450
CAIRO TO DAMASCUS
of going into the Jewish State itself. I had seen no Israeli city;
I had not visited the kibbutzim; I had spoken only to Israelis
in Jerusalem. Nor had I gained a true feeling of the Jewish
State—save only the sense of indomitability of the defenders
of Jerusalem. I did not know what Zionism was. Wandering
about the camps now, talking to the men and women, I met a
quiet, patient Jew, Rabbi Schreibaum, who was in charge of
expediting emigration and placating ruffled British officialdom.
A yearning came over me to go with these refugees to their
new homeland.
"I want to go to Israel," I told Rabbi Schreibaum suddenly.
He smiled, as if no request could be a surprise to him.
"The Hatikvah is leaving for Haifa on Thursday with a
group of immigrants. Why don't you go along?"
"I have no visa for Israel, and my passport is full of Arab
stamps," I said.
"When you get to Haifa just tell them I sent you."
The Hatikvah grossed eight hundred tons and was formerly
an American coast guard cutter. When it left Famagusta two
days later, it was loaded to capacity with two hundred and
eighty Jews and a