Where the Desert Meets the Sea

by Werner Sonne

Uri continued: “He’s a British officer. And the Brits are worse than the Arabs. The Arabs fight us, and many hate us, but that’s because they fear for their land. But the Brits, they’re just playing little games with us. First they so generously promise us a homeland with their Balfour Declaration, then they back out. And now, now all they care about is their strategic position in the Middle East, about the oil in Iraq, in Saudi Arabia, about the Suez Canal, about their empire. Jews are disrupting their plans. We’re a nuisance to them.” He was working himself into a rant. “When Rommel was closing in on the Suez Canal, suddenly they let us wear their uniforms, suddenly they formed the Jewish Brigade. And you know what? They made me an officer, just like your brother. That’s right, I wore their uniform too. I was with them in Egypt, in Italy, then in Vienna, and even in Germany briefly. But no sooner had the war ended than we’d served our purpose to them, and again they turned back to the Arabs. Now they fight us, thwart us, bully us, courting the Arabs whenever possible. Most of them are worse anti-Semites than the Nazis.” He spat at the ground in disgust. “But we’re not going to accept that. When they put pressure on us, we’ll put the pressure right back on them. When they shoot at our people, we’ll shoot back. And it’s working: now they’re looking for a way to be rid of the Palestine problem. Please do. We’re happy to help.” Judith turned away and slowly walked back over ...