing terrorism in Israel, etc. When I reached this far, I decided to return to the place I came from - to the grave. However, two things held me back - the elections and the shame. I was assigned a mission, and as a representative of a party, I must do propaganda. And how can I appear before my fallen friends and tell them? Is that what they went to die for? …Did they fall for the partition, the release of three leaders and the suppression of the terror in Israel? I dare say that they were cheated! Their banner was free aliyah. They fell on the altar of Ha'apala and the Jewish State. Before, they were divided into streams and parties, but now, they are all united, they demand the continuation and intensification of the struggle. Friends, on behalf of my list, “The list of the fallen in battle,” I appeal to the male and female voters, to those who are yet to fall in battle - know what you are struggling for, for what you are going to die. Choose a new leadership, a fighting leadership, which will know how to rally the people around it for a serious and prolonged struggle, for free aliyah and for Hebrew independence in Eretz Yisrael. This is the will, the will of the sixteenth list, be faithful - because their blood will not rest until the ideals, they died for will be fulfilled.

- - I don't know if I will be able to write to you a lot, I don't know if you will receive another letter from me. It is possible that this is the last letter - the days are so chaotic - dangerous and interesting. - - - I don't know by what right I sit and write and, in general, by what right I live, when two of my friends are gone. Can you imagine what this means, two friends that I was with, we worked together in the movement, left and never came back.

- - Do you know the meaning of walking to prison? Do you know the meaning of humiliation? Do you know what rudeness is. Despicableness, depression? And what is respect, respect for people, respect for a person. - - - You must remember the beautiful and imaginative plan to come to Switzerland, to travel, to live, to see. All this passed by and gone. War has been declared on us, and we are at the front. - -

Maybe you'll be a little mad at me for making you feel bad, maybe instead of being jealous of you, that you are in Switzerland, the land of beautiful scenery, I am sure that things have changed, and you would agree to exchange with me and be here. - -

- - - Right now, I'm sitting next to the radio. I hear Beethoven's 5th symphony, and the sounds pass me by and continue on their way… to your little room in Geneva. You sit by the table and work, suddenly there is a knock on the door. Come in! The door opens carefully and slowly slowly… the sounds enter, you ask, who is there? And they: Help! -

What to rescue? How to rescue? And they pass by you and pull you after them. And they continue and pass Paris, their path continues to Brussels and from there to a remote village and in it a detention camp. You are protesting I can't go on! But you can't argue with them, because they are so beautiful, they scream so much. You give up your beautiful plans, you can't stand the current and you move on. And here… what happened? The sounds stopped. There are three knocks on the door. The door opens and in front of you are two people, a man and a woman, their faces are pale, and their suffering is visible on them. These people were in concentration camps for six years and lost their only son, their entire family, lonely and without hope. They raise their eyes to me, to us, to you and to every Jew. You are amazed, for the great will to live, for the great suffering, but they continue to broadcast, they send their sounds to the entire world. These sounds reached me, and they were sent to you, and we hope that they will reach their destination….

He spoke calmly with manners of natural nobility. There was no hurry or panic. He was careful to respect his friend and his feelings. However, behind this veil of gentleness and politeness was a strong willpower, with an intense hatred for the enslaver and any form of enslavement.

He joined the effort at work and every activity without a hint of vanity, and did not feel that he deserved thanks for his actions. Was kind-hearted and humble - and acquired your faith, and your sympathy, at the very first acquaintance. And outwardly - a man who shows goodness and grandeur in all his behavior and appearances.

Yakov Zlotnik was born on the month of Nisan 5686 [1926] in Be'er Tuvia to his father R' Shmuel Zabel Zlotnik (a descended of Rabbi Dovid of Lelov zt”l), and to his mother Mrs. Neomi of the Stein family from Radomsk - a family that immigrated on the Third Aliyah who settled on the land.

Y. Zlotnik

Yakov Zlotnik (Nimrod) arrived in Petah Tikva and his pursuers did not catch him there. For a whole year he was busy with the organization's activities, held responsible positions and sometimes also went into combat operations. His commanders and students were very fond of him. Everyone knew that Zlotnik, “Nimrod,” will carry out anything difficult that requires great knowledge and serious responsibility. He never caused disappointment, did not reject the duties assigned to him, and asked for more and more. Only hard responsibility and many efforts satisfied his quiet soul. Wherever he turned, and whatever he was doing, there was always a kind smile on his lips. This smile sweetened the severity of the actions and the hour and brought relief to the hearts of those around him.

In the attack on the police station in Ramat Gan (Isru Chag Pesach 22 Nissan 5706 - 23 April 1946), Yakov served as the commander of the left position inside the station. He happily greeted the “sergeants” when they came down from above loaded with the booty of weapons. On the way to the car outside, when the action came to an end and the British weapons was placed in the car, a bullet hit Yakov, and he fell. There was no expression of protest or anger on his pure face, just an expression of wonder: isn't it too early? In his soul are other treasures of desire, of responsibility, of boundless dedication to an idea, this is the main weapon against the enemy!

And he was only twenty years old when he died!

