"Whom Should She Trust?"

All right, now that "Ben-Gurion" is finished, I can post something else. This is another short story. I have been doing so much writing for different things lately that I don't think this story turned out really well. I know when I first started it, I got stuck. I couldn't think of a thing to write next. Then it dawned on me. I had started at the end of the story instead of the beginning. :) That certainly made a difference, but I had forgotten how many characters I was supposed to have. :{ Oops. I took out one guy, but no one else would leave. I think I now have one too many characters. I should also mention that I had never written anything using the special instructions I had for this story. I hope I did it right. It was difficult, but a good challenge. What do you think of it?

Oh, and by the way, if any of you would like to suggest things for another short story, just copy the "directions," put your answers in and e-mail it to me. I will then put it (or them) with the next pictures. I have over 40 pictures to write stories about, and I don't think Anna wants to write all the "directions.":) I'd be happy for any someone wants to send. Okay, now for the story.

Picture #2

Characters: 2 main, up to 3 minor

Word count: 2000-3000 2877
Tense: 3rd
Special Instructions: Bring out emotions through dialogue, do not describe them.
Time Given to Complete Story: 3 weeks. 9 days

Whom Should She Trust?

The room was dim and hushed. A young girl was kneeling beside the bed, deaf to any sound save the slow breathing coming from the form lying there. A sigh brought the girl’s head up, and her eyes gazed intently at the pallid face on the pillow.
“Papa,” she whispered, “speak to me once more. Tell me what to do, whom to trust. Oh, Papa--” she broke off abruptly as her father’s eyes opened slowly.
“Hannah?” The name was scarcely audible even in that still room.
“I am here, Papa. I am holding your hand.”
“Hannah,” he said again, “be careful whom you trust. Oh, be careful . . . They want the money . . . most of them. . . . There is a right one. You must not trust the others.” His eyes closed.
“How do I know whom to trust, Papa? How can I be sure he too doesn’t want just the money? Papa!”
The weary eyes fluttered once more. The girl bent tenderly over him.
“I . . . am . . . going . . . home now. Hannah, . . . come home . . . too . . .. Pray, Hannah.”
Hannah bowed her head, but no words could she utter though she tried.
“Father . . . keep . . . my little girl . . . safe.” A tired sigh followed the low whispered prayer, and all was still.
The doctor laid quiet fingers on the limp wrist and then glanced at the still form of the girl beside the bed.
“He is gone.” The words were spoken softly yet they reached the ears of the girl.
Hannah raised her head, looked long at the face on the pillow, then rose and left the room.
Yes, her father was dead. She was alone in the world. Alone. The word brought a shiver. Her whole life had changed so quickly. She had been sheltered and cared for; now so suddenly she must do for herself. Could she manage the large estate left her as well as the immense fortune which now belonged solely to her? What had her father meant when he told her they wanted the money? Who wanted the money? And who didn’t?
Hannah never fully remembered the days and even weeks that immediately followed her much loved father’s death. She was conscious of only one thing; she was alone.

One night, several months later, Hannah lay in her bed,staring out the nearby window at a brilliantly full moon.
“Oh, Papa, if you were only here to advise me! I think my heart will break without you! Oh, why am I so alone? Who is it that truly wants me and not my money? Is it Mr. Everson or Mr. Adkins? Or someone else? Mr. Everson asked me to be his wife this evening, and Mr. Adkins asked the same thing only two days before? If only I knew whom to trust!” Hannah turned restlessly on her pillow. “And Mr. Sawyer wants to buy that piece of land. How do I know the price he offered is fair?” For some time her thoughts were in turmoil. Unable to decide what to do and whom to trust, Miss Hannah made a decision to trust no one. She would live her life out alone if she had to. She had no real friends and no relatives near. Surely she could just stay quietly in her own home with her servants. “Perhaps someday,” she thought just before falling asleep, “I will find out who I can trust. Surely someone is trustworthy.”

And so, the days and weeks passed, turning into months and then into years. Hannah quietly dropped out of all social life, which wasn’t difficult for she had felt no interest in it since her father had died. The invitations for dinners gradually grew fewer and fewer and at last ceased all together. Former acquaintances now acknowledged her rare appearances in public places with a bow or a nod.

