May 15, 1948

A writer of no songs by Herm
I am no writer of songs, but today I wish I were a poet to express my feelings of amazement and gratitude that stir my soul. Amazement at the never failing wonder at Israel's existence. Gratitude to God that Israel now exists and that mine should be the generation chosen to experience it and that I, of the long line of my people from the days of Jeremiah have wished for it, prayed for it and worked for it, should be alive now. The sensitive antennae of my aliveness reach out whenever I see the misty outline or from the valley below I raise my head to see Jerusalem. I am ever renewed at the fresh clear Mediterranean from the heights of Haifa. I feel triply alive in the geography of this, our small land, its history and its colossal impudence to say to the world that dreams older than time can and do come true,
I confess, I am drunk with history. I am intoxicated by every session of the Knesset, by every law and regulation, whether I agree or disagree, by every postal stamp and every automobile license, by every boatload of immigrants, by our flag, our currency, our "stateness". Every airplane I see brings me to my feet to yell "Mishelanu", like the children during air raids. "Shelanu, shelanu" - it's ours, it's ours. I feel like shouting till Herzl himself hears us at the gates of heaven to rejoice with us and Balfour looks at Lloyd George and says, "It wasn't such an idle declaration, after all!"

I drink down event as it crowded event. The audacious Declaration of Independence, signed by all parties from Communist to Agudat Israel, from Revisionist to Aliyah Chadasha. And then symbolic of the unanimity, came the announcement over the loudspeakers that appearance at the draft board is demanded by the State on the Sabbath with the full knowledge and permission of the Chief Rabbinate. It was a kind of Rosh Hashanah to me on Mugrabi on May 14 for the law of Israel that had been invoked and I read in this announcement the rejuvenated harmony between people state and religion that we of the Mizrachi have been fighting for so hard against the right and the left.

War crept on us from the incidents in Jaffa to the catastrophe at Kfar Etzion, the incredible Arab evacuation from Haifa, the siege of Jerusalem, the triumph of Burma Road and the loss of Mt. Scopus and the Old City,
War, hafugah (truce), war, hafugah was the crazy pattern of the summer of 1948.
I remember the ringing words of Ben Gurion calling on "Zur Israel" , the emptiness of the streets during air raids, the cheerfulness of the children running around a few seconds after the "All Clear". The breathless expectation and impatience for each boatload of ammunition. The night alarms and the small human experiences during those hours of tension. The Chassidic stories Rabbi Fishman told us at three o'clock in the morning to cheer the hotel guests in the improvised shelter, The chess game I taught Uzi, a little American boy, to help pass the hours away, the climax at Latrun, the apparently hopeless situation with no arms and an untrained army. The day by day growth of confidence, The calling up to arms of men and more men. The progressive development of the administration. I remember the first National loan of the Yishuv, the posters all over the city, the election speeches, the crowds on the streets watching the first military parade, the first International loan by the Import Export bank on the eve of our election. the recognitions by the States of the world and finally, membership in the UN.