CHAPTER 23 - Expulsion from Jaffa and Sara in Cairo

Zikhron Ya’akov, Sara at Work by Lamp Light

Less than two weeks later on March 28th, another blow.

Zikhron Ya’kov courtyard. Night. Sara at work, writing notes in her notebook by lamp light.

Joe marches in, very flustered: “Dirty f...ing bastard's ordered all Jews expelled from Jaffa!”

This time it is not just foreign nationals, but long time residents, some of many generations. And it includes those dune dwellers in the brand new, soon to be city of Tel Aviv.

**** 

Djemal Pasha Orders the Expulsion of Jews from Jaffa & Tel Aviv

If we stop for a moment to peruse a photograph of this demon in charge of the Greater Syrian Theatre of the war, the one who orders the expulsion, we may regard the Pasha in his karakul tarboush and braided uniform, carrying an outsize sword, capable of striking off a dozen heads at once, his black moustache and brows twirled like a pantomime devil.  

He has just declared the following: ‘I know that the Jews in Palestine are waiting for the English like a bride for her bridegroom, but as the bridegroom comes closer, we will remove the bride farther away.’

The bride, was indeed suffering. But in addition to the Jaffa and Tel Aviv expulsions - all the inhabitants of Gaza were expelled too, mostly Arabs. They had just two days to pack and leave, as one historian writes: ‘even if crawling on their knees’. The men were conscripted and the rest spread all over Palestine and Syria, first to nearby villages and then further afield as those villages were also evacuated. Death from exposure or starvation was widespread. Such horrors are again carried out in your day, to many cries of justified opprobrium and media condemnation.

The Jaffa Jews are not permitted to enter any of the major cities - Jerusalem or Haifa. The ports are blockaded. Anyway, there are no visas and no one wants them. So where were they to go?

A migration committee, headed by Meir Dizengoff and Rabbi Menachem Kelioner convenes to arrange the transportation of the deportees to safety.

Dizengoff sends a heart-felt and urgent appeal to the north: ‘Brothers! An expulsion order has been decreed upon the Yishuv in Judaea, and at this dire hour we are forced to appeal to you for help. At the present time, the Galilee stands outside the sphere of catastrophe and has the means to fulfill its important and historic duty of salvation. It may be assumed that a significant number of Judean exiles will be forced to enter into the cities and settlements of Galilee, and the Galilean Yishuv must therefore be prepared very soon for this entry.’

With the assistance of those Jews from the Galilee, horse-carts were quickly sent out from all the settlements in the Lower Galilee to Jaffa and its outskirts, the very new city of Tel Aviv -  though it could scarcely be called a city yet - to help the ‘Judean exiles’ who were given transport to towns in central and northern Palestine, where they were scattered among the different settlements including, Lower Galilee, Zikhron Ya’akov, Tiberias, and Safed. 

Jews Stream out of Jaffa with their Belongings

Desolate Jews streamed out of Jaffa by any means possible. A cart loaded with suitcases, travelling down the wet road. A man with a suitcase looking at his boarded up home. A donkey cart piled with furniture, cooking pots and wide-eyed children rumbles past. Scenes, experienced many time before, in those lands of exile in the Pale of Settlement, but not imagined in the Yishuv.

A population of confused and impoverished souls, made up of many old people, the pregnant and the sick, the mentally ill and incapacitated, who found it hard to cope with the living conditions in the Galilee. The hygiene supervisor of the medical services in Palestine, Dr. Krieger, claimed that ‘according to his estimate there will be a very great increase in the numbers of the weak and sick along the way.’ Indeed, no family expelled from Jaffa did not lose at least one of its members during the period of expulsion. The causes for death were many, a vulnerable population used to city life, an extreme climate, overcrowding and poor hygiene, all of which, spread diseases among the refugees. Dysentery; cholera; typhus or spotted fever; malaria; stomach illnesses; the dreaded typhoid; pneumonia, particularly in the old; that old scourge, tuberculosis and that perennial problem of chronic diarrhea, particularly in infants. The first case of cholera was discovered in a girl who had previously had typhoid. The settlements rallied, the sick were placed in isolation, houses disinfected, and anti-cholera inoculations given to the refugees. But it was not just disease that afflicted the displaced populace, their mental condition was in a parlous state. The refugees were urban dwellers with a comparatively, bourgeois life and they found it difficult to adjust to the precarious conditions in the border areas. Deprived of everything they knew, far from their homes and livelihoods, with little money - an impossible situation, in which the future was unknown.

Of course the Holy Land is no stranger to displacement and dislocation. Jews were exiled over many millennia by Assyrians, Babylonians, Romans, Caliphates, Crusaders, persecuted by Byzantines and Mamluks, and finally at the time of our narrative, expelled by the dying Ottomans. And when the long dreamed of State of Israel came at last in 1948, and was immediately attacked by a multitude of Arab armies, Muslim Palestinians left in droves - yes, most fled in fear and despair at the command of their leaders - but others were chased away in brutal fashion...