It had been three years since her father’s death. They had been three of the loneliest years of Hannah’s life. There had been times when her resolve to trust no one had nearly failed, only to be strengthened by stories of dishonor and treachery. She vowed she would remain the sole mistress of The Glen. “Unless,” she always added to herself, “I can find someone that I know I can trust.” The southern mansion was as beautiful as ever it was in the days gone by, yet the the former gaiety was gone. No longer were large parties held on the grounds in the warmer months nor in the large parlor and dining room in the winter. There was no one to enjoy the extensive grounds and spacious rooms except Miss Hannah and the servants.
“Miss Hannah, I’s sorry to bother you, but dere’s a gintleman dat insists on seein’ you.”
Miss Hannah looked up, “Oh, Candace, why do people persist in intruding where they aren’t wanted? Do tell him I am busy, otherwise engaged, anything.”
“So I did Miss, but he jest walked in an’ took a seat. Said he’d wait a spell. I ain’t sure what to do.”
The sunlight streamed in the large open windows upon the beautifully decorated library, the rows and rows of beautifully bound books and the lovely form seated at a desk. A gentle spring breeze wafted the delicate fragrance of the garden flowers into the room and stirred the dress and hair of Miss Hannah.
“Do, Candace, try once more to show him out, for I do not wish to see him.”
“I’ll try, Miss Hannah,” and Candace departed with a shake of her head.
A brief time elapsed ere the servant reappeared. “Tain’t no use, Miss Hannah. De gintleman say he won’t leave da place till he sees you if he has ta wait till tomorrow or de day after dat or de day after dat. An’ he didn’t give me no card an’ won’t tell me no name. I does like his looks though. I tink he is an honest man.”
“He is a very rude man if you ask me. No name, no card, and insists on seeing me when I have declined to see him. And yet, oh Candace, how can I refuse? My father would be ashamed if I were to act as my feelings now tell me to.”
Candace waited in respectful silence. She knew it was best to let her mistress speak her mind in peace.
“Very well, . . . I will see him. Show him in here, Candace.”
Miss Hannah once again turned wearily to her desk and picked up her pen, but she did not write. In spite of herself she felt a slight curiosity towards this strange gentleman who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Who was he, and what did he want? She had no desire to see him, she told herself, and yet at the sound of approaching footsteps she rose in dignified silence and turned towards the door, her father’s words repeating in her mind,
“Be careful whom you trust. Be careful whom you trust. . . .”
As the door was opened, the stranger paused on the threshold; a look of admiration plainly visible on his face at sight of the fair lady before him. After a low bow he entered. Miss Hannah gave a slight nod of acknowledgment and turned to Candace.
“Thank you, Candace. You may leave. I will ring for you when I want you again.”
Candace nodded and withdrew, leaving her mistress alone with the strange gentleman.
For a full minute they both stood in complete silence. Miss Hannah waiting for the gentleman to make his errand known and leave her once more in peace. The stranger, tall and broad shouldered, with an easy air about him, gazed in unconcealed admiration at his hostess.
“Hannah!”
Miss Hannah started.
“Oh, Hannah, it has been so long, and yet you haven’t changed. You are as beautiful as ever.” The gallant words were uttered as the stranger came forward with both hands outstretched and a smile on his face.
Miss Hannah took a step backward and reached for the bell while keeping an eye on her unwanted visitor.
The stranger saw his mistake and paused. “Hannah, don’t ring! You don’t recognize me. I should have known you wouldn’t. Here,” and he pulled off his waistcoat and pushed his left sleeve up revealing a jagged scar. “Does that tell you the truth?”
Miss Hannah stared at the scar and then into the blue eyes which looked so steadily and honestly back at her. It had to be . . . but how could she be sure?
The stranger seeing her distrust and hesitation, forever dispelled it by pulling out a curiously shaped watch guard and repeating as though from memory,
“This is a present from me to you. Whenever you see it, remember, be true.”
“John! It can’t be... But it has been five years! Why didn’t... How came you to... Where... when? Oh, John! Let me cry, it’s been so long!” Her head rested on his shirt front while the tears fell.
“My dear little Hannah. It is a long time, but the story is soon told.” John tightened his arms around her. “Can’t you even greet me with a smile? I promise I won’t run away this time.”
The merry words of long ago brought Hannah’s head up with a smile “as bright as the sun,” John thought as he kissed the fair girl in his arms.
“Oh, John! Come, tell me everything. I am longing to know.”
“Can’t we walk out in the garden? I feel so confined here.”
Hannah’s rippling laughter rang out as it had not done for so long. “You always felt that way here in this room while I loved it. Yes, of course we can go out. Let me just ring for Candace to bring me my shawl.”
“Stay,” John’s hand caught hers back from the bell. “Never mind the shawl. If you must have something, use this,” and with a quick move his waistcoat was around her shoulders. “I hate wearing one of those now as much as I ever did.”
“John, you are impossible!” and slipping her arm through his, she led the way out into the sunshine.