A. The liberation of Judah

I, Issachar son of Yirmiyahu the blacksmith, writing the history of my brother in the War of Liberation of Judah from the Greeks.

We, about two thousand people, gathered on Mount Ephraim. We lived in caves and ate the large plants and weeds that grew in the rock crevices. My father supplied our weapons until we each had a slingshot, a spear and a small dagger. We were idle for a long time, because Greek battalions did not pass here. And when a Greek battalion passed, we ambushed them from the rocks. First, we pounded them with large heavy stones, and then with slingshots. By doing so, we managed to disperse the battalion and a face-to-face war began, few against many. We lived in this manner for about a year. In the meantime, many perished. New people came, especially the young ones, still boys. And I, who had distinguished myself in several battles, was appointed the commander of these boys. I taught them all the main war drills. They provided water and food, and at night they robbed spears and shields from the Greek camps. There were about six hundred boys under my command. And now, an order came from Yehudah HaMakabi to ascend to Jerusalem. When we approached the city, we were surrounded by a large camp of Greeks, armed from head to foot. During the day we hid in caves and holes of the rocks, and at night we ambush the soldiers from and killed them. This is how we fought for several days. We no longer had food and water, and many began to surrender to the Greeks. We saw that if this situation continued for a long time we would be lost. Therefore, at night I sent ten boys to find the Greeks' food storehouse. Shortly before sunrise four of them returned, all but one were injured. The storehouse was a day's walk away. The boys said that the storehouse is between mountains, in a place surrounded by rocks like a wall, and surrounded by ten thousand soldiers. The guards sensed them and wanted to capture them. The boys resisted and fought like heroes. Three were killed, three were captured by the Greeks and the rest escaped.

We had to rob the food to strengthen our army and, in this manner, to weaken the Greeks. I, and fifty boys, approached the food storehouse at night, within slingshot range and surrounded the place. I planned that ten boys would climb to the high place overlooking the storehouse, light many torches, roll stones and create the noise of hundreds of people, and the rest would go with me. That's what we had done the next night. I, and the rest of the people, stood below the storehouse, When the guards saw the torches and heard the noise, they thought that a lot of soldiers were coming at them. At first, they wanted to defend themselves, but they could not go up the mountain because of the shower of stones. Therefore, they retreated below, fell into our hands and we killed them. Only a few managed to escape from our hands.

We all came to the storehouse. Only forty-two boys remained, the rest were killed in the battles. Each loaded as much food as he could on his shoulder, and we started to move towards our camp. The Greek soldiers, who managed to escape, called all the surrounding camps and started chasing us. We ran as far as possible until dawn broke and saw a large crowd of soldiers streaming after us. We hid in caves and crevices. We decided that at the beginning of the second shift we would all go out and gather near the only sycamore tree. I ordered everyone not to leave the caves during the day. The soldiers did not know that we were hiding in the caves and continued to look for us. In the evening, they returned tired and torn and there were many wounded among them. In the evening, we all gathered near a sycamore tree and left for our camp loaded with a lot of food. We reached our camp and only about half of our men remained after the battle with the Greek battalions that were chasing us. Everyone was happy with the food and put on a heroic spirit. It was decided that the next night we would attack the rest of the Greek troops.

When we were ready to attack the Greeks, a runner came from Jerusalem and informed us that Yehudah HaMakabi had conquered the city and cleansed the temple. We rejoiced and were filled with strength. We attacked the rest of the Greek battalions, and the war was very difficult. In this battle I wanted to capture commander-in-chief of the Greek army. When it was already in my hands, I received a spear on the left side from a Greek soldier and fell wallowing in my blood. One of my boys saw the act and shot the soldier, and his commander-in-chief, with his slingshot. He carried me out of the battlefield, gave me water to drink and dressed my wound. The battle lasted until the next evening. The rest of the Greeks retreated. One thousand two hundred men and four hundred boys remained of us…

During the day we gathered our men, collected the wounded. and bandaged them. We took the weapons of the dead Greek soldiers and came to Jerusalem. We entered the city in a prosecution like Greek soldiers and the people cheered loudly for us. We went to the Holy Temple, and I saw


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the bright light reflected from the temple. I will no longer be able to write because I feel that my end has come…

Peace be upon you, my brothers, the liberators of Judah.
Blessed will you be my heroic boys forever,
Judah was liberated and my soul was released from my body…

12 September 1942

Tzvi Zeira was born in Tel Aviv on 27 June 1929 to his father Moshe and his mother Rachel. Grandson of R' Haim and Chaya Rivka Grosman of Radomsk. A descended of the Admor,

R' Shlomo Rabinowicz author of Tiferet Shlomo, who was famous in the Hasidim's circles in Poland.

Tzvi Zeira

A sabra^[9] in the best sense of the word. Planted deep roots in the homeland, a wonderful infusion of courage and childlike innocence. Sturdy and tall firm and muscular, kind-hearted and loved by all.

Before he turned eighteen, he had already found his place among the defenders of the population and had done his duty without hesitation and without problems. He was free in his thoughts and actions. A “hero” - not necessarily. The atmosphere in which he grew up and educated led him to fulfill his duty as an obvious thing. The abundance of vibrant life in him, and the love of freedom inherent in the sabra's soul, hastened him in the hour of danger. To stand up and grip the dagger like an animal that stretches and prepares for the approaching danger.