****

Aron, is one of the first outside Palestine, to hear of the expulsion and he makes sure that the news reaches every consulate in the world. The State Department and the British Embassy in Washington send a warning to the Turko-German Alliance - the Central Powers. The Germans, concerned about how the actions might reflect upon them, tell the Turks to be more discreet. Only just in time to prevent the expelling of the entire Jerusalem community to the Transjordan desert. No one could miss the implication, that had they been sent to that arid wasteland, they too would have died of thirst and hunger, just as the Armenians had done.

****

Yishuv Jaffa Refugees, 1917

Zikhron too, opens its arms to the refugees. In the main street, Farmers’ Street, later to be named ‘The Founder Street’ - Rehov Hameyasdim - a huge crowd gathers. The town is in uproar. Dozens of exhausted refugees stream into the street. Displaced women weep and their menfolk stand around hopelessly, rich and poor alike, as carts loaded with belongings, follow the weary expelled, like those from so many other expulsions, in so many other lands.

Dr. Yaffe and Mayor Meir greet them with tearful hugs and the women of Zikhron, offer tea, biscuits and sympathy in equal measure. The Doctor’s wife Rivka, and those righteous citizens, Perl, Adele, Tsipporah and Gita, man - or should one say - ‘woman’ - the tea stall with bustling authority, competing for who can be the most compassionate. When Sara attempts to help, the more antagonistic, brusquely push her out of the way, while the slightly more decorous, simply ignore her, as if she isn’t there. 

****

Sara, in turn, ignores the naysayers and prepares a list of things desperately needed for the pitiful refugees which she sends to Aron: ‘Refugees are streaming into town. We need mattresses, baby bottles, diapers, food and clothes and the world needs to know about it - ’

In the absence of any other form of communication, the message reaches Aron via one of the more fortunate refugees, a wealthy doctor who has the means to get to family in Cairo via passage to Tyre in Lebanon, where he also has relatives.

****

Aron’s Office. British Headquarters, Cairo. Aron reads Sara’s letter and simultaneously picks up the phone:   

    “Get me Reuters - And the American Ambassador in Beirut.”

The New York Times, June 1917

A day later, in still neutral America, the New York Times of June 1917, reports the expulsion, which does nothing to help Alex and Rifka's increasing anxiety about their loved ones back home. The British Times confirms too in its headlines: ‘Atrocities against Jews feared after expulsions’ and ‘Refugees flee for their lives in Palestine’. Civil society is galvanised. Jewish women in America band together. Donations are made. Posters are printed and distributed for war relief including one of a female figure with a bountiful tray of food, refugees at her feet.

 ****

British Headquarters, Cairo. Sonya, Raphael and Leo stack bags of flour and sacks of rice from Burma - the US having exacted a plentiful supply after other markets collapsed. Piles of clothing are sorted - not all of it suitable - a dozen fur coats from a lady in New York, plus-fours from the Florida Women's Zionist Organisation - but still well received. 

Packing Relief Supplies, Cairo

The Jewish ladies of Cairo, both those so recently exiled in the previous expulsion, and those who count Egypt as their home, pack boxes of medicines, labelled ‘USA Relief Supplies Palestine’, with other volunteers, among them, kindly nuns and other Christian do gooders, outraged by the plight of those in the Holy Land.

The relief of the the mass starvation, arranged by future President, Herbert Hoover, then director of the U.S. Food Administration, was not without contention. The British actually accused him of being a German spy! Americans accused him of violating American neutrality laws. Questions of loyalty are asked and answered, not always politely. Acrimony and benevolence are in the air.

Egyptian Dockers Load Relief Supplies

Aron and Leo, who care about none of those claims and accusations, check the supplies off on a list with an American Relief Coordinator. Ships have already been dispatched to Beirut for overland transport to Eretz Israel.

****

Rothschild Winery with Jaffa Refugees

The huge wine cellars surmounted by the Rothschild crest and insignia near Zikhron. Inside the vaulted cellars huddled refugees with their children. 

A Hebrew Florence Nightingale

Like a Hebrew Florence Nightingale, Sara carries her kerosene lamp and in the lamp light, we see rows of camp beds and mattresses, piles of luggage, drying washing, sickly children, harassed mothers and despairing men, ministered to by Dr. Yaffe with other Zikhron women, including Toba and Sara, handing out bowls of that long-traveled, Burmese rice.

  **** 

Aron with Brigadier General Clayton and Major Wyndham Deedes & Pre War Pound Note

British Headquarters, Cairo. Turkish Affairs Office. Aron with Brigadier General Clayton and Major Wyndham Deedes.

    “You’re a very persuasive man, Lieutenant Aronson, “ says the Brigadier.

The Major adds: “We’ll give permission for money to be sent into your country at our discretion.”

