CHAPTER 16 - The Locust Plague, a Reunion and a Trip to Damascus

Sara & Absa United Again

The Plague is here in full force. The locusts, as big as birds, descend upon the entire colony and do not discriminate between Arab and Jewish villages.  

Arab Villages, Locust Plague 1915

The New York Times reports, ‘Few crops or orchards escaped devastation. This is especially true on the Plain of Sharon, where the Jewish and German colonies, with their beautiful orange gardens, vineyards, and orchards, suffered most severely... In the lowlands there is a complete destruction of crops such as garden vegetables, melons, apricots and grapes upon whose supply the Jerusalem markets depend and few vegetables or fruits are to be had in the markets. In Jerusalem and Hebron’, the report continues, ‘the heaviest loss from the onslaught of the locusts has been in connection with the olive groves and vineyards. Olive oil is a staple of food among the peasants and poorer classes as are grapes...’

Bedouin Village during the Locust Plague

And it is indeed, the 'peasants' - the Arabs and the Bedouins - who suffer the most.

By November 1915, the Times details a cable from the American Counsel General in Jerusalem in which he describes ‘Fields covered by the locusts as far as the eye can reach.’ The diplomat reports on efforts made by the Turkish leader of Palestine to combat the locusts. And that Jewish agronomist, ‘Dr. Aron Aronson, who is well known to the Department of Agriculture at Washington, is appointed High Commissioner to the Central Commission to Fight the Locusts.

In that capacity, Aron visits the villages around Zikhron where Arab farmers stand helplessly regarding their empty fields. Heaps of dead locusts are scattered amongst the husks. The threatened famine is upon them.

Locust Photographed in the American Colony During the Plague

****

In the distance the minaret of the nearby village sounds its plaintive call to prayer with the muezzin’s dismal cry. Muftir Hassan Bey’s garden at the Port of Caesarea is devastated. Not a blade of grass or leaf on any tree - but plenty of dead locusts. 

The Muftir Hassan Bey in his Garden at Caesarea

Aron with the Muftir who stands at his pigeon coop, clearing the netting of the corpses of hundreds of grasshoppers.

The Muftir's pigeons are dead or dying. Aron looks with distaste as the Muftir twists the neck of the remaining few still alive.

        “What can we do, Mr. Satan?” he shakes his head sadly.

        “We must fight them Muftir, but without my deputy I can do nothing!” says Aron, exasperated.

The Muftir's beady eyes regard Aron thoughtfully.

     “If Allah wills it there is nothing we can do.” He lifts his hands heavenwards in supplication and apparent resignation.

Not surprised by such a response, Aron reaches into his briefcase and hands the Bey two small, but surprisingly heavy bags. 

Those beady eyes flash like a seam of unexpected, hidden gold.

    “Leave it to me Mr. Satan. I’ll go myself to the Pasha. Your Mr. Avshalom will be out before you can count one, two, six.”

****

Djemal Pasha & Muftir Hassan Bey with Officials in Damascus

Djemal Pasha’s Office. Damascus. The Muftir and Djemal Pasha and a number of officials. A large map shows Turkish and German positions on the battle front. A pile of important documents await signing. The Pasha looks impatient.

    “The famine is great in Palestine. Everyone is hungry”: beseeches the Muftir in a wheedling tone. “We need Mr. Satan! Only he can take away the locusts.”

Djemal Pasha is irate: “What are you waiting for?! Get him at once!”

    “There is one little problem, excellency.”

The canny Muftir has prepared his answer well: “His very clever secretary, Mr. Feinberg, is in jail - he can do nothing without him and the Germans are about to hang him!”

Djemal Pasha: “Bloody Germans! They are after my job!”

He yells to an Officer: “Telegram the Minister of War. Free Mr. Satan’s man at once!!”

****

Three weeks after his imprisonment, much to Aron’s relief, his right hand man, is released.

****

The tower room at Atlit. A thin, unshaven and very jaunty Avshalom opens the door. Sara is sitting on the bed - Avshalom’s bed. The Aphrodite statue sits next to her and Absa’s letters are spread out around her.

She turns as if she has been expecting him: “I knew I would see you again.”

Whether she had ever entertained the idea of returning to her husband in Istanbul, is a moot point. At any rate, when she saw her beloved again, there was no doubt in her mind.

They embrace. A long, deeply passionate kiss.

    “We’ll never be separated again,” says our brave and intrepid depart knight.

It is Aron who in Absa’s absence has taken to calling him: “a knight without fear and without reproach.”