When I saw him for the first time in uniform, I noticed the fearlessness in his face. After I talked with him about the love of the homeland and the sanctity of defending it, he stopped me in the middle, so to speak, don't waste your words on things that are obvious. He asked me to explain to him the difference between an English and an Italian rifle, and then, the difference between a “homemade” bomb and a Mills bomb^[10]. And so, it was in all our subsequent meetings. In the course of his daily actions, his faith and self-confidence grew, as evidenced by his words in one of his letters:

“Holon 19 August 1947. Before me on the table is your letter, and to my right is a loaded rifle. The moment I wrote these words, I took the rifle in my hand and examined it carefully. I will tell you the truth, I came across an interesting fact, that while I am holding this rifle in my hand, a kind of feeling of security surrounds me… It is my best friend at this moment. I know I can count on him in times of need. And it's as if I feel that the cold steel understands me.”

He fulfilled his duty completely, innocently and in the way of nature. And fell. with his weapon in his hand.

On 22 January 1948, six Notrim, and Tzvi among them, left to inspect the Jerusalem-Tel Aviv Road and secure the convoys on this road. Not far from the Arabic village Yezur they entered into battle with Arabs who ambushed them on the road. The gas tank of the pickup truck was hit and burst into flames. The Notrim found shelter on the side of the road. A battle broke out, but the Arabs prevailed and defeated the seven.

Tzvi, and others like him, brought us the country with their lives. May this be a small comfort to the bereaved family.

I compare it to a tree planted by stream of water. Not to one of those ornamental trees that any common wind can bend its trunk, but to a young oak tree, firmly rooted in fertile soil, that can withstand any storm and guarantees a long-lasting growth. Without softening or beautification, but a simple and healthy existence for the common good,

He was like one of the family in Tel Aviv, his hometown, but he did not find mental satisfaction in her there. When he arrived, at the age of thirteen, together with my brother Moshe – who is his father - to Kibbutz Merhavia, he immediately integrated into the members of the kibbutz.

Tzvi did not like to indulge himself. Any hard work was easy work for him, and he ran to it out of joy because he knew that this work would benefit others. He was not particularly fond of reading, because his heart was devoted to actions, real things, and creative work. He strove not only to know things, but also to investigate them. And from here - his fondness for the school in Mishmar HaEmek, where he finished his first studies, and then for the vocational school next to the Technion in Haifa.

The form of his actions was also the form of expression between him and his fellow man: not philosophy, not in-depth study, not idle debates, but the echo of action, true images, form of things as they are. Indeed, through his limited descriptions and fragmented conversations, the whispers of his soul could be heard. The soul of a cheerful child, simple and practical, kind-hearted and devoted to his parents, his friends, his people and his homeland all the days.

I remember that the teachers once “tortured” Tzvi with additional exams in the English language, and I helped him a little in this matter. Suddenly, he stopped reading and said: “it is true that at school I sometimes have difficulty with this and that, but, on the other hand, in the workshop I sing a song to the smithy without any fake sound, and I am now busy making a hammer, a glorious hammer.”

He did not see an ideal in work, in defense and helping others, just a personal experience.

His common saying was: “This week I helped my mother with this and that.” In offering help, he saw what a devout Jew is used to seeing in the study of a chapter of Mishnayot…

The last time I saw him was when he hastily passed Hadar Carmel. He was standing in the back of a pickup truck and said “shalom” to me, waving his rifle in the air, all jubilant and laughing, as if he wanted to tell me: “Look, finally the rifle of the defense is in my hand.”

Holon, 31 August 1947

Hello to Gideon in Kiryat Haim!

Well, as I informed you, I'm already on duty as a Noter. I only received your letter yesterday and I was very happy about it. You probably know from the radio what has been going on in our area during the past week. The Arab peddlers stopped coming for more than a week. All the incidents happened on the way to Holon. Jews were stabbed and murdered, the Arabs threw stones at the buses, and it was necessary to travel on side roads.The situation came to this point, that we were waiting for Arab rioters, but they did not dare to enter our settlement.

My mother is agitated and worried about me. When I am about to go somewhere - an argument starts with her. She is scared and regrets letting me be a Noter. I, of course, laugh and say that I am satisfied.


[Page 571]


But from today it is a little quiet, after the curfew imposed on the border neighborhoods between Jaffa and Tel Aviv. Imagine, police patrols accompanied our convoys. They were also stoned but did not react to it. What is upsetting - British police officers keep us from reacting.

Regarding the year of service: this is my first month on the job, I feel good, and I have no complaints.

As I know, you must prepare for the exams, you must start and then you will manage at school. What's new in the Kriya and in our circle? Say hello to your mother and father, also to Ruthie, she must be a good girl. Greetings to all our friends, to Lewandowski, and all the brats in the Kriya.