    “But bank notes or coins of pre-war mint only - nothing that can be directly linked with us, you understand - ” Brigadier General Clayton makes his point very clearly.

 ****

The seashore at Atlit. Sand dunes, night. Leibel and Raphael Aboulafia in the pitch darkness, carrying heavy sacks on their backs, bent over from the weight.

They hand Naaman and Joe two heavy pouches. Naaman’s eyes widen and Joe whistles at the weight of the pouches.

Sara holds a lantern and takes the leather bag of reports.

****

Research Station Cellar. Joe counting out a stream of gold coins and wads of pound notes, in the light of a smoky kerosene lamp. Sara unpacks the pouch and opens letters from Aron in Cairo and one from California.

Rifka & Alex in California

A photograph of Rifka in a summer dress playing a violin in the Californian sunshine. Behind her tanned, all-American Alex, grins.

Sara’s face. How she misses her siblings! How she too, might enjoy the delights and freedom of the Californian sunshine!

Sara reads Aron’s letter: “They want me to come to Cairo.”

    “I’m coming with you!” says incorrigible Joe.

****

Cairo Night with Leo

A sultry night, the city seethes in the darkness. Melancholy Leo moodily staring over the balcony of Aron’s hotel with Raphael. He misses his friend Absa with a physical ache and he worships Sara who does not return his love but wishes for a ‘platonic’ relationship. Her rejection cuts him like a knife. Pessimistic by nature, he cannot lift himself from the chasm that threatens to overwhelm him.

Aron comes out onto the balcony: “We all miss him - Avshalom - but he’s gone and we must make do with those of us who are left.”

But Leo cannot be shaken from his despondency: “Sometimes, I feel as if he’s not really dead - as if his spirit is still here -
                       
    “There’s no time for your Russian soul-searching, dear Leo,” he says more gently than is his wont.

But he too is shaken and feels Avshalom's presence everywhere. Always optimistic in public, his inner fears only controlled by his immense pragmatism and the mission that is his life’s work.       

He turns to Raphael, practical again: “We’ve a job to do - they need guns - ”

Ever useful Raphael answers: “I know a man who can help. A gun runner from Beirut.”

Aron nods. There are many such and it’s best to ask no questions about provenance or anything else.

    “And Leo you must fetch Sara and bring her here to Cairo,” he adds as if in afterthought.

Leo smiles, happy again: “Without a doubt! Nothing would make me more content - ”

****

On deck on the Monegam, Leibel and an anxious Leo with spy-glasses, looking out at the Station, rising on the horizon.

Inside the Station, Sara completes her packing and closes her small bag. Goliath whimpers, she strokes him. Then she picks up the photo of Avshalom on horseback, kisses it and replaces it on the shelf.

And hangs the white sheet on the balcony rail.

****

The sea is quiet. Abdullah rows the little boat with Leo and Leibel and a crate of guns on board. Leibel slides the crate onto a floating raft in the sea. The raft of guns bobs on the surface, and is quickly pulled to shore by Goliath.

Leo and Leibel scramble ashore with their bags - and are met by Reuven Schwartz who helps haul the raft of guns onto the beach. Goliath shakes off his wet fur, thoroughly enjoying his part in the Nili activities, as Sara and Joe wait on the shore with their bags.

**** 

Joe on Board the Monegam

On board the Monegam. Captain Smith, stands on deck, as Sara is helped by Leo up the rope ladder, followed by a dapper-looking Joe, armed to the hilt, who climbs on board, followed by Leibel, lugging the letter bag.

    “Who’s this?” the Captain confronts Joe and his weapons, “We weren’t expecting anyone else.”

Unperturbed by his reception, Joe pumps the surprised Captain’s hand.

    “Joe Lishanky, Secret Agent, Captain. At your service!” he says clicking his heels and saluting.

Only when Leibel intercedes and Joe is persuaded to part with his arms - they will be safely stowed on board until his return - is he permitted on deck.

**** 

Sara & Aron's Reunion in Port Said

Port Said Harbour. Blue sky, palm tree and Union Jack flying briskly.

On the quay, Aron and Sara embrace - after nearly a year’s absence, it is a tender and emotional greeting. Aron’s eyes are full of tears.

Just as whistling Joe emerges, full of the joys of this new adventure and totally unaware that his presence is not at all welcome. Aron stares at Joe, his face filled with disbelief: “What the hell’s he doing here!?”

But the army land rover is waiting, ready to take them back to Cairo.

It is Sara’s first visit. She is so overwhelmed at everything that she barely notices the tension between Aron and Joe.

First Impressions of Cairo

As Australian Corporal W.W. Patterson of the 11th Battalion, 3rd Brigade, writes on 11th March 1916: ‘My first impressions of Cairo were those of amazement; the variegated stream of men and animals - camels, donkeys, mules, buffaloes, and cows with carts; men and women carrying trays on their heads, the sellers and vendors of dozens of strange goods; the clank of the cool drink sellers, all tend to amaze the new-chum in Cairo.’

