Where the Desert Meets the Sea

by Werner Sonne

Judith jumped up and went over to the water station. Uri was there, washing his right leg. Judith saw the blood. She felt a sting run through her chest. He’s wounded, she thought. Uri. “It’s nothing, really,” Uri said, seeing her reaction. “We were lucky: only a few wounded, no dead. The Arabs were fighting us like crazy. The liberation army troops had holed up in the village—we literally had to smoke them out. Then they fled, at least those who still could. In any case, Deir El Nar won’t be a threat to us anymore. We’ve taken it.” “And what about the mukhtar? And his wife?” Judith asked, her voice straining. Uri hesitated a moment. “The people from that village were supposed to go, those were our orders. And since they didn’t, the Palmach helped them along. It worked. They’re gone, all of them.” Judith could feel every part of herself resisting. “No,” she said. “We can’t be doing this. Not us, of all people. Jews.” She sank onto a bench. “Tell me how you could do this? How could you? Tell me!” Uri straightened up, at attention. “They attack us, we strike back. We must fight this battle. It’s now or never. It’s our only chance, we must take it.” “But—but fighting back can’t mean killing innocent people, driving them from their homes, taking their land. Uri, we can’t do that, especially not us.” Uri glared at her. “Don’t be so naive. And stop playing the victim. The Holocaust is over, you hear me? When they try to kill us, we have to defend ourselves. You know what their le...