Holon, 27 November 1947

Hello Gideon,

As you can see, I am in Holon again and fulfill my duty at the Jewish settlements' police. I haven't written to you for a long time, my dear, and you are allowed to blame me for my negligence, but important reasons prevented me from writing to you. We are busy these weeks, we guard sixteen hours a day, mainly in Tel Aviv, during the day and night. The security situation is lax. Shots are often heard, certainly from our enemies, the Notrim have a responsible job - shouldn't we do it responsibly?

On the night shifts we were treated to sweets at a nearby factory, and to newspapers and weeklies at HaBoker [“The Morning”] by the newspaper's editorial staff. During idle time we chat with the telephone operators, and in this manner the hours pass, and I go home, because they are worried about me there, especially my mother. She is so devoted to me!

These days the population is waiting for the outcome of the debates in Lake Success^[11] on the establishment of our state. Let's hope for victory. Hasn't our hour come yet, Gideon? In the meantime, our entire public is angry and focused on the discussions and, even us, the Notrim.

Holon, 27 November 1947

Hello to my friend Gideon,

For a long time, I prepared to answer your letter, but I could not. Believe me, I simply didn't have time to write, because as a Noter in these chaotic and troubled days I am not alone. I haven't separated from the rifle since the day it was decided to establish our state. I go out in the morning and return late in the evening. All day long I am at the positions and traveling in the pickup truck, this is our duty now, an important and very responsible duty.

The security situation requires the defense forces to stand on guard, and we, the official service people, dressed in uniform and carrying weapons - are needed for several reasons. We often shoot in the direction of the enemy's positions, because it bothers us and wants to hurt us. Can we endure and be silent? If it weren't for the foreign ruler - surely, we would get along better.

It's been weeks since the enemy's bullets hit the streets of Holon, and more than once I participated in the exchange of fire. In any case, we stand firm and brave, no one is afraid, and everyone is ready to welcome the next day with joy and defend our country.

Goodbye,
Tzvi

Moshe (Mosa) was born on 18 January 1925 in Poland to his parents Eliezer and Chaya Ester (Bogeiki) from Radomsk (grandson of Michael Bogeiki).

When he was four years old, he immigrated with his parents to Israel, and they settled in Haifa.

Before graduating high school, he already followed his older brothers' footsteps and enlisted in the British Army (1942). In the army he served in various positions and wandered in many countries. When he was with the army in Belgium, he studied cinematography there and also worked in this profession after his release from the army.

M. Tondovski

After a year and a half of civilian life he returned to the ranks of the army.

Moshe was a brave soldier and a loyal friend and was among the first volunteers to take on any difficult task.

He weaved many dreams and did not get to fulfill them.

During the liberation of Haifa, an Arab sniper's bullet ended his life (April 18, 1948). and he was only twenty-three years old.

The battalion soldiers and its commanders are standing at attention by the grave of their friend, David Mintz, who died on Saturday 8 Av 5714 (7 August 1954), while fulfilling his duty in active service.

D. Mintz

David was in our battalion for the past four years and was liked by his friends and his commanders. Here, David was revealed in his true nature: a quiet young man and an exemplary soldier who loved life and happiness. He left on time for training, volunteered for any hard work and was one of the best snipers in his company (the auxiliary company). During rest hours he loved to sit with his friends, tell memories from the past or tell jokes. In the evening, he sat for a long time in the canteen.

On the last day of his life, he sat under a tree and, as was his custom, told jokes until he suddenly felt unwell…

The memory of the soldier and friend, David Mintz, will forever remain etched in the pages of the battalion's history.

My brother, Yankale z”l, was born in 1919 in the city of Radomsk, Poland. Yankale was loved by all children because of his fresh and pleasant voice. He sang beautiful songs and later studied singing with the cantor of the Great Synagogue. He was accepted by his friends because of the courage of spirit that was inherent in him since childhood. Yankale was known in the city as a Jewish boy, who knew how to repay rioters and thugs, and a loyal Jewish heart was beating in him. In 1935, the football team of the city of Radomsk invited the famous soccer team HaCoah [The Force] from Bedzin, which was one of the best teams in Poland at the time, for a friendly match. Of course, the Jewish HaCoah team beat the Radomsk team with the results 8-0 (the goalie of HaCoah team was our cousin, Natan Nunberg, who was murdered by the Nazis). At the end of the game, when the gentile children realized that their team was going to lose, they started to attack the Jews with knives. Many Jews, especially the Jewish youth from all around, came to the game. Yankale z”l incited the youth to stand for the national honor and he himself went out towards the rioters with a plank in his hand.

In 1935, he immigrated to Israel with his parents. He was fifteen and a half years old when he arrived in Israel. A few months later the 1936 Arab revolt broke out. At the beginning of the riots Yankale joined the ranks of the Haganah despite his young age. Slowly slowly, the Haganah commanders recognized his strength and talents, and the most important defense and guard duties were assigned to him. In 1937, he was wounded in his left leg in one of the clashes with Arab rioters. He recovered at home and our good and devoted mother z”l took care of him for several months. The matter involved many difficulties, because it was necessary to keep it a secret, and to deny the rumor that Yankale was wounded in a battle against the Arabs.