And there are British soldiers everywhere, even at the pyramids!

Despite these pleasant sights, attested to, so eloquently, the journey is one of silence and recrimination, broken only by whistling Joe’s comments on everything they pass, from camels to pyramids and everything in between.

The British driver might indeed wonder at the taciturn passengers in his care and the constant chatter of the other.

Grand Continental Hotel, Cairo

The slums of Cairo give way to the Grand Hotel Continental, Sara's address for her stay. A place crawling with affable and very busy British soldiers.

****

Hotel Continental, Lounge, Cairo. Sara bathed and refreshed is unprepared for what follows. 

Aron, in a terrible rage confronts Joe.

    “Damn you man, explain yourself!”

Aron hits the table so hard that the glass on his wrist watch smashes.

Not a good omen.

Not a Good Omen

    “We shall have to find you a new watch.” says Sara.
    
    “Damn my watch! This is a military operation, not a family outing! What are you doing here, Lishansky?”

Joe picks fluff off his sleeve and looks aggrieved.

    “Only following orders,” he says.

    “Who gave you orders to desert your post?”

    “I did. He came to protect me,” Sara answers, without missing a beat.

Joe very offended: “Yes, she did and I’ve been doing a very good job as you can see.”

Leo with Flowers

Just as Leo enters bearing a huge bunch of trembling blue and white flowers; Egyptian jasmine and Nile lotus.

    “For you, dear Sara,” he says holding out the flowers with a big smile on his face.

Aron is infuriated: “Damn your flowers and your idiocy, you namby-pamby nit-wits!”

He addresses both Leo and Joe: “It’s war and there’s no time for your idiotic romances or any other unnecessary expenses!” 

He glares at Joe: “And where's he going to stay?”    

Leo:  “It's all arranged. He'll stay with me.” 

****

Once Aron has got over his rage and accommodation arrangements for errant Joe are confirmed, brother and sister spend many hours discussing all that has passed, speaking late into the night. Sara shares her sorrow over her loved one's death and the siblings brush away many tears - but not wanting him to feel guilt, Sara concentrates rather on the thrill of seeing that her brother has achieved so many of his goals. Aron tells her that some have even said, whether disparaging or not: ‘Aronson is running General Head Quarters.’

This gives them a laugh.

But Aron sees an immense change in his beloved sister. Absa’s death has hardened her resolve and while he might be ‘in charge’ in Cairo, she is now the undisputed leader of the operations at Atlit.

****

Back at home, however, things aren’t looking too good. Sara’s absence has been noted and Joe is nowhere to be seen.

Toba & Zvi in the Synagogue

In the meeting room, in the synagogue Rabbi Kornfeld and Mayor Meir interrogate Zvi and Toba. Zvi tries to reassure them but his words only enrage his questioners.

    “Well, where are they? Your sister and that renegade good for nothing Lishansky!?” probes the Mayor in no uncertain terms.
               
Zvi answers first: “They are in Cairo - with Aron.”

Followed by Toba: “On locust business - ”

****

Breakfast at Café Gruppi, Cairo

In Cairo, Aron - in his British Officer’s uniform - and Sara, go for breakfast to Café Gruppi - that famous Cairo establishment, known for its strong coffee, Italian cakes and pastries. Here they meet, Peretz Pascal, one of Aron’s men, also from Zikhron. He knows Sara well and is happy to see her, though he sees the strain in her eyes. Inside the establishment, British officers regard Aron’s sister with curiosity and undisguised admiration. Her reputation, has preceded her in a few discreet headquarters. Deedes himself will say of Sara ‘such a plucky sister’ and he will admit that he had never received such ‘fine reports as those sent by her.’                   

**** 

Sara at British High Command Headquarters

Directly afterwards, Aron helps Sara out of a horse-drawn taxi. Sara’s view of the British High Command Headquarters, an impressive colonial building, originally the Abbassia Military Barracks built by Napoleon Bonaparte, which soars above them, its pillars glinting in the sun, its pediment decorated with a helmeted Boadicea in her chariot drawn by two rearing horses, its huge front door, a suitable portal for the comings and goings of the greatest Empire on earth.

‘Lieutenant Aron Aronson - Organisation Nili’

Aron proudly shows Sara his office. The sign above his desk, now reads ‘Lieutenant Aron Aronson - Organisation Nili’.

A middle-aged, Scottish-accented secretary pops her head round the door: “Lieutenant Aronson, here are the papers you asked for.”

Sara is introduced and the bustling secretary adds: “Sir Archibald looks forwards to seeing you and your delightful sister at eight o’clock this evening”

Sara looks a little puzzled at the compliment and the fact that she is already expected by such high and mighty dignitaries, who she never imagined, even knew of her existence.
    
    “Thank you, Miss Thompson,” Aron is business-like.

The Scottish secretary puts down a pile of documents and goes.

Sara is intrigued: “Lieutenant Aronson?! Sir Archibald?!”