Candace turned from the doorway. “I jest knowd it. Dat’s her lubber sure ‘nough. I saw dat gintleman, an’ I says to my self, “Candace dat man has gotta be Miss Hannah’s lubber.” An’ now I knows I’m right.”
“Lubber? Miss Hannah’s? Candace, I thought yo had more sense den dat!”
Candace turned, hands on her hips, “Now Zeke Andrews, don’t you go an’ try ta tell me dat de man walkin’ right now in de garden with Miss Hannah ain’t her lubber. I knows better.”
Zeke looked out the door a moment. “Maybe its a cousin. I heard her say there’s a heap of dem, dough dey don’t come ‘round here no more.”
“An’ her wearin’ his coat! Now yo talkin’ like a man wit no sense in his head. Sure Miss Hannah got a heap o’ cousins, an’ I knowd dat. I’s seen dem all at de burin’ o’ Massa, an’ I’s sayin’ dat aint one.”

“Now tell me everything, John, please.” Miss Hannah looked as eager as a child as she gazed up into the face which was watching hers with such interest.
“It won’t take long. I only received your letter about Uncle’s death two months ago and have been trying to reach here ever since.”
“Two months ago! It has been three years since he--”
John drew her into a sunny walkway. “I know. It may seem hard to believe, but out west it is harder to receive mail. I do know that the letter had been sitting in a post office for eight months before I came by and claimed it. I had been traveling quite a bit. Even if I had left a forwarding address as they do here in the east, the letter would no sooner have started on its way, than I would have been on the move elsewhere.”
He was expecting the next question.
“Why didn’t you write and explain your long silence?”
“I did, many times, but no answer came back.”
Silence was the only reply. Miss Hannah was thinking of the order she had given to her servants after her father’s death and her decision to trust no one. “I want to see no mail or anything of the sort from strangers. I am alone and very wealthy. I may perchance fall prey to some scheming, dishonest man because he pretends to have love and sympathy for me while in reality he wishes for nothing but my money.” Could John’s letters be mixed in with those? Could Candace have inadvertently placed those letters with the others? It was possible. After all, she had never met John. He had already gone west when she came to The Glen. “I ... I ... I didn’t know you had written. I’m sorry.”
“Never mind. I’m here now, and I’m staying for a while. By the way, I heard in town that Miss Hannah is very close and doesn’t like company. I hope she can reconcile herself to the fact that I will stay here and no where else.” John looked down at the blushing cheeks of his cousin.
“As if I’d really let you stay anywhere else,” was the reply which entirely satisfied him.
“Say, I remember that tree!” A turn in the walk brought them again in sight of the house. The large old tree stood near by; its gnarled branches stretching toward the sun and out in an arching canopy of shade when the leaves grew full.
“You ought to remember it. You nearly killed yourself falling out of it one day,” and Hannah shook her head at the remembrance.
“You mustn’t be too hard on a fellow, Hannah. I was laid up for weeks after that fall.”
“Don’t I know.”

The lamps were lighted, not in the library where Miss Hannah was want to spend her evenings, but in the parlor. John was with her and quite dignified and proper. For nearly three long years Miss Hannah had not enjoyed such an evening. She listened with interest as John told of his adventures out west in California. When the old clock chimed twelve o’clock, she started.
“John! Where has the time gone? I had no idea it was so late. You must be tired, and here I have kept you awake and talking until this late hour. Zeke,” she ordered, as that individual entered in answer to her summons, “show Mr. John to his rooms, please.”
John kissed her hand and bade her good night with a low and graceful bow.
“He may have spent the last five years out west, but he hasn’t lost all the charm of his early training,” Hannah thought as she issued orders for the morning before retiring herself.