At the end of 1937, Yankale was among the first volunteers to the Notrim force, and with the foundation of General Wingate's Special Night Squads he joined them. To every attack against a dangerous gang, in which Wingate participated, he also took Yankale with him and called him “my favorite son.” In one of the actions, he was wounded in his face and nose and was operated on. This time he received medical treatment in a military hospital, General Wingate visited him often and brought him gifts to the hospital.

In October 1939, at the outbreak of the Second World War, Yankale was among the first recruits to the Jewish Company in the British Army. A short time later he was sent to Egypt where he participated in the war against the Italians in Mersa Matruh.

He served on the desert front for four years. In his monthly visits to Israel, he brought important cargo with him that he usually gave to one of the kibbutzim. More than once, he risked his life in transferring weapons from the Western Desert to Egypt, through the strict control of the British military guards as he was imbued with a lofty sense of national mission.

Y. Nunberg

After the German enemy surrendered unconditionally, Yankale was among the first sent by the Jewish Brigade to guide the refugees in their flow to the shores of Israel and to assist the weak in crossing the borders.

In May 1946, Yankale was released from the army after six and a half years of service. A year later, on 29 November 1947, the day of the United Nations resolution on the establishment of the Jewish State, and the day of the outbreak of the War of Independence, he reported to the front headquarters in Holon. He introduced himself as an experienced and expert saboteur, and from the first moment of his enlistment, the Arab enemy felt the strength of his arm. Yankale's hands were busy laying mines, concentrating explosives and assembling them, etc. In the first five months of the War of Independence, he went out almost every night for two sabotage operations and left behind a mound of ruins.

In April 1948, Yankale participated in the battles on the Latron front, and there he was captured by the Arab Legion, but Israeli forces managed to recapture the area, and he was released along with all the other Jewish soldiers who were in captivity.

Later, Yankale was transferred to the Givati Brigade as sabotage officer and was sent to the Negev Front - the decisive front in those days. He was given very important roles of laying mines in the remote kibbutzim in the Negev, and fulfilled his duty with faith, self-sacrifice and great success.

On 10 June 1948, 3 Sivan 5708, the day before the first ceasefire, he was sent again to aid Kibbutz Gal On. On that day, the Egyptians heavily shelled the entire area. Despite this, he left with two other saboteurs, under the rain of shelling, to lay mines near the local water well. When he saw that the Egyptian shelling was increasing, he turned to his friends - members of Kibbutz Gal-On and asked them to move away from the place a little and to entrench themselves. He told them that he is able to lay the mines by himself. His friends implored him to stop and wait for the next day, since it was already dark, and the action involved multiple dangers. But Yankale refused and replied that it is dangerous to leave the place without planting mines around it.

A few minutes later a large explosion was heard that ended Yankale's life. After searching his shattered body parts were found and he was temporarily buried in the kibbutz's yard. A few days later his coffin was taken out of the temporary grave, and he was brought in a military funeral, and with great honors, to the military cemetery in the area … May his memory be blessed and may his soul be bound up in the bond of eternal life!

From the book, “Yankale the Saboteur,” a collection in memory of the sabotage officer Yakov Nunberg. Published with the help of the Fifth Front Israel Defense Forces, Tel Aviv - Paris, Heshvan 5710, November 1949.

Yakov is gone. Yakov with the stormy soul and burning heart, the enthusiast who inspires others, a man of vision and reality. Yakov is gone. The beloved and humble young man who sacrificed his life for the homeland. One of the special few who are irreplaceable.

And indeed, not only his parents, relatives and friends bereaved him, but the entire fighting population. I have known him since his childhood. He often came to our home as my younger brother's friend. Not many knew him as well as I did, not everyone knew the splendor of his virtues.

He immigrated to Israel in 1936. He was a carpenter by trade. He immediately volunteered for defense duties - until he was completely engulfed in them.

In 1936, I met him near the barbed wire fence in the north (“Tegart Fort”), and he was already one of the Haganah veterans in Jerusalem. For years he stood guard in all the dangerous places in Israel and always kept his weapon in his hand. He participated in the defense of the population because of the internal order in his body and soul. He couldn't hold on in his parents' home, couldn't sit quietly and build his personal future in Israel. The fervor of his love for his homeland knew no bounds.

During the Second World War he enlisted to the British army. Most of the time he served in my company. When the relationship between us got complicated (what soldier has never gotten into trouble with his Sergeants Major) - he turned to me and said: “please don't take me into consideration, punish me as if you don't know me at all,” and indeed, my pleas were of no avail. He barely agreed to serve as a corporal. He always claimed that he was not eager for military ranks. “I will fulfill my duty without a rank,” he said. That's how he was.

No other soldier dared, did better than him in matters close to our hearts in those days.Today, it is difficult to count the many cases in which Yakov found ways to transfer all kinds of light weapons to Israel. I will admit that I never tried to fulfill my role in this area. As Sergeant Major I trusted Yakov to find the necessary ways to transfer the weapons to their destination.


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I remember one typical case, when he once ran into my office in Derna (Cyrenaica (with a “Bern” machine gun in his hand. Without waiting for his explanation, I immediately understood his request and gave him permission to travel to Eretz Yisrael…

He did not impose the smuggling of weapons on anyone, or on a public body. It was an act of an individual who risked his life for this sacred mission.