Aron shrugs self-deprecatingly, still afraid to believe that his long dreamt of plans are now coming to fruition:
    
    “Yes, they’re taking us seriously, for the first time. And everyone wants to meet you! But we must hurry. We still have some shopping to do before tonight.”

    “Shopping? What’s happening tonight?” asks his bewildered sister.

   ****

Cairo Street Scene

Aron takes Sara on a whistle-stop tour of the ancient city.

Corporal W.W. Patterson’s words might again convey something of her impressions: ‘The next thing you will notice is the fine tram service they have there, which whirls you along at great speed, and which is very well conducted and very cheap to travel on. A tram ride of nine miles costs a half piastre, or a penny farthing in our money. The next thing is the number of men and boys that cluster around you and want to clean your boots, or sell you a walking stick, or give you a menu of some nearby eating house, which is usually, a drinking house as well. Sellers of old Roman coins are everywhere; most of the coins are made in Birmingham. As you penetrate into the city you pass through some fine streets and see some fine shops, looking more French than English.’

It is at one of these fine shops, that they get out of the hired, horse-drawn taxi. 

‘Les Grands Magasins Cicurel’, Cairo

‘Les Grands Magasins Cicurel’ as the fashionable department store is called, is owned by the Cicurels, a prominent Sephardic Jewish family, originally from Turkey. ‘It encompassed two buildings, each taking up a city block and looming four stories high ... Once inside, shoppers could view an array of goods in departments that supplied the king of Egypt as well as other elite and more middle class families,’ so confirms a Stanford historian of our own day.

Sara unused to ‘shopping’ of any nature, never mind, such luxury and excess, the years of deprivation having taken their toll, and in any case, being more used to the single, dress shop in Zikhron, stares at endless rows of ballgowns.

A shop assistant - most of the employees are French speaking Jews - fusses around her and finally chooses a dress - sea blue satin with a simple neckline and the soft drapery of a Poiret gown.

Sara is uncertain. How to reconcile all this splendour and excess with wartime reality?
 
She regards the unfamiliar figure in that azure satin and lace, in the mirror:

    “It doesn’t feel quite right all this...”

But Aron nods admiringly: “You deserve no less my Sarati!”

We cut to the back seat of the horse-drawn taxi filled with packages tied in bright ribbons and tagged with the Cicurel logo, from the fancy department store.

   ****

The colonial splendour of the Savoy Hotel with its magnificent dome, lit up by the gas lamps of a  sweltering Cairo night. Horse-drawn taxis and rickshaws draw up and officers in dress uniform and their wives in ballgowns get out, helped by the hotel concierge and red and black-clad bellboys.

Sara at the Savoy

Sara in her unaccustomed, blue evening gown, steps out of the horse-drawn taxi and Aron takes her arm.

A beautifully decorated ballroom. Egyptian Waiters with red fezzes carry silver trays and platters of canapés - English deviled eggs and middle eastern delicacies, while a full eight-piece band plays incongruously, romantic dance music.

Sara on Aron’s arm looking a little alarmed.

Aron reassures her: “Everyone whose anyone is here! And they all want to meet you.”

Brigadier General Clayton, Sir Archibald Murray & Major Wyndham Deedes

Sara is introduced to an admiring circle of high-ranking British Officers and their wives - Brigadier General Clayton, Major Wyndham Deedes and the moustached and very distinguished looking, current Commander-in-Chief of the Egyptian Expeditionary Force, Sir Archibald James Murray, in scarlet, gold braided uniform, hung with many medals and emblazoned with many decorations. He has been variously described as ‘incompetent, cantankerous, timid and quite useless’, ‘a complete nonentity’ and ‘an intelligent, cultivated man’, who had not yet recovered from a stomach wound received in the Boer War.

At his side, his charming wife, Lady Mildred Georgina Murray, who asks in all innocence, quite unaware of the insult:
    
    “I didn’t know there were Jews in Palestine?!” she says simpering, from behind her very useful sandalwood fan.


    “We have been there for some two thousand years, your ladyship - ” Aron is at pains to explain.

    “Oh, really? I thought it was just Arabs and desert - ” says that lady vacuously, continuing to fan herself.

Major Wyndham Deedes is quick to the rescue: “Lieutenant Aronson is transforming that desert into a veritable garden of Eden. He’ll be the Minister for Agriculture before long!”
    
    “When we have our own State, sir,” Aron replies in jocular tone.

The ‘joke’ falls flat. An awkward pause. The conversation returns to other important matters: the shortage of ice and the inexperience of the waiters.

When it is polite to do so, Aron pulls Sara away. She takes a mint and lemon cordial from a tray offered by a waiter in a tarboush. Aron, a whisky in a cut-glass glass.

    “Minister for Agriculture?” Sara is both amused and incredulous.

    “But how long will it take?!” Aron quickly dismisses the possibility and downs his whisky.