Several days following the arrival of John, passed before Hannah gathered enough courage to tell him her troubles. Several times John had asked questions about her seclusion, but each time she had skillfully turned the conversation, leaving the questions unanswered.
The air was warm and pleasant. John and Hannah were outside together in the garden. The white pillars of the house shone in the sunshine, and the air was heavy with the perfume of hundreds of flowers, vibrant with life and beauty. “John,” Hannah interrupted his tale of life out west. “John, . . . I . . . I need help.”
“I’ll do all I can.”
“I don’t know if they want my money because I don’t know whom to trust. Can’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know if I can or not. Suppose you start at the beginning. Why can’t you trust someone, and who is that someone?”
Beginning with her father’s death, Hannah poured out the whole story. “And so I just stayed at home and wouldn’t trust anyone because I was so afraid.”
John remained silent for some minutes after his cousin had ceased talking. “Hannah,” he said at last, “there is Someone who will never be dishonest with you if you will only trust Him.”
“Any one, John, if I can only know he is trustworthy.”
“The Lord Jesus Christ is the one I am talking about, Hannah. He is always faithful and will be a constant companion, friend and guide if you will let Him. I could never have survived some of the hardships out west if He hadn’t been with me.”
Hannah searched her cousin’s face. Was it possible to have the same peace that she saw on his face and had seen there since he had first made his appearance? She had seen that look also on her beloved father’s face just before he died. Could Jesus Christ help her? Would He? She could almost hear her father’s last words, “Father, keep my little girl safe.”
The silence grew so long that John turned to look at her.
“I do want to know Him, John. Will you show me how?”
The quietly spoken words sent a thrill through John’s very being. He would be delighted.
Thus it was that Miss Hannah Ward, the beautiful, young, and much admired heiress, at last found the only One whom she could perfectly trust, knowing that He would never be false to her.

The End of "David Ben-Gurion"

At last, here is the last parts of "David Ben-Gurion." Did anyone read it? What did you think of it? I enjoyed writing it because when I started, I knew nothing about him. I don't think I had even heard of him before Mom mentioned she thought he would be good to write about. I am working on another short story. The only problem is that I haven't come up with a good climax and ending for it yet. :) I guess I'll have to ask the characters what happens next.:) Believe it or not, that will sometimes work. Now you think I have really lost it. Oh, well. I don't have time to explain it all now.
And with that, I'll stop rambling and let you finish the story of "David Ben-Gurion Leader of Israel."

Fighting for Survival

The explosions of dropping bombs filled the air in Tel Aviv, Israel, with their sound. Ben Gurion paused a moment in his talk over the radio to U. S. citizens. “The noise you are hearing now,” his voice was calm as he spoke, “is the noise of bombs being dropped by enemy aircraft on this city.”
The war for Israel’s survival had begun. As Minister of Defense and Prime Minister, Ben Gurion was immersed with work, disbanding the many resistance groups and forming the Israel Defense Forces, directing the war, and raising support from abroad. The war was grim and the fighting fierce. The Arabs attacked city after city only to be driven back and repulsed by the small groups of Jews that were defending their homes. The fighting was furious as Jews throughout Israel strove to defend the land they loved. In Jerusalem, the Arabs had cut off the supply roads, and only through Ben Gurion’s quick decision to use a small rocky goat trail to bring supplies in, were the inhabitants saved from starvation and slaughter. As Ben Gurion said, “In Israel, in order to be a realist, you must believe in miracles.” And it was so. The Arabs thought they would quickly and easily achieve the victory because, after all, they had more men, more supplies and were better trained. They did not realize, however, that the Jews were fighting not only for their nation, but for their lives and homes, their families and land, their religious and cultural herittage. And, as the Lord was with the Israelites when they drove the Cananites out of that very land so many years ago, so He was with the people of Israel in their struggle for a homeland.

After four strenuous weeks of heavy fighting, a truce was called to try to come to terms of peace, but to no avail. At the end of the truce the Arab nations tried once again with all their might to annihilate Israel out of existence. Ten more bloody days of war passed, but in the end Israel was still there and even stronger than it was before. For Ben Gurion had not been idle during the four weeks of the truce. More arms had been gathered, more supplies brought in, the Haganah reorganized, and encouragement given. Finally, in early 1949, peace agreements were signed with Egypt, Jordan, Lebanon, and Syria. Israel, with Ben Gurion as Prime Minister, was a recognized nation. Though but a tiny strip of land surrounded by enemies, it was yet a haven and fortress for the beleagured Jewish people of the world.