We hear Aron’s voice from the stairwell: “The Rabbis wouldn’t like it - ”

Avshalom turns, Aron stands in the doorway.

    “She’s still married you know,” he says.

Avshalom kisses Sara again: “Damn the Rabbis, damn her husband!”

They all laugh, Sara most of all.

Aron holds out some permits: “Three permits to Damascus - on locust business. The Pasha wants to help us with our ‘important agricultural work’. We leave in the morning.”

    “But I’ve only just got here!” jokes Absa, his arms still around Sara.

****

Boarding house in the Damascus Jewish Quarter

They depart the next day for Damascus at the Djemal Pasha's request, staying in a boarding house in the Damascus Jewish Quarter owned by a Jewish widow with a little daughter. A paved court with balcony, cracked pond, mildewed lemon trees and pots of straggly jasmine but the beds are comfortable and the widow's food, good. 

Damascus Agent, Eitan Belkind

Avshalom and Aron have completed a meeting with young Damascus Agent, Eitan Belkind, that even more good looking version of his brother, Naaman. They shake hands and Eitan, who gathers information for them, simultaneously having convinced the Turks of his loyalty, departs. He is a reliable source in the perilous double game he plays, but he risks his life at all times and is always in danger of discovery. 

Avshalom & Sara in Damascus

Aron, Sara and Absa would remain in Damascus for a week. They were light-hearted and the horrors of war, massacre and separation, were briefly forgotten. In the midst of their happiness, Sara realises that despite her promise to her father, she has not written to her husband in the two months since she left and she decides to amend that lack.

Sara Writes her Letter

Sara, wearing the blue scarf, that gift from Absa's trip to Egypt, writes her letter - in French: ‘My very dear Haim - I’m afraid, I find myself detained at present on very important official locust business - ”

Avshalom: “So he still won’t give you a divorce?”

Sara smiles wryly: “I left him you know.”

Absa grabs the piece of paper and hoots with laughter: “Not a moment too soon, if you ask me! Here let me add something - ” He picks up the pen and writes - also in French - in the margin, in his beautiful, cursive handwriting: ‘I swear, you won’t see her for a very long time. The sky was dark and wintery but now the sun is shining again! Thank you to Constantinople for this extra Spring!’

Sara tries to get the letter back, laughing and chasing Avshalom round the lemon and orange trees. Their game ends in an embrace, permitting Aron to take hold of the letter and write in the opposite margin: ‘You are permitted to come and see her, but send Sarati to you? Don’t even think about it. We love her very much here so don’t bother to try and fetch her. We won’t ever let her go again!’

Sara is in fits of laughter. Aron too, is in unusually happy mood, and he continues in his neat hand,  adding the following postscript with uncharacteristic and undiplomatic derision: ‘Avshalom, who is the best of men, asks me not to tell you what we are doing here, in case you get all red in the face, as we’ve seen before when you were annoyed with him.’

     ****

Djemal Pasha at his Grand Reception in Damascus

An evening reception in Aron’s honour at Djemal Pasha’s grand private quarters. A quartet plays Arabic music - a lyrical ghazal which might be a love song and more strident marching tunes. Waiters in fezzes serve sherbet and baklava. Turkish Officers on low benches with ornate cushions stare curiously at Sara - the only woman in this room full of men. Aron chats to all and sundry, completely at ease in diplomatic situ as in the field. 

Sara at Djemal Pasha's Reception in Damascus

Avshalom and Sara are introduced to the Pasha who is politeness itself, the epitome of a gentleman.

    “Enchanté Madame. We have much faith in your brother.”        

Sara nods and manages to smile gracefully but being a little confused as to how a Western woman should reply to a Muslim grandee, she remains respectfully silent.

Avshalom responds with the required epithet: “We are devoted servants, of the Sultan, your excellency.”

The Djemal Pasha turns to Avshalom: “I have a permit for you to go to Istanbul on your important agricultural work. We await your findings with interest.”

Absa nods compliantly, also not much used to such formal audiences and bows very low, as he imagines might be expected.

Aron interjects: “Certainly dear Pasha. I will accompany my secretary and introduce our work. My sister will return home. Our father is old and unwell.”

Djemal Pasha: “Yes, yes. Of course.” But he has no interest in Aron’s family problems.

Then he looks sly: “There are those who say if we lose the battle against the locusts we will lose the War too - ”

    “That is in God’s hands, your excellency. And the Sultan’s.” Aron is submissive but he hopes, not obsequious.

Djemal Pasha responds loftily: “We do not question your loyalty, nor that of your charming sister.”