On the elegant balcony, standing in a huddle, Knight, Major and Brigadier, commune over cigars.

    “That’s jumping the gun a little I’d say!” says Sir Archibald Murray with the arrogant conceit that masks his threatened status.

Brigadier General Clayton is more forthcoming: “Perhaps. But we do value Lieutenant Aronson, most highly. Knows more about Ottoman Palestine than anyone else in Cairo. A genuine goldmine for our General Staff.”

Major Wyndham Deedes agrees: “Yes, when all is said and done it’s the Palestinian spies we will have to thank for any victory.”

A conclusion that will take official records and received opinion, many years to recognise.

Sir Archibald Murray raises his eyebrows, ashing his cigar in a revolving ashtray in the shape of a sphinx, which consumes the ash in its vortex, like a hungry beast. His career is on the line, and he knows it. His successor is already here, though the two men avoid each other like the plague.

Honourable Ormsby-Gore, Sir Mark Syke & François Denis Georges-Picot

A little further off, three men - François Denis Georges-Picot, French diplomatic negotiator, the Honourable Ormsby-Gore, a brilliant Eton and Oxford educated, career diplomat, and his colleague, Sir Mark Sykes, or to give him his full name and rank - Colonel Sir Tatton Benvenuto Mark Sykes, 6th Baronet of the Sykes baronetcy, a Yorkshire grandee with his seat at the Georgian Sledmere House, where many prize racehorse are kept in the nearly one thousand acres of that magnificent estate - stand talking over a bottle of Absinthe.

The machinations of these three men will result in a secret deal - the proposed Sykes-Picot Agreement - which plans that when the partitioning of the Ottoman Empire begins, after, that is, the victory of the Triple Entente - Britain, France, and Russia - will divide up the Arab territories between them. No mention is ever made of the Jews in Palestine or of any homeland for them.   

Aron, seeing his opportunity, leaves Sara with her cordial, and manouevres himself through the crowd to shake hands with the three men.

Sir Mark Sykes, the most genial of the plotters, who has of course, met Aron before, does the introductions: “Lieutenant Aronson - the Honourable Ormsby-Gore, Sir Mark Sykes, Assistant Secretary to the War Cabinet and, of course, our dear friend, Monsieur Picot, from Paris - ”

Sara watches Aron talking earnestly to those three gentlemen, Picot, Ormsby-Gore and Sir Mark. They nod receptively - but the Frenchman clearly detests Aron and quite possibly all Jews.

    “So, this Jewish Palestine, you dream of, is it to be under Sir Mark’s or my control?” says Monsieur Picot, with his best Francophone attempt at a joke.

Sir Mark responds: “Do you not know the Arab proverb: ‘He who marries my mother will be my father?’ ”

    “Ah. Exactly, I see. Whoever conquers Palestine will rule you?” says Picot with a titter.

Aron answers, with what he hopes is a polite but witty put down: “Until it is possible to rule ourselves, that is.”

The diplomats look nonplussed.

Aron manages to make his escape from this nest of unmannered and Machiavellian diplomats.

    “My services are entirely at your disposal gentlemen. But I must go and look for my sister.”

Sonya & Sara at the Ball

The band strikes up. Sir Archibald, Lady Georgina, Aron and Sara on the dance floor, whirl past a laughing Sonya in red velvet dress and high, crimson shoes, in the arms of a British Officer. Sonya gives Aron a provocative look. Aron reddens and Sara intercepts their gaze.

On the other side of the room, T.E. Lawrence, impeccably dressed, as is his habit, in spotless, flowing, white Arab dress, complete with Yemenite dagger, whether ornamental or lethal, we cannot know - looks up and fixes Sara in his amused gaze.

T.E. Lawrence in Arab dress

As she whirls past, Sara looks away, aware of his piercing look.

    “Who’s that man?”she whispers to Aron.

    “Lieutenant T.E. Lawrence.”

    “He’s been staring at me all evening - ” she says.

    “He’s not on our side and he doesn’t like women - ” Aron is disapproving.

Lawrence, with French diplomat, Picot gives Sara a mocking smile.

Sara is flustered: “I must get some air! I’ll follow.”

She goes out onto the terrace.

We overhear Lawrence to Picot: “She’s certainly a brave young creature. And very dedicated, so I understand. ”

Picot responds in an undertone: “It’s the brother I’m worried about. He could ruin all our plans.”

****

T.E. Lawrence on the Terrace

Aron smoking a cigar - a new found predilection - on the hotel terrace facing the Nile. A full moon. Very hot.

Sara on the other side of the wide terrace, looking for Aron, fanning herself, as to her surprise, Lawrence comes over to her.

Aron leaning against a balustrade watching Sara and Lawrence’s interaction.

    “So you are Miss Aronson - the Jewish Joan of Arc, they are calling you?”

Sara responds: “And you are the famous Mr. Lawrence who is so friendly with the Arabs?”