The End Years

It was late evening in November 1953 as Ben Gurion and his wife sat cosily together in their home in Tel Aviv. “Do you know?” Ben Gurion said, “I believe I want to resign from being Prime Minister and Minister of Defense.”
Paula smiled. “I don’t see why you shouldn't. After all, you have been a leader in one way or another for over 52 years.”
Ben Gurion looked confused. “But Paula, we’ve only been a nation for not quite six years.”
“Ah, but you forget,” she smiled. “You were a leader before we even became a nation. You were a leader here in Palestine when the Ottoman Empire ruled, and before that, you were a leader in your own home town in Russia.”
“You are right, dear. And I’ll do it! Let’s move out to a frontier town.”
“Which one?” Paula asked with another smile. She knew it would be difficult for her hard working husband to relax and take things easy, even if he was in his 60’s. Therefore, a move to a frontier town didn’t surprise her.
After thinking a minute, he replied, “Perhaps down south in Sedeh Boker in the Negev.”
“All right,” Paula agreed readily. “How soon shall we go?”
Sedeh Boker was indeed on the frontier. Not many would have called it even a town. A small cluster of wooden shacks with a wire fence around them sat in the middle of an empty landscape. Dry barren wilderness surrounded it on all sides. The earth was hard and cracked by the sun’s fierce rays and eroded by the hot winds that swept over the desert, leaving only sparse vegetation on which to feed sheep. It was certainly not a place where most people would think of moving when they retired.

As Paula could have predicted, Ben Gurion’s retirement lasted only two years. When he was asked to help in the government as Defense Minister under Prime Minister Moshe Sharret, he couldn’t refuse. Once in office again, it wasn’t long before he was re-elected Prime Minister. And for eight more years, he continued to serve as Israel’s leader. Then once again he retired from political office, although he continued to be active in politics and leadership from his home in Sedeh Boker. And from that now flourishing town, where lush vineyards grew and orchards of apple, peach, plum and almond trees thrived, Ben Gurion began promoting a college to be located on a nearby plateau.
In 1968, Paula, Ben Gurion’s beloved wife and helpmeet of 53 years died. Two years later Ben Gurion really did retire. Much of his time was spent reading from his personal library of 20,000 books, and working on a third volume of his collected letters. Then, on December 1, 1973, in the midst of the Yom Kippur War, at the age of 87 years, he died and was buried by the side of his wife. Upon his death, not only the nation of Israel mourned its fallen leader, but others around the world grieved as well. America’s President Richard Nixon said, “It was with the deepest sorrow that I learned of the death of David Ben-Gurion. . . The people of America join with the people of Israel in mourning the passing of a gallant man. As we shared his ideals and hopes, not only for Israel but for all mankind, so we share in their loss.” Ben Gurion was a leader, beloved of his countrymen, hated by his foes, and honored by millions who came after him.

Epilogue

Today the land of Israel is no longer an uninhabitable land of dry, arid deserts and swampy, malaria infested grounds with Jews longing to someday dwell in the land of their fathers, but being denied the right to live there. Now thousands of Jews from all parts of the world have reclaimed the land of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. They have drained swamps and established thriving cities, causing the desert to bloom and bear abundant fruit as Isaiah, the prophet of old had foretold. “The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them; and the desert shall rejoice , and blossom as the rose. It shall blossom abundantly. . . They shall see the glory of the LORD, and the excellency of our God. . . For in the wilderness shall waters break out, and streams in the desert.” Everywhere, Jews have purchased land in Israel and with hard work have made a place fit for habitation. The college that Ben Gurion started in the Negev is prospering, and after his death was renamed Ben-Gurion University of the Negev in honor of Israel's great leader, who sought to pass on to the younger generations opportunities for learning and knowledge.
The land of Israel is not a land only of Jews. Arabs live peacefully with them, sharing in the labor and also in the government of the people. But, despite the early peace agreements signed with their neighbors, and almost 60 years of prosperous existence, the Israelis still face a constant struggle for survival. Yet they will survive, for the prophet Isaiah has also declared, “Seek ye out of the book of the LORD, and read: no one of these shall fail . . . they shall possess it for ever, from generation to generation shall they dwell therein.” Ben Gurion’s life of vision, courage, and determination still challenges us today to be leaders who never give up.

The End

Part 4 of "David Ben-Gurion"

Are you wishing that I would get done with this story and post something else? Well, I will. Sometime. I have been working hard on my book and haven't had much time for short stories. So for now, enjoy learning about David Ben-Gurion and be glad I have something to post.:)

World War II

It was the year 1939. World War II had begun and with it Hitler’s brutal determination to destroy the Jews. Ben Gurion knew that everyone in the Haganah and many others besides would have to work untiringly and efficiently to save their fellow Jews from the Nazis. He himself, though never actually assisting in the rescues, was in charge of everything. It was a heavy responsibility, and his approval was needed for each mission. The name they chose to use for their work of rescue was Aliyah Bet, which meant “second immigration.” Not only was the work strenuous and extremely dangerous anywhere behind Germany and her allies’ lines, but the British armed forces, under the direction of their leaders, also were doing all they could to keep more Jews out of Palestine. Their action was loudly denounced by Winston Churchill, the British Prime Minister, who was sympathetic to Zionism. The results produced by Aliyah Bet seemed to many as unexplainable miracles. And indeed they were. Miracles by the hand of the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. By the end of the war, hundreds of Jews were saved from their enemies by Aliyah Bet under the hand of God.