Sara smiles, her hands tightly folded in her lap, in what she hopes is the correct posture for a lady.

The Pasha regards Avshalom closely: “We wish your very clever secretary, to go immediately to Istanbul. The Locust Commission awaits his findings with impatience. I will provide you with letters of introduction.”

Absa bows deeply. It is the last thing he wants.

     “It will be an honour Pasha, I am at your command.”

   ****

Absa & Sara on the Balcony

Balcony of the hotel in the Damascus Jewish Quarter. Night. Sara in the darkness in her night gown, breathes in the scented jasmine. Avshalom appears behind her.  

    “Must you go?” she says.

    “Only if you don’t want the Pasha to cut my head off!”

He takes her in his arms and carries her to the bedroom.

She doesn’t resist.

Morning. A chill wind blows through the curtains of that little love nest. Winter has come.

Sara lying in Avshalom’s arms. He covers her with the blanket. They talk of serious matters, as lovers in wartime do, and Absa asks:

    “Do you really think love can transcend everything?”

Sara is unsure: “Even death?”

Avshalom kisses her long and deeply: “Even death!”

    “Death and husbands?” she asks.

In answer he pulls her back under the warm covers and they make love one more time.

They were never to be so happy again.

****

Sara is determined to mark the occasion of their reunion with a photograph.

Sara & Avshalom Studio Photograph in Damascus

She and Avshalom pose against an artistic backdrop of moody sky and sea in the Damascus photographer’s studio. It is cold already and they stand, hand in hand, heads resting one upon the other, their faces moody as that painted sea and sky. Bearded Absa is defiant, in a sheep’s wool cap pulled low over his brow, those faintly hooded eyes, more dark than ever, stare directly into the camera. Sara is introspective and downcast in her dark, wool suit and striped blouse. Her eyes, framed by fur, are fixed on some distant point. We can only imagine what fears and hopes are nestled in her breast at their forthcoming separation.

****

Absa and Aron arrive in war torn Constantinople where cholera is rife. They soon part ways, Absa for his locust work at the Istanbul Ministry of Agriculture and Aron to try and see Haim to discuss a divorce for Sara - but Haim is out of town on business - his business was going very well due to the war - or perhaps he simply did not want to see Aron. At any rate he was not at home. So Aron paid a visit to Haim’s sister in law, Ronya, Haim's brother Moritz’s wife - who as we remember had visited Zikhron a few years previously - to try and gain some information on Haim’s whereabouts and to tidy up Sara’s affairs. 

Haim's Sister Ronya as a Nurse in the Turkish Red Crescent

Ronya is now a nurse, helping wounded Turkish soldiers, for which, she will be awarded a bronze medal and receive a berat with the Sultan's seal in recognition of her services.

Aron writes in his diary: ‘I go to pick up Ronya at the Pera Hotel to go to Abramovitch where Dr. Caleb will give me injections against cholera. After 9 am, we go with Ronya to examine Sara's house. We have the keys to the house, but all the rooms are locked, and we need to use a locksmith who forces the doors. We find the house in a mess, and Mrs Blumberg - the housekeeper - is kind enough to take it upon herself to put things in order and to give me the things Sara has left behind. From there at 1 pm I go to have lunch with Ronya in her apartment, which is well-lit and bright. We are both down hearted, Ronya because she is upset that Sara has left, believing still, that Sara will ‘come to her senses’ and return to her husband and I, because I know she will never come back.’

         ****

Meanwhile, Absa is pressed into submitting to the endless bureaucracy of his enforced post at the Agricultural Archive Library in the Turkish capital.

Absa in the Agricultural Archive Library, Istanbul

A sign reads ‘Istanbul Ministry of Agriculture - Ottoman Commission against the Locusts’. At a row of desks, Turkish Officials sift through a stack of agricultural documents. Official One passes a list to Official Two who passes it to Official Three and Official Four, who pass it to a very bored Avshalom, who signs off the documents, as he is instructed to do. His restless nature is infuriated by the Byzantine paperwork and the slowness of the pace of the work. He desires nothing more than some information that will be useful to his own cause, but little is forthcoming.

**** 

Sara Back Home in Zikhron with her Father Efraim

Back home in Zikhron, Sara finds herself alone with her elderly father. Having returned from Istanbul, Aron is more often away from home than not. He is now fighting on two fronts - the removal of the locusts and the removal of the Turks. Espionage and fighting famine.

Sara pleads to be given a role in the former endeavour. Why, she says, can she not be involved? She is strong, and has no children and is prepared to take the necessary risks.