    “Touché Miss Aronson,” he says, admiring her frankness, being more used to the flattery and unadulterated adulation, of all who meet him.

    “I wonder what it would be like to marry such a forthright woman?” he asks, with his charming smile.

Sara smiles back: “My brother said, you’re not the marrying kind.”

Lawrence laughs heartily: “No, but you might have made me think differently - ”

He makes his excuses, bows and goes. Sara’s expression leaves one in no doubt as to her ambivalence at the charismatic Lawrence’s presence.

Aron about to return to Sara, when Captain Edmunds comes over to him.

    “I want to apologise, Lieutenant, I was wrong to doubt you. If there’s anything I can do - ?” says the recently chastised Captain.

There is a distinct pause -  then Aron proffers his hand and the two men shake.

Aron takes the advantage, pressing for his goal:

    “Yes there is one thing. I’d like to meet the new General. Can you arrange it?”

****

Field Marshal Viscount Allenby looks out over the River

On the terrace, a distinguished looking military man in his 50’s, looks out over the river. The just arrived, Field Marshal Viscount Allenby, who has fought bravely in the Anglo-Boer War and who will go on to lead the British Empire’s Egyptian Expeditionary Force during the Sinai Campaign against the Ottoman, in the conquest of Palestine. A man, Aron has long wished to meet.

Brigadier General Clayton makes the introductions: “General Allenby, meet Lieutenant Aronson, our Palestine Agent.”

General Allenby shakes Aron’s hand from a lofty height, being a good foot taller than the stocky, Palestinian agent.

    “You’ll need to get those wells dug out, Lieutenant Aronson. And that little matter of the bridge over the Jordan? I hope your agents are ready - ”

Aron is well-pleased at the tall man’s instruction: “Consider it done, sir.”

Allenby, thoughtfully: “I'd like to see you in my office, if you are available? Would tomorrow do?”

Aron affirms his availability and the meeting is arranged.

His deepest and most fervent prayers seem about to be answered.

Sara in her blue dress watches all this, in happy awe.

Sonya holding her high, red shoes in one hand, comes up to Sara.

    “Aron didn’t tell me you were beautiful,” says the lovely Russian.

    “What did he tell you?” Sara has not lost her new found witty, social repartee and having no clue who this pushy woman is, asks her question without fear.

    “That he thinks you are the bravest woman alive.”

Sara who is just beginning to understand who the lady might be, is so surprised that she does not deny the compliment.

Sonya on the Terrace

Sonya drops her shoes to the terraced floor with a loud “Ooof,” conveying her relief at abandoning those aching heels, lights a cigarette and offers one to Sara. Sara has never smoked in her life but she gratefully accepts - despite her inherent distaste of that nasty habit - and Sonya lights the cigarette for her with a look of intimacy and inquiry that leaves Sara in no doubt as to the lady’s relationship with her very secretive brother.

Aron comes out onto the terrace and sees the two women smoking together - his sister and his lover - not a sight he relishes. He turns quickly on his heel but Sonya calls out to him with her husky laugh.

    “She is indeed both brave and beautiful this sister of yours!”, blowing a puff of smoke at her disconcerted, sometime bed mate.

Sonya plants a kiss on Sara’s cheek and then gives two kisses to Aron’s fast reddening cheeks.
    
Then she announces her own little bombshell: “This is goodbye, darling Aron, I’ve had enough of the British. At the end of the month, I’m going back to Moscow, to join the Bolsheviks!”

Aron for whom that bomb has completely blown his cover, is for once, rendered completely silent.

Sonya picks up her shoes: “But don't worry, I'll look after your pretty sister while you're beezy!” and goes with a final seductive, little wave.

Sara lifts her hand to her mouth to conceal her amusement - and a yawn - she is exhausted: “We’d better go too, dear brother. I'm so unused to all this!”

Just as Joe Lishansky swaggers through the swing doors from the hotel kitchen, closely followed by the protesting Head Waiter who tries, but fails, to stop him.

A thin-lipped Captain Smith blocks a very drunk Joe’s way. Joe is mumbling about his important and top secret, mission with the Palestine agents.

The Captain is puzzled and belligerent: “The Palestine Agents? Never heard of them.”

    “You’re about to hear all about us!” says Joe, swaying about with the combative bravado of one who has consumed a fair number of beers.

Through the crowd we see Aron - his face like thunder - threading his way towards Joe.

    “You’re drunk! And His Majesty’s Government does not consider its role to be that of saving a small handful of amateurs and troublemakers - ” a hostile and affronted Captain Smith, declares with his favourite trope.

Aron’s eyes bulge. Joe flies at the Captain’s neck. A full scale fist fight ensues. Trays go flying, waiters sprawling, Joe gets a punch on the chin with the Captain’s signet ring. A nasty gash gushes blood. Two military policemen march a bleeding Joe off. Aron’s horrified face. Is this schlemiel going to scupper all his hard work and many plans?