With the establishment of the Jewish Brigade, he was the first to ask me to recommend his transfer to the Field Company of the Engineering Corps. This was a combat company that was to carry out extremely dangerous missions at the front. He had no other reason for leaving the non-combat company where he served. He was loved by his friends and, especially, by his Sergeant Major - other than his desire to be a partner in a more perfect creation, which is the fighting Jewish Brigade.

I will not elaborate on his life after his release from the army. The words will surely be written by others. I will only point out that this period in his life was none other than a continuation of the chain of his actions and his sacrifices until then.

The riots of November 29 [1947] broke out. We, the officers, sergeants and soldiers, veterans of the British army, experienced in sabotage, felt the need to organize for action. Among the first, who never stopped serving the people, was Yakov. And indeed, on one of the dangerous missions, one of many over the years, he risked his life - he was crushed by a mine.

One of the best sons, one of the dedicated heroic warriors - has left us forever.

No one knew who he was, where did he came from and where he is going… Suddenly he appeared, quietly entered the Haganah headquarters in the place: glanced and was “struck”… Struck, because he immediately put his whole self at the disposal of the cause. And the days - the early days of our War of Independence, and there is a lot of concern in the place. Tel Arish and Jabalia (today Giv'at Aliyah) constantly rain deadly fire on Holon and Bat Yam. Every day, men, women and children, are injured by the murderers' bullets. Its fortifications are strong and dominate the entire environment. While our weapons are few and primitive, our defensive positions are poor and empty. Fron where will our help come?

Yankale the saboteur (that's how he introduced himself) holds secret consultations with the commanders and demands that they would do something to change the situation, “something” bold and big. In this way he might be able, (so he believed), to silence the sounds of the explosions and to paralyze the enemy's harassment. And, of course, he will be at the head of the operation.

Whoever did not see Yankale's enthusiasm before leaving for a “action,” his face beaming with joy after the mission (when it succeeded) - did not see sincere dedication and innocent enthusiasm for the action. The characteristic line, which stood out in his whole being, was the line of modesty. You rarely met a person in those days, even a person in office, who didn't give you the impression that all the worries of the front weighed him. Not so, Yankale. He performed his duties with humility and quietness. without a hint of arrogance and boasting, and always with a hearty smile on his lips.

I remember one night when a several young men, and Yankale among them, went into action in murderous Tel Arish. The purpose - to blow up the big house where the enemy was concentrated, and from which the murderers' bullets were sent to Holon and its surroundings. The large house, which kept hundreds of fighters and thousands of peaceful residents awake.

The night is dark, heavy rain is falling. About ten “idlers” are sitting at the headquarters, eagerly awaiting the results of the operation…. The echo of the action was not long in coming, and immediately after that, the young men appeared, and Yankale at their lead. He was wet to the bone, dirty with mud and tired, but, even in this condition - the hearty smile did not leave him.

We all ran around him, asking for details. And he answered everyone in simplicity, as if it was obvious: “We fulfilled the mission, there were no casualties, and that's all”… And indeed, that was all, and what else could he say? Tell them about the difficulties they encountered on the way to their goal? Or about the many dangers they had to overcome during and after the operation? Will he tell about the “pleasant” meeting with the armed enemy? Yes, it is “not interesting.” The most important thing - the operation was carried out with great success.

And sometimes, he grumbled and got angry. Not because of the difficult conditions in which he lived his life, without relatives and without a redeemer, without a home and without a family. But because, in his opinion, it was possible to hit the enemy with greater force. But the “top” doesn't allow it… and for that he was furious and angry.

When the front moved away from us, Yankale did not stay in the “rear.” And just as we did not know where he came from - we did not know when and where he went…

After some time, it suddenly became known (again, suddenly…) that Yankale the saboteur had fallen, and then you knew, that he had gone to a place that needed his will and ability.

He went to the desolate Negev, and never returned… He sacrificed his life for the liberation of the Negev, and he was so young and fresh…

Indeed, of these the poet sang, “May my part be with you, eternally meek, humble in spirit… who talk little and do a lot.”

We knew Yakov only for a few days. They were the decisive days for our position. We had almost no fortifications ,not even bunkers and communication trenches. We were visible to the enemy who was entrenched on three sides of the position. The defensive weapon was not great either: the Sten gun and the Italian rifle were the only weapons, like in all the border positions. In those days Yakov came to us. His duty was to lay mines around the camp's fence and the well that was about 1500 meters south of the camp.

The day before the first ceasefire we tasted, for the first time, the taste of the enemy's shelling. At first, we did not know exactly from where the attack came from, but we immediately took positions and waited for the onslaught. But the onslaught did not come. After a few hours of shelling the enemy was quiet. During the shelling, Yakov knew how to strengthen his friends' spirit and encouraged them with all kinds of stories, and at the same time he guided and gave advice.

