The Gun in the Doorframe
In Zikhron Ya’akov we sat on a sun-dappled patio eating couscous salad and pesto ravioli. Better, perhaps, to say in a perpetually sunny country that the patio was dappled with delicate leaf shadow, courtesy of an overspreading, gnarled alon (oak tree). Elahna, in the lovely purple dress she had worn on our honeymoon, refilled my glass from a ceramic jug of red wine. Grape vines meandered along the stone wall at my elbow. Yes, at the Tishbi Winery cafe, all was sweet with our world. Soon Elahna went trolling the craft stores for a hamsa – a protective amulet shaped like a human hand, with an eye in the palm – while I stayed to enjoy the cheese fondue, tip the wine jug and catch up with travel notes. Across the street, ten yards away, I could see the Aaronsohn House – NILI Museum and its front gate where Sarah Aaronsohn was tied and beaten by Turkish soldiers in October, 1917.
At the time I didn’t know much about Sarah Aaronsohn, an iconic soldier-saint who’s often referred to as the Jewish Joan of Arc, minus the virgin part. I sat on the patio and drank the fantastic wine, scribbled in my notebook and listened to two young Americans at a nearby table. One had been in Israel about six months and the other had recently arrived. The former wore a t-shirt with Hebrew lettering, a very émigré thing to do; young Israelis, actually, favor t-shirts advertising American brands such as Nike, Ralph Lauren and Abercrombie and Fitch, as well as obscure Maine clam shacks and Chicago barbecue dens. So the American-in-the-know was giving his friend a tutorial on Israeli politics – Labor and Kadima parties, Ehud Olmert and Bibi Netanyahu, the screwed-up parliamentary system, etc. He explained why Tzipi Livni refused to form a coalition government with the religious parties, refused, as she said, “sell the country to the Haredim.” I stopped myself from jumping in with semi-ignorant points of view. Eavesdropping isn’t rude unless you reveal yourself, right?
Elahna returned with a white hamsa printed with the word nachat, meaning peace, rest, tranquility. A tiny pomegranate, indicating the fruitfulness of the Promised Land, served as a substitute for the ever-watchful eye.
We walked across the street to the Aaronsohn House. As a girl, Elahna had read a young-adult novel about the Aaronsohns called The Gideonites. She vividly recalls Sarah Aaronsohn climbing the hill above the agricultural station in Atlit and signaling British ships with a flashlight. Waiting, tremulously, for a response. At just 25 years old, Sarah led the NILI spy group of Jews who gathered intelligence about the Turkish military during World War I. NILI is a Hebrew acronym culled from the Book of Samuel and means, roughly, “The eternal glory of Israel does not deceive.” NILI’s exploits aided the British campaign in the Middle East, which culminated in General Allenby’s occupation of Jerusalem in 1918. (The Brits, of course, were the next and last occupier to be thrown out of the Holy Land.) A surge of nationalism in the 1960s and ‘70s made The Gideonites a best-seller in Israel and a favorite in school curricula. The book helped elevate Sarah Aaronsohn into the pantheon of early Zionist heroes, on a par with Joseph Trumpeldor, the Roaring Lion of Tel Hai, whose monument I had sat beneath a month ago, exhausted, while hiking Shvil Yisrael.
Among Jewish heroines in the Bible, she can be equated with the prophetess Deborah, who led the Israelites to victory over the Canaanites, and audacious Judith, who saved the nation by infiltrating Assyrian ranks and beheading arch-villain Holofernes. She’s right up there with these epic figures, except for the martyr’s ending.
When the NILI ring was exposed, Sarah refused to flee until all members of the network were alerted. Alas, she was captured. In the Aaronsohn family house, the Turks tortured her for days but she wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t compromise the British as they prepared for their big invasion. She cursed at her oppressors, shamed them for violating a woman. Finally, realizing that “I no longer have the strength to suffer,” as she wrote in her blood-stained suicide note, Sarah procured a gun and talked her guards into letting her go to the bathroom alone. Then she shot herself in the mouth. Alas again, her aim was poor and she suffered for three more days before expiring.
According to Israeli historian Billie Melman, Sarah’s death was “the first example in the history of Eretz Yisrael of an active female death with secular and national overtones,” a death that “departed radically from existing models of female heroism.” She was perhaps the first female Sabra, tender of heart but tough as any man.