Struggle

Ben Gurion sat leaning back in a comfortable chair enjoying an evening at home with his beloved wife. At 59 years old, his hair was white. Most people his age were thinking of slowing down, but not Ben Gurion.
“Paula,” he declared suddenly, sitting upright and leaning forward eagerly. “The war has been over now for some time. Hitler is dead, but the British still won’t change their minds about immigration. We have got to do something!”
Paula glanced up, the book she had been reading dropping into her lap. “Is there anything that can be done but what we have already been doing?”
“Yes, there is.” Ben Gurion spoke slowly and thoughtfully. “Instead of just smuggling Jews in and talking about a national homeland, I realize now that I must support the armed underground rebellion. Also,” he continued, “tomorrow I am going to authorize the Haganah to begin collecting arms. We may have to fight for our freedom.”
Paula sat quietly for a moment, then she spoke softly, “Just be careful. The British, if they found out. . .”
“We will take every necessary precaution. It will take quite some time, I’m afraid, but the Haganah can do it.”

The Haganah did do it. The year 1946 passed and 1947. All during this time the British, fearing the Arabs would revolt if many Jews came to Palestine, sought to keep other Jews from immigrating there. It was becoming harder for Jews from other countries to enter the “Promised Land.” Many ships bringing Jews over were captured by the British, and those on board were either transported to detention camps on the island of Cyprus or taken back to where they had come from. Despite all this, Ben Gurion continued to pursue the dream of an independent nation. To this end, he labored. When in 1947 he heard that the United Nations had approved a plan to divide the land of Palestine between the Arabs and the Jews, he was willing to cooperate. But the Arabs would have nothing to do with dividing the land with Jews! This was Arab land, they claimed, even though there had always been Jews living in the land ever since the days of old when Joshua had conquered the land of Cannan.

A Nation At Last

“It must be. There is no other way,” Ben Gurion spoke firmly. “The British are pulling out of Palestine at midnight on May 14th. We will then declare our independence.” A murmur arose from those seated around the room. May 14th, that was not very far away.
“You do know what will happen if we do this, don’t you?” asked a voice somewhat hesitantly.
“I know what will happen if we do not do it. The Arabs will claim this land, and no Jews will be allowed to remain in it.”
“But why May 14th?”
The debate hotly continued for some time before finally coming to a vote. The resolution to declare, on May 14, 1948, that Israel was an independent nation, passed 6 to 4.

Now the eagerly awaited day had finally arrived and he, David Ben Gurion, was signing his name to an historic declaration of independence. At midnight the news was flashed around the world. Israel is a nation! The dream of years, of hardships, struggles and tears had finally become a reality. Only eleven minutes after midnight a message was brought to Ben Gurion from the President of the United States of America, Harry S. Truman, in which he recognized Israel as an independent nation. Though this was a time of great thankfulness and joy, the Jews had no time to celebrate, for every Arab nation surrounding the tiny strip of land that was Israel had banded together to “drive the Jews into the sea!”

...to be continued

Part 3 of "David Ben-Gurion"

I apologize for not telling you last week that the story of David Ben-Gurion would continue. It does in case you hadn't figured that out yet. And here is the next part. Enjoy!

World War I

Three years of exile passed, and in 1915 Ben Gurion returned to Palestine and again entered the Holy City of Jerusalem. This time he was in the uniform of the 38th Battalion of the Jewish Legion under British General Allenby with the rank of corporal. Jewish battalions had been recruited in England, and when one began in the United States, Canada and Argentine, Ben Gurion and Ben Zvi joined up. Ben Gurion had resided during his years of exile in New York where he met and married Paula Murweis. Paula had also been born in Russia to Jewish parents. At the close of World War I, when the Ottoman Empire had been destroyed and the British had control of Palestine, Ben Gurion moved his wife, and two-year-old daughter, Geula, back to Palestine. There he continued to work towards an independent Jewish state.