At half past two in the afternoon the shelling stopped, and at four o'clock I received an order to go out to guard the well. We, three kibbutz members and two from the army, went down. Yakov also went down with us to finish laying the mines around the fence, because we knew that the enemy would try to occupy the position before the ceasefire began. Yakov energetically approached the work and told us to erect a temporary fence around the mines. He said to us, “otherwise I will not start the work,” because he was afraid that one of the members would step on a mine. It was late, and yet we managed to erect the second fence, and he - Yakov, was eager to finish the job. He called me to help him, even though I wasn't a saboteur. I couldn't refuse, because the matter was in his soul. It was necessary to secure the well.

At ten thirty-three at night, I turned to Yakov and said to him: “Yakov, this work is very dangerous, it is dark all around, you can't see to stretch the wires, we only have two mines left to assemble, maybe we will leave them for tomorrow, we will finish at dawn!”

No - he answered firmly, we must finish the job now, maybe we won't make it in the morning”… and indeed, he did not make it… When he passed through the small gorge that twisted from the well to the wadi, he stepped on two shoe mines that had been buried in the ground for a long time, and met his tragic death without say a word. I was only two meters from him, on the other side of the gorge. I hurried to go to him, lit the place with a lighter, because I was not allowed to turn on a light, and found Yakov lying without any signs of life… That night we brought Yakov to eternal rest in the yard, without eulogies and words of appreciation to a friend who gave his life for the protection of the place.

His memory will be kept in our hearts forever. We will perpetuate his pure memory in the building of the kibbutz and its growth.

Shlomo Rabinowicz, son of Yahshua-Eliezer Hakohen and Eidel-Rivka, was born on 1 Nisan 5690 (30 March1930) in Radomsk. The only son to his parents, grandson of the Rabbi of Radomsk, and grate-grandson of HaRav Shlomo Rabinowicz author of Tiferet Shlomo. He immigrated to Israel in 1935, studied in a yeshivah and earned a general education.

S. Rabinowicz

After enlisting in the army, his first place was in Ein Gev. Later, in the war on Old Tiberias. During the siege he remained with the few defenders who were cut off in the battle which lasted one hundred and forty hours. They did not rest, eat or sleep for more than a week. He excelled in throwing grenades and managed to wreak havoc on the enemy. He participated in the battle on Samakh and the Gesher British police station.

Fell in the battle for the defense of Sejera, when our soldiers wanted to silence the enemy's tank operation. Shlomo fell alone when he performed a daring voluntary action, on 14 July 1948 (8 Tamuz 5708), and was buried the next day 9 Tamuz 5708 in Kfar Tavor.

Shlomo was among the first recruits to the ranks of the army in January 1948. We met in Kibbutz Ein Gev for training. Shlomo always fulfilled his duty seriously and with goodwill. At the outbreak of the war, we came together to Tiberias. Solomon participated in the liberation of the Old City. Then he fought in Degania and Gesher. After a short break we arrived in. Shlomo finished a course of 3-inch mortars. After a battle of several days our shells ran out and we waited for new grenades. In the meantime, the enemy's tanks, and its armored vehicles, approached us to a distance of a few meters. Solomon fought the enemy with a rifle, and we managed to push it back.

I met you when you were still a boy and learned to know you from your intelligent silence. In your letters to your parents from the front, you tried very hard to reassure them: “Don't worry, tell mother not to worry”….

When we were all in the cauldron of fire you stood firm in your position. You defended bravely with courage and risked your life in transferring weapons to the most dangerous places, in the position in “Hadart Kodesh” known to the fighters who defended Haifa.

You participated in all the battles in Galilee: Gesher, Samakh, Tiberias and Sejera, and the great battle on Degania Alef and Degania Bet.

You excelled in using a mortar in battles, just as you excelled in your studies in the yeshivot in Jerusalem. With wonder and admiration your relative, Avraham Issachar Canning of Tiberias, writes to your father: “Your son continues of your forefathers. In the most dangerous situations, he did not stop putting on a tefillin every day, the helmet merges with the kippah! You were the only son to your parents, but instead of saying the “Mourner's Kaddish, “you said “Kaddish Shalem” in your life and death – “Glorified and sanctified be God's great name!” - You sanctified the name of heaven and the name of the homeland!

Tiberias - I am sending you this letter with my friend who is traveling on leave. I am very nervous and tired after not sleeping for seven days. We did not receive supplies and people. We were just twenty-one soldiers who saved Old Tiberias. It is quieter now…

Now I am in Ein Gev. Until now I was Old Tiberias where I participated, for the first time in my life, in a five days and five nights battle and, thanks God, I came out safe and sound. In Ein Gev I am in a heavy weapons course. Mother, I hope you are not worried about me, because I'm in a safe place, together with hundreds of soldiers from Tel Aviv…

I am healthy and feel very well. Right now, I am in Sejera, three hundred meters from the Arabs. I was in Gesher for a week and now I must stay here for a week. God willing, I hope to come on a leave next week. Yesterday we celebrated the holiday of Shavuot, but I was not happy because two of my friends from the class were seriously wounded.