Through The Gideonites, young Elahna also learned about the Armenian Genocide. Sarah witnessed atrocities during a train voyage from Istanbul to Palestine and, upon returning, she passed along news of the massacres to the British and fellow Jews. The townspeople of Zikhron Ya’akov, however, were well aware of Turkish cruelty and begged Sarah to shut down the NILI spy network. You’ll be the death of us all, they implored. All you care about is yourself. When she was tortured, it’s said, the Turkish officer in charge told Sarah that the Jews of Palestine would be annihilated, just like the Armenians, in payment for her crimes.
The museum was closing soon. We could look at the exhibits, said the woman at the front desk, but the last tour had already left. Please, I said, bevakasha. No, not possible, and she turned away. “But I want to see where she killed herself,” I announced. I said it firmly, loudly, for I knew by now that with Israelis it’s best to be direct, even emotional, and not “plastic” like an American. The woman sighed, rolled her eyes; she probably curled her toes. “Of course, that’s what everyone wants” – barbarians, everywhere – “go, go with the tour.” And she waved us away. We scurried and caught up with a gaggle of 5th graders in the rooms of Aaron Aaronsohn, Sarah’s older brother. Aaron was the founder of NILI and a world-famous botanist. The furniture, imported from Damascus, was carved with images of the primordial wheat that Aaron had discovered. Elahna, at the bookshelf, stared enviously at his ancient copies of the journal Nature.
The guide, a young woman, spoke rapidly in Hebrew. Elahna translated snatches in my ear. The kids yelled out questions and answers. And then the guide pushed her finger on a shiv of wood in the wall. A hidden panel opened in the doorframe between Aaron’s bedroom and his study. Sarah Aaronsohn took the gun from here, said the guide, pantomiming the action. The room was absolutely quiet. The children stared at the invisible gun in the guide’s hands. Then she concealed the gun from the guards, who out of modesty, stupidity or compassion allowed her to go alone to the sherutim – all eyes darted now to the bathroom next to the study. It contained a white, claw-footed bathtub. One of Sarah’s beautiful dresses still hung in a wardrobe. With the guards outside the door, said the guide, she wrote her suicide note. There wasn’t much time. The Turks were transferring her to a prison in Nazareth and she was afraid that she could no longer keep her secrets.
The guide paused. The children waited. We all waited.
She pulled the trigger. She shot herself. I leaned against an antique chair and imagined Sarah Aaronsohn, hero of the future nation, prostrate on the bathroom floor with blood pouring from her mouth, horrified still to be alive.
@ @ @
At the time I didn’t know much about Sarah Aaronsohn, an iconic soldier-saint who’s often referred to as the Jewish Joan of Arc, minus the virgin part. I sat on the patio and drank the fantastic wine, scribbled in my notebook and listened to two young Americans at a nearby table. One had been in Israel about six months and the other had recently arrived. The former wore a t-shirt with Hebrew lettering, a very émigré thing to do; young Israelis, actually, favor t-shirts advertising American brands such as Nike, Ralph Lauren and Abercrombie and Fitch, as well as obscure Maine clam shacks and Chicago barbecue dens. So the American-in-the-know was giving his friend a tutorial on Israeli politics – Labor and Kadima parties, Ehud Olmert and Bibi Netanyahu, the screwed-up parliamentary system, etc. He explained why Tzipi Livni refused to form a coalition government with the religious parties, refused, as she said, “sell the country to the Haredim.” I stopped myself from jumping in with semi-ignorant points of view. Eavesdropping isn’t rude unless you reveal yourself, right?
Elahna returned with a white hamsa printed with the word nachat, meaning peace, rest, tranquility. A tiny pomegranate, indicating the fruitfulness of the Promised Land, served as a substitute for the ever-watchful eye.