But Aron is adamant, her role is at home with their father.

Patriarchy defines her role. Jewish women through the generations submitted to those unwritten rules. A woman’s place is in the home. A man’s place at the head of the table and in the synagogue, a woman’s in the kitchen or the bedroom. She has never actively questioned this identity thrust upon her by millenniums of Rabbis and centuries of epigenetic trauma and habit. But she knows too in her bones, that the counter to this argument comes in the form of the strong woman of her tribe, whether in exile or at home, who have defied or at least redefined this expectation. Strong Jewish women, as much a trope as bearded patriarchal men. She has generations of tough matriarchs as her example, predecessors who bore a dozen children, who sometimes died for their ideas and for their fidelity to their beliefs. Ancestral trauma, genetic tags passed down through the aeons. Malka’s own example, both willing wife and mother and also a thorn in her patient husband’s side, with a will of her own. An iron will. Malka, a contradiction, who perpetuates the hierarchy but is always in charge. The balaboste -  Jews have a special name for the archetypal capable, bossy woman. Leaving Efraim to find his solace in psalms and proverbs.

It is Sara’s own stubborn will and unmovable resolve which made her leave her conventional and patriarchal husband, staid, respectable Haim. And it is that iron will that makes her select a path few women would ever embrace.

****

She reads Avshalom’s letter written from the corridors of the Istanbul Ministry of Agriculture, by lamp light:

We hear Absa’s voice: “The boredom! The frustration! The longing! An endless round of locust business, most of it useless - and an endless amount of waiting - When will I see you again?! When will you be mine and mine alone?”

****

In his unhappiness Absa decides to visit: ‘that husband of yours whether you want it or not.’

Under a sign which reads: ‘Abraham Frères. Bosphorus Uniform Co. Istanbul: Proprietor Haim J. Abraham’, Avshalom waits impatiently jiggling his knees up and down with his satchel on his impatient knees.

Haim Abraham at his Desk

Haim at a huge, important looking desk with folders of dozens of official orders. People come and go with large piles of Turkish army uniforms. A woman assistant waits with a heap of documents. Eventually she gestures for Avshalom  to go through to Haim. It is an awkward meeting; they inquire, certainly, about each other’s health and the unpleasantness of war, but the elephant remains in the room and the absent wife is not mentioned once.

Finally Absa can bear no more circuity. He does not beat about the bush when elephants are concerned: “She wants a divorce! You must give her one!”

Haim answers as one would expect from a man, hurt and abandoned by his wife: “It is customary for a wife to remain at her husband’s side. She has deserted me, not the other way around!”

Avshalom replies like a man who wants only one thing: “Let her go then.”

The cuckolded husband is steadfast and evidently very busy: “I shall continue to hope she will return home. Now, if you will excuse me, I have many orders to complete.”

He turns back to the waiting assistant who gestures to him to sign some papers in an adjacent office.

In the brief moment that they are gone, Avshalom picks up the top folder and slips it into his briefcase. The assistant returns to see him out. Avshalom goes, blowing a quick kiss at the startled lady.

  ****

Map of Syria, Palestine & Egypt, 1916

Aron’s office. He is at his desk poring over a map of Syria under Turkish hegemony, Palestine also under Turkish control and Cairo currently under British control. A dotted blue line marks the Suez Canal. Sara stands looking over his shoulder.

We hear Absa’s voice over: “I have news at last! Thirty eight columns of camels are marching from Aleppo to the south. I have the numbers of horses, tanks and armoured cars. Your husband is clothing them all!”

Sara’s face reveals nothing of her feelings, but in that moment, she finds herself actively despising the man who was once her spouse.

Absa’s voice continues: “But the big news is the Germans are planning to surprise the British at the Canal - ”

Aron walks to the window. Pacing like a caged tiger: “Vital stuff and still no contact?”

Sara reiterates: “There must be some part I can play - a proper part!”

    “You’re a woman, for God’s sake!  - A married woman.”

Sara takes off her wedding ring: “I’m not married any more - ”

    “It’s too dangerous,” says Aron.

    “I’m not afraid,” responds his sister.

Aron sighs and then finds himself unwillingly relenting: “Alright - You can receive the messages. But that’s all.”

He returns to his pragmatic, business-like self: “That is - when we re-establish bloody contact!”

And so it was that Sara, who had long been a party to Aron’s plans, joined her brother, in the soon to be named, 'Nili' spy organisation to which she would now devote her life. There are no indications that Haim was ever aware of her involvement or of indeed of the existence of Nili until after her death.

****