At the far end of the terrace Ormsby-Gore with Sir Mark Sykes regard the above fracas.

    “These Hebrews are rather hot-headed,” says the very urbane, William Ormsby-Gore.

Sir Mark Sykes agrees: “Yes. But, Aronson is something of a maverick. A spy who doesn’t accept payment?”

    “He’s not working with the support of any organisation. And there is gold -  plenty of it, but he doesn’t take any for himself. Only for ‘his people’, as he calls them,” says a puzzled Ormsby-Gore.

As it turns out Ormsby-Gore will strongly oppose the secret Sykes-Picot Treaty, arguing ‘We make professions of defending and helping small and oppressed nations... yet we parcel out between our allies and ourselves vast tracts of countries which do not want us.’ He will also argue that Britain should support self-determination for both Arabs and Jews. An option that the British Mandate declines to take; the repercussions of which, still tear the region apart today. The Sykes-Picot pact will divide the area into French and British possessions and result in the Arab Revolt and much acrimony and misery to come.

Our very moral diplomat with the double-barrel surname, will prove to be a friend of the Jews. Chaim Weizmann, a personal friend, will stay at Ormsby-Gore's home, during the nail-biting wait for Cabinet approval of the Balfour Declaration. And after the Armistice, he is part of the same British delegation to the peace conference at Paris in 1919 that Aron has been commissioned to attend along with his many maps and his many plans.

Captain Smith’s accusation of the spies being ‘amateurs’, angered Aron more than he let on.

They were indeed, untrained in the art of spying, a motley crew of settlers, agriculturalists, vintners, cart-men and young women. Some too, were doctors, engineers, and clerks. The fact that they were regular people in almost every way, enabled them to go about their business without detection for so long, the fact that they were nearly all family or close friends, meant that everything could be kept very close. Like family secrets that everyone inside the group knew and from which outsiders were strictly excluded, there was of course, the inevitable and very real risk of discovery.

The word amateur from - the Latin amare, ‘to love’ and the French ‘one who loves’, might connote that Aron's spies were unskilled and lacking in professionalism, but they were neither dilettantes nor inept - though there were crucial examples where bungling, immaturity and over confidence would lead directly to their undoing. Like the word implies - they were individuals who did everything for love of country rather than of money. Most, if not all were unpaid for the huge risks they took. When all is said and done, they were lovers and devotees of the task to which they had committed themselves with every bone in their bodies and with their full hearts.

****

The next morning, Aron is up bright and early, leaving Sara in Sonya's capable hands.

It is 7:30 on July 17th when Aron is ushered into the office of Commander in Chief Allenby, by chief of staff, General Lyndon-Bell. Allenby has already been informed of Aron’s stellar qualities by the London War Office. He wastes no time in quizzing Aron for everything he knows. A long talk. Allenby asks many questions and Aron answers them all.

In his diary, Aron writes of Allenby: ‘he tells me he will be calling me frequently.’

An understatement, as it turns out. Allenby has been tasked with capturing Jerusalem by Christmas time. The British public need a cheer up. The Gaza decoy plan is duly launched and the Beersheva attack readied for action. 

Aron will contribute significantly to the plan, advising Allenby on decoy operations including the setting up of British miltary camps at Gaza, and landings by British ships on the Gaza coast. All these ruses designed to confuse the Turks and Germans with supposed British intent.

New arrival at GHQ, Colonel Richard Meinertzhagen, pro-Zionist and with a strong dislike of Arab leaning, T.E. Lawrence, is put in charge of this delicate operation. A plan is hatched, the so-called ‘Haversack plan’ - Meinertzhagen rides into no man's land with a bloodied rucksack full of papers and maps confirming the imminent attack on Gaza. He duly drops his bag - along with his lunch - and it is found as intended, by a Turkish Patrol and its contents go straight to German control headquarters - minus his lunch. Here Commander von Kressenstein vouches for their authenticity - the blood stains are declared irrefutable evidence of an 'Engländer' mishap - and troops pour into Gaza - leaving Be’er Sheva entirely vulnerable and unprotected.

Later, in his memoirs, Meinertzhagen will write: ‘My best agent was a Jew, a man who feared nothing and had an immense intellect. This remarkable man was the most daring and unassuming agent...’

****

Sonya & Sara at the Hammam

Sonya, meanwhile takes Sara on a tour of some of Cairo’s lesser known attractions.

A Cairo Jewish jeweller which specialises in men's wrist watches, a quiet market where Sonya buys Sara a pair of silver earrings ‘to remember me by’, a visit to a steamy Hammam where they soak in a warm bath and then a cold one and Sara is slapped with oil and pummeled by a large, silent lady in black abaya, and finally, a visit to a hair dresser - more oil, a scalp massage and many cups of sweet apple tea and ladies conversation.

A farewell dinner is planned before Sonya leaves for Moscow.

Sara returns to the hotel, more relaxed than she has been in many months.

 ****