We walked across the street to the Aaronsohn House. As a girl, Elahna had read a young-adult novel about the Aaronsohns called The Gideonites. She vividly recalls Sarah Aaronsohn climbing the hill above the agricultural station in Atlit and signaling British ships with a flashlight. Waiting, tremulously, for a response. At just 25 years old, Sarah led the NILI spy group of Jews who gathered intelligence about the Turkish military during World War I. NILI is a Hebrew acronym culled from the Book of Samuel and means, roughly, “The eternal glory of Israel does not deceive.” NILI’s exploits aided the British campaign in the Middle East, which culminated in General Allenby’s occupation of Jerusalem in 1918. (The Brits, of course, were the next and last occupier to be thrown out of the Holy Land.) A surge of nationalism in the 1960s and ‘70s made The Gideonites a best-seller in Israel and a favorite in school curricula. The book helped elevate Sarah Aaronsohn into the pantheon of early Zionist heroes, on a par with Joseph Trumpeldor, the Roaring Lion of Tel Hai, whose monument I had sat beneath a month ago, exhausted, while hiking Shvil Yisrael.
Among Jewish heroines in the Bible, she can be equated with the prophetess Deborah, who led the Israelites to victory over the Canaanites, and audacious Judith, who saved the nation by infiltrating Assyrian ranks and beheading arch-villain Holofernes. She’s right up there with these epic figures, except for the martyr’s ending.
When the NILI ring was exposed, Sarah refused to flee until all members of the network were alerted. Alas, she was captured. In the Aaronsohn family house, the Turks tortured her for days but she wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t compromise the British as they prepared for their big invasion. She cursed at her oppressors, shamed them for violating a woman. Finally, realizing that “I no longer have the strength to suffer,” as she wrote in her blood-stained suicide note, Sarah procured a gun and talked her guards into letting her go to the bathroom alone. Then she shot herself in the mouth. Alas again, her aim was poor and she suffered for three more days before expiring.
According to Israeli historian Billie Melman, Sarah’s death was “the first example in the history of Eretz Yisrael of an active female death with secular and national overtones,” a death that “departed radically from existing models of female heroism.” She was perhaps the first female Sabra, tender of heart but tough as any man.
Through The Gideonites, young Elahna also learned about the Armenian Genocide. Sarah witnessed atrocities during a train voyage from Istanbul to Palestine and, upon returning, she passed along news of the massacres to the British and fellow Jews. The townspeople of Zikhron Ya’akov, however, were well aware of Turkish cruelty and begged Sarah to shut down the NILI spy network. You’ll be the death of us all, they implored. All you care about is yourself. When she was tortured, it’s said, the Turkish officer in charge told Sarah that the Jews of Palestine would be annihilated, just like the Armenians, in payment for her crimes.
The museum was closing soon. We could look at the exhibits, said the woman at the front desk, but the last tour had already left. Please, I said, bevakasha. No, not possible, and she turned away. “But I want to see where she killed herself,” I announced. I said it firmly, loudly, for I knew by now that with Israelis it’s best to be direct, even emotional, and not “plastic” like an American. The woman sighed, rolled her eyes; she probably curled her toes. “Of course, that’s what everyone wants” – barbarians, everywhere – “go, go with the tour.” And she waved us away. We scurried and caught up with a gaggle of 5th graders in the rooms of Aaron Aaronsohn, Sarah’s older brother. Aaron was the founder of NILI and a world-famous botanist. The furniture, imported from Damascus, was carved with images of the primordial wheat that Aaron had discovered. Elahna, at the bookshelf, stared enviously at his ancient copies of the journal Nature.
The guide, a young woman, spoke rapidly in Hebrew. Elahna translated snatches in my ear. The kids yelled out questions and answers. And then the guide pushed her finger on a shiv of wood in the wall. A hidden panel opened in the doorframe between Aaron’s bedroom and his study. Sarah Aaronsohn took the gun from here, said the guide, pantomiming the action. The room was absolutely quiet. The children stared at the invisible gun in the guide’s hands. Then she concealed the gun from the guards, who out of modesty, stupidity or compassion allowed her to go alone to the sherutim – all eyes darted now to the bathroom next to the study. It contained a white, claw-footed bathtub. One of Sarah’s beautiful dresses still hung in a wardrobe. With the guards outside the door, said the guide, she wrote her suicide note. There wasn’t much time. The Turks were transferring her to a prison in Nazareth and she was afraid that she could no longer keep her secrets.
The guide paused. The children waited. We all waited.
She pulled the trigger. She shot herself. I leaned against an antique chair and imagined Sarah Aaronsohn, hero of the future nation, prostrate on the bathroom floor with blood pouring from her mouth, horrified still to be alive.
@ @ @