Leader In Palestine

“Ben Gurion, Sir!”
“What is it, Joseph?” Ben Gurion paused on the sidewalk and glanced at the young man. He could see excitement, as well as anxiety, in his eyes.
Joseph glanced around and instinctively lowered his voice. “I just received word that there is another group of Jews waiting to come to Palestine. Is there any way we can get them passports from the British?”
Ben Gurion frowned. “Not now. I am afraid they fear the Arabs too much to let many of our people come here. It has been that way for some time now, even though the United Nations has declared this a National Home for Jews.”
“Sir, what can we do? There are thousands of our people around the world who are being persecuted. Is there no way we can help them?”
“No way? Joseph, come now. Just because the Brits won’t help us doesn’t mean we are helpless. Come with me.” There was a slight smile on the leader’s face as he turned towards a motorcar with Joseph close behind.
Had anyone been following them, they would only have seen them casually travel to an inauspicious house and enter. A middle aged man looked up from a desk as the two strolled in. Rising to shake hands, he greeted Ben Gurion without formality, using his first name. Ben Gurion told of the problem Joseph had brought to his attention. “Can something be done about this?”
“Well, we already received word about that very same group,” the man at the desk answered briskly after glancing down at a few papers. “It will no doubt be difficult but. . .”
Ben Gurion smiled. “The difficult we do immediately. The impossible takes a little longer. Eh?”
“That’s it, Sir.”
Joseph waited until he was back in the car with Ben Gurion before asking, “The Haganah? How can our defense force bring Jews to Palestine?”
“A lonely coast of France, or somewhere else and a lonely coast of Palestine and a ship or two in between.” Ben Gurion smiled more broadly. It had worked time after time. The Haganah was ready for anything. Their secret training in hidden camps was paying off. How devoted, loyal and brave these men and even women were. Each was willing to risk his life for fellow Jews.

Ben Gurion went home that night to his wife and three children, Geula, Amos and little Ranana, in the center of Tel Aviv. The Haganah (The Defense) was certainly growing in many ways he had never dreamed of at the start. The group was begun in 1920 as simply a defense group. As a leader, Ben Gurion well knew that if the Jews were ever to have their own state or nation, they would have to defend themselves. Now, along with defending the frontier settlements, the Haganah was busy bringing more Jews secretly to Palestine.

Part 2 of "David Ben-Gurion"

In Palestine

The first night David spent in Petah Tikvah, the Gateway of Hope, he couldn’t sleep for happiness. He was in Palestine! Breathing deeply, he smelled the corn, heard the donkey's bray and felt the breeze that rustled the leaves in the fruit orchards. Petah Tikvah was a small village with swampy, mosquito breeding ground. There were some fruit orchards, but it was definitely not the “land of milk and honey” that it had been when the first Israelites conquered the land under the leadership of Joshua. Finding work in Palestine in those days of 1906 was hard if you were an untrained immigrant. Finally, after persistent searching, David found a job.
“Here, fill this wheelbarrow with manure at the stables; take it down to the orchard and mulch the trees,” he was told. “And make sure you spread it thickly.”
David did as he was instructed, and day after day mulched the trees with manure. The swampy area he was working in was full of mosquitoes, and he soon came down with malaria.
“Go back to Plonsk,” the doctor told him. “This climate is too hard for you.”
But David wouldn’t go back even though his malaria came back every two weeks. For a year David hauled manure and fought malaria. Then he and a friend traveled north into the frontier area of Nazareth. There, with forty-six other young men and women, he labored to clear the rocky soil. They weren’t planning on living there long, only long enough to make the ground ready for a small settlement. David worked hard for two years, living with the others in five wooden huts. It was there that his malaria left him for good, and though the work was strenuous with not a lot of food or fresh water, he always looked back on it as a happy time. There was just one problem. The Arabs kept stealing animals and equipment. The workers themselves were too tired to keep guard at night, and so a group of Jewish men, Shomrim (watch-men), were appointed to each frontier village as guards.

In time, David made a short visit back to Russia to visit his father. On returning to Palestine, he was asked to help edit the first Hebrew newspaper in Jerusalem. His co-editor was Yitzhak Ben-Zvi, who was also from Russia.
“Hmm,” David murmured to himself as he paused before signing his name to his first article. “Green. That really doesn’t sound very Jewish or very strong. I need a new name. One that will identify me forever as a Jew. I know! From now on, I will be David Ben-Gurion, son of a lion-cub!”
And so it was that from that time on, David Green was known as “Ben-Gurion.”

Exile!

