Israel, and Going Home
451
double-decked cots jamming every inch of space on the decks.
These infants were the gifts the wanderers who had been
through the torture chambers of Europe were bringing to
Israel.
With them I gratefully ate the food supplied by the American Joint Distribution Committee: a loaf of bread, an orange,
and a can of sardines. Night girdled the blacked-out ship, and
I slept with the Jews. The only incident occurred at exactly
2.02 a.m., when the deck chair on which I was dozing crashed
beneath my weight, after which I slept on deck like the others.
It was quite proper, I thought, for I had been a refugee myself
from 1914 to 1921—after which I, too, had traveled by boat to
the Promised Land beyond the great waters.
We landed in Haifa the next morning.
I made my grand entry by being escorted immediately to
the police station by an inspector who was visibly disturbed
by a passport full of Arab stamps. The police chief, A.
Coblenz, treated me courteously, but I had to wait for an
hour during which a frantic search went on for someone who
would vouch for me. Finally an Israeli was found who remembered Walter Winchell's praise of Under Cover, which •
presumably cleared me of all Arab taint. At any rate, I
went through the formality of having a visa stamped and
E1.500 collected.
From that day on I saw Israel as I had seen the Arab countries—mostly on foot, alone, dressed in native garb: Boy
Scout shorts, khaki shirt, khaki cap. I saw Israel without the
benefit of official guides. I wanted to draw my own conclusions. I hitch-hiked from one end of the Jewish State to the
other. Hitch-hiking is tolerated, at best, in many countries:
but Israel is probably the only country in the world where it
is actually encouraged and enforced. Hiking queues formed
at nearly every road intersection and police made sure Jewishowned cars picked up riders from the queue. Only diplomatic
autos were immune; most diplomats, however, helped because
of the shortage of gasoline and vehicles. I traveled hun-