The picture is exceptionally good. I was photographed about a hundred times, but for now I haven't received the photos because I'm in another place. Wherever there's action, that's where I was sent…

Menachem, son of Haim-Zev Rubinstein was born in Tel Aviv on 9 February 1928. Menachem was a student at the elementary school “Ehad Ha'am” in Tel Aviv. Later he studied electrical engineering at the vocational school named after Montefiore. In his youth he was a member of the school's scout movement. From 1942 he was a student in the Gadna [Youth Battalions]. And since then, his aspiration was the liberation of the homeland. He excelled in his natural simplicity. Educated the youth without surpassing them, excelled in his training and loved the country for which he fought.

M. Rubinstein

On 14 April 1948, a convoy was attacked in Sha'ar HaGai. Fourteen vehicles were burned. At midnight, Menachem and his friends were called to rescue the convoy under a shower of fire. They managed to break through to Jerusalem. On 27April, a convoy left for Gush Etzion. On their way back the convoy was severely attacked, part of the convoy retreated to Gush Etzion including Menachem's armored vehicle. Since then, the connection between Gush Etzion and the rest of the country was severed. Menachem proved his ability and dedication in the fortification of the isolated settlements with simple daily work and fighting. On 12 May, a detachment was sent from Masu'ot Yitzhak to defend Kfar Etzion. After the surrender of Gush Etzion it became known that the unit that came to the aid of Kfar Etzion fell in battle, and in it was Menachem z”l.


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The best fighter

I did not know him at all before he arrived to the Palmach. He came, as dozens of other young men, “from the city.” At first, he did not stand out among others. Only a few knew his full name, Menachem Rubinstein, and only a few called him by the name “Menachem.”

They called him Mendel. Sturdy, brave and fearless. He was Always cheerful and very kind to the group. I got to know him when he came to the reconnaissance platoon in Mishmar HaEmek. He was the only urbanite in the moshavniks' [villagers] class, but there was not a single trace of “haughtiness”in him. He was immediately accepted into the group and was a pivot for the suffering and joys of the class.

He excelled as a field man in his vigilance and tolerance.

He always fought for his right to participate in jobs and also got to participate in all of them: downloading ma'apilim [illegal immigrants] from ships, Givat Olga, patrols etc.

He was praised by the supervisors for his work in the kibbutz.

He was released from after two years of service in the army, but not for long. The riots called him back. He accompanied the convoys to Jerusalem.

Later on he was the commander of the convoys.

I met him once in Tel Aviv. He was cheerful, and his time was short. It was noon and he hurried to bring another convoy to Jerusalem. Even there he was liked by his commanders and subordinates. He told me he was put on trial for doing more than he was ordered to do.

Menachem accompanied a convoy to the besieged Gush Etzion and stayed there. Since then, there is no knowledge of him. He probably fell there in the last battle. I am convinced that our Menachem did not shame the Israeli fighter. In his death, we lost an honest, loyal and the best fighter.

Dov, son of Shmuel-Yitzchak and Malka from Radomsk was born in Jerusalem on 21 May 1928. He was educated and brought up at the home of his observant parents. At the age of five he studied diligently in the cheder to the age of thirteen. Then, he studied in a religious school and graduated with honors. He worked as a clerk in a trading house and in the evenings continued his studies. From the age of 17 he was a member of the Haganah. He underwent training in Sodom and was also sent to a medic course.

At the outbreak of the War of Independence , he immediately joined the ranks of the defenders of his hometown, Jerusalem, and participated in the first actions against the Arabs, during the attack on the new commercial center near the Old City. Later he was transferred to positions in the Mekor Chaim neighborhood south of the city. He participated in escorting convoys to Hartuv and Kfar Etzion, the last convoy to Gush Etzion. and in all the battles for the defense of the settlements. He rejected the suggestions to abandon Gush Etzion and leave it under the auspices of the Red Cross, which brought out the wounded, and firmly stood by his desire to stay with his friends in Kfar Etzion. He fell with the fall of Gush Etzion on 13/12 May 1948 (4 Iyar 5708). On 17 September 1949, he was buried with his friends to battle in the Israel Defense Forces Cemetery on Mount Herzl in Jerusalem.

I will express all my words in rhymes according to melody. And I myself hear and notice the melody's notes. I long for music. But I can't distinguish it properly. Everyone makes fun of me for singing with inaccurate notes. But it seems to me that I notice the differences in the notes in my soul. Because my whole soul is full of music. They will make fun of me, but I know that I rise above them. My whole life is built according to the melody notes. And I live on the music in my soul.

It is said that life is built on the ruins of other lives. But my life is not built on the destruction of others, because it is rebuilt without the foundation of others. I feel that my life is built according to my will and God's will. I will not know how it is, but I feel it, because my soul is building my life, and God watches over my soul so that it wouldn't deviate from the path of life.

…… The secret of our victory in the war for Israel's independence is to be found in the words of the fallen sons, because the spirit bound in their words won this war. Only very little of their tragic and glorious legacy was published, and, with this little, not a memorial of stone and marble was erected, but the spirit of immortality to the glory of the heroism of a new generation in Israel, the last generation for slavery and first for bravery.

Tzvi Zeira (the first guard from the left) before leaving for action

Yakov Nunberg (“Yankale the Saboteur”) while planting mines

Menachem Rubinsztajn among his friends in the Palmach after action

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