Coexisting with the “Palestinians”

39

bthe Sephardic Rabbi Franco. Fear of a truly serious threat to btheir lives is now evident. It is clear that they must do something bmore than just sit and wait. It is decided to send a delegation to bthe British police chief to protest the forced penning of Jews in btheir homes instead of firmly letting the Arabs know that break- bing the law will not be tolerated. A delegation is sent to the bBritisher’s office, and on the way they meet one of the heads of bthe Arab community, Isa Arafa. They tell him that if he can get bthe Hebron Arab leaders to announce publicly that they are re- bsponsible for the lives of the Jews, the Jews will continue their bties with the Arabs, including the continued bank credit that the bArabs need. If not, all commercial ties will be cut. The Arab bagrees, but meanwhile he goes with them to see the British po- blice chief. To everyone’s amazement, the police chief refuses to bsee the delegation, shouting: “What are you doing here? I told byou a number of times that you must remain in your homes!”

bThe Arab listens, and now his tone changes. He tells bSlonim: “If you will hand over the strangers in your midst, you bwill save your own lives.” Slonim replies angrily: “We Jews are bnot like you Muslims. We are one people; there are no b‘strangers’ among us.” In deep worry the Jews walk home, bwatching as thousands of Arabs shout and march through the bstreets, fully armed, while in their midst walk a few policemen bcarrying clubs.

bWithout the knowledge of the Jewish leaders, the slaughter bhas already begun. In one of the houses, farther away from the bcenter, lives the Abushadid family. The father, Eliyahu, fifty- bfive, is a storekeeper, born in Hebron. He suddenly appears on bthe balcony of his home, screaming for help. No one hears or blistens. The police are nowhere to be seen. Rocks begin flying binto the house, smashing windows, and screams of terror are bheard. Several women and children appear on the balcony. An bArab, his eyes filled with hate and lust, rushes at them, swinging ba sword. He cuts and stabs again and again. Blood spurts over bthe balcony and drips into the street. Inside lie the bodies of bEliyahu Abushadid and his twenty-five-year-old son, Yitzchok, ba simple tailor. Dead, too, are forty-five-year-old Yaakov bGoslan, a smelter, also born in the city, and his eighteen-year- bold son Moshe. The Arabs do not even look at the bodies; they bare much too busy looting the house and throwing Jewish property b