“This Jewish paper is going too far!” stormed a young man in the office of the Palestinian Turkish governor.
“In what way?” the older man leaned back in his chair and yawned.
“Haven’t you seen the last few papers, Sir?”
“No, I don’t pay much attention to those things, Ekber. It’s just a bunch of talk.”
“Don’t pay attention. . . just talk! Why!. . . why. . .” the younger man stammered in disbelief. “Why, in this paper,” the mentioned paper was shaken in the older man’s face, “He says that the Jews must form a political force!”
“Who says that?” demanded the older man sitting up suddenly with more interest. Seeing that he had bestirred the older man, Ekber continued, “It’s Ben Gurion this time, but it might be Ben Zvi next time. They both seem to be leaders of the same mind. Anyhow, it also says that they must strive for Jewish autonomy in Palestine!”
“What!” thundered the older man, now thoroughly aroused. “Why that’s treason! They dare to conspire against the mighty Ottoman Empire! Those miserable Jewish nobodies!” Pacing the room in anger, the older man continued his tirade against Ben Gurion, Ben Zvi, and all the other leaders of the Zionist movement. “Such men as those should not be allowed in Palestine! I won’t tolerate it! Ekber, order their arrest at once! We’ll soon put an end to all such troublemakers.”
Both men were apprehended and charged with conspiring against the Ottoman Empire in order to create a Jewish state. Their sentence? Exile from Palestine!

Part 1 of "David Ben-Gurion"

This story has never been published before.

David Ben-Gurion, Leader of Israel

May 14, 1948. The hours slowly passed by approaching midnight when the British Mandate would end. It was afternoon in the Art Museum in Tel Aviv as a short stocky man, whose dark eyes flashed with determination and courage, began to speak, reading from a piece of paper with great feeling. A small group of men and women listened with passionate intensity. The lights in the room shone on his bushy white side hair and nearly bald head. The moment that he had dreamed of, struggled towards and fought for was fast approaching.
“In the Land of Israel the Jewish people came into being. In this land was shaped their spiritual, religious and national character. Here they lived in sovereign independence. They created a culture of national and universal import and gave to the world the eternal “Book of Books.”. . .” On he read, until at last, reaching the end of the paper, he laid it on a desk. The tension in the room grew as he silently reached for a pen. Two other men crowded forward to watch this historic event. There was a glint of a smile in those dark eyes as he boldly signed his name, David Ben-Gurion. As his pen scrawled across the paper, his thoughts flashed back nearly fifty-one years.

The Early Years

“David! Have you read the news?” In his home town of Plonsk, Russia (now a part of Poland), eleven-year-old David Green looked up from the book he was reading,.
“What news, Father?”
“About Dr. Theodore Herzl.” Young David looked puzzled. Slowly he shook his head. His father quickly explained, “Herzl is an Austrian Jew, and he has just called together a congress of Jewish delegates to meet in Switzerland! The delegates are from many different countries.”
“But what are they meeting for?” David interrupted.
“To try to secure a national home for Jewish people in the land of Palestine!”
“Palestine! Oh, Father!” David’s eyes shone with excitement - the same excitement that was in his father Avigdor’s heart. After his father left him, David sat staring at the book in his hand, yet not seeing it. A homeland for their people, his people. For centuries the Jewish people had been persecuted and oppressed in almost every country where they lived. The Jews were the troublemakers and scapegoats; the fewer there are the better the world will be seemed to be the general idea of most of the rulers towards these people of the Bible. And yet, the Jewish people continued to live and dream of maybe one day returning to the land of their heritage where they would be free to live as their ancestors had. Now maybe all this talk that David had heard all of his life would become a reality. As the days went by, there was much excitement in the house over this wonderful news, but it was soon subdued as Sheindel, David’s quiet, gentle mother, died giving birth to her eleventh child. Though overcome with grief, Avigdor did his best to fill the place of both father and mother to his children.
The years passed by swiftly and at 15, David, always more serious -minded than his friends, was an able leader for the cause of Zionism (a Jewish homeland) in Russia. He helped form a group of youths all interested in Zionism. Like Ezra, the scribe of the Old Testament, who returned to Palestine from Babylon some 25 centuries before them, so these youths (Their group was called “Ezra”) were eager to go for the first time to Palestine. Five years passed. The persecution of the Jews during the Russian revolution and afterwards increased greatly before David was prepared to leave his family and the land of his birth to travel with a friend to Palestine.

to be continued

All the Books

I guess not many people had a clue how many books we have. Before Christmas when they were first counted there were 3,660. But we had forgotten some, received books for Christmas and then Mom and I went to a few used book stores! And then when you add all the PaperBack Swap books that we seem to be continually receiving, the numbers grow. As of now, without counting the cookbooks, hymnbooks or song books, or the 80+ books listed on PBS, we have 4,011 and the number continues to grow. :)