Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter five of With the Turks in Palestine by Alexander Aaronson.
This libery Wox recording is in the public domain. The
Hidden Arms. When I finally reached Zicron, Jacob, I found
rather a sad state of affairs. Military law had been declared.
No one was supposed to be seen in the street
(00:21):
after sundown. The village was full of soldiers, and civilians
had to put up with all kinds of ill treatment. Moreover,
our people were in a state of great excitement because
an order had recently come from the Turkish authorities bidding
them surrender whatever fire arms or weapons they had in
their possession, a sinister command. This We knew that similar
(00:45):
measures had been taken before the terrible Armenian massacres, and
we felt that some such fate might be in preparation
for our people. With the arms gone, the headmen of
the village knew that our last hold over the Arabs,
our last chance for defense against Suddain violence would be gone,
and they had refused to give them up. A house
(01:07):
to house search had been made fruitlessly, for our little
Arsenal was safely cached in a field beneath growing grain.
It was a tense, unpleasant situation. At any time, the
Turks might decide to back up their demand by some
of the violent methods of which they are past masters.
A family council was held in my home, and it
(01:29):
was decided to send my sister, a girl of twenty three,
to some friends at the American Syrian Protestant College at Beirut,
so that we might be able to move freely without
the responsibility of having a girl at home in a
country where, as a matter of course, the womenfolk are
seized and carried off before a massacre. At Berut, we
(01:50):
knew that there was an American consul general who kept
in continual touch with the battleship anchored in the harbor
for the protection of American interests. My sister got away
none too soon. One evening, shortly after her departure, when
I was standing in the doorway of our house, watching
the ever fresh miracle of the Eastern sunset, a Turkish
(02:10):
officer came riding down the street with about thirty cavalrymen.
He called me out and ordered me to follow him
to the little village inn, where he dismounted and led
me to one of the inner rooms. His spurs, jingling
loudly as we passed along the stone corridor. I never
knew whether I had been selected for his attention because
of my prominence as a leader of the Jewish young men,
(02:33):
or simply because I had been standing conveniently in the doorway.
The officer closed the door and came straight to the
point by asking me where our store of arms was hidden.
He was a big fellow, with the handsome, cruel features
usual enough in his class. There was no open menace
in his first question. When I refused to tell him,
(02:54):
he began wheedling and offering all sorts of favors if
I would betray my people. Then all of a sudden,
he whipped out a revolver and stuck the muzzle bright
in my face. I felt the blood leave my heart,
but I was able to control myself and refuse his demand.
The officer was not easily discouraged. The hours I passed
(03:14):
in that little room with its smoky caresen lamp were
terrible ones. I realized, however, how tremendously important the question
of arms was, and strength was given me to hold
out until the officer gave up in disgust and let
me go. Home. My father and old man knew nothing
of what had happened, but the rest of my family
(03:35):
were tremendously excited. I made light of the whole affair,
but I felt sure that this was only the beginning.
Sure Enough, next morning, the Sabbath, the same officer returned
and put three of the leading elders of the village,
together with myself, under arrest. After another fruitless inquisition at
(03:56):
the hotel, we were handcuffed and started on foot towards
the prison, a day's journey away. As our little procession
passed by home, my father, who was aged and feeble,
came tottering forward to say good bye to me. A
soldier pushed him roughly back. He reeled, then fell full
length in the street. Before my eyes. It was a
(04:20):
dismal departure. We were driven through the streets shackled like criminals,
and the women and children came out of the houses
and watched us in silence, their heads bowed, tears running
down their cheeks. They realized that for thirty five years,
these old men my comrades, had been struggling and suffering
for their ideal, a regenerated Palestine. Now in the dusk
(04:44):
of their life. It seemed as if all their hopes
and dreams were coming to ruin. The oppressive tragedy of
the situation settled down on me more and more heavily
as the day wore on, and heat and fatigue told
on my companion. My feelings must have been written large
on my face, for one of them, a fine looking patriarch,
(05:07):
tried to give me comfort by reminding me that we
must not rely upon strength of arms, and that our
spirit could never be broken, no matter how defenseless we were.
Thus he, an old man, was encouraging me instead of
receiving help from my youth and enthusiasm. At last we
arrived at the prison and we were locked into separate cells.
(05:29):
That same night we were tortured with the falagy or bastinado.
The victim of this horrible punishment is trussed up arms
and legs and thrown on his knees, then on the
bare soles of his feet. A pliant green rod is
brought down with all the force of a soldier's arm.
The pain is exquisite, blood leaps out at the first cut,
(05:53):
and strong men usually faint after thirty or forty strokes.
Strange to say The worst part of it is not
the blow itself, but the whistling of the rod through
the air as it rushes to its mark. The groans
of my older comrades, whose gasps and prayers I could
hear through the walls of the cell, helped me bear
(06:13):
the agony until unconsciousness mercifully came to the rescue. For
several days more, we were kept in the prison, sick
and broken with suffering. The second night, as I lay
sleepless and desperate on the strip of dirty matting that
served as bed, I heard a scratch scratching at the
grated slit of a window, and presently a slender stick
(06:35):
was inserted into the cell. I went over it and
shook it. Some one at the other end was holding
it firm, and then a curious whispering sound began to
come from the end of the stick. I put my
ear down and caught the voice of one of the
men from our village. He had taken a long bamboo pole,
pierced the joints, and crept up behind a broken old
(06:57):
wall close beneath my window. Means of this primitive telephone,
we talked as long as we dared. I assured him
that we were still enduring, and urged him on no
account to give up the arms to the Turkish authorities,
not even if we had to make the ultimate sacrifice. Finally,
(07:18):
when it was found that torture and imprisonment would not
make us yield our secret, the Turks resorted to the
final test, the ordeal which we could not withstand. They
announced that on certain date a number of our young
girls would be carried off and handed over to the officers,
to be kept until the arms were disclosed. We knew
that they were capable of carrying out this threat. We
(07:40):
knew exactly what it meant. There was no alternative. The
people of our village had nothing to do but dig
up the treasured arms with broken hearts, hand them over
to the authorities. And so the terrible news was brought
to us one morning that we were free. Personally, I
felt much happier on the day I was put in
prison than when I was released. I had often wondered
(08:02):
how our people had been able to bear the rack
and thumbscrew of the Spanish Inquisition. But when my turn
and my comrades came for torture, I realized that the
same spirit that helped our ancestors was working in us also.
Now I knew that our suffering had been useless. Whenever
the Turkish authorities wished, the horrors of the Armenian massacres
(08:23):
would live again in Zicron, Jacob, and we should be
powerless to raise a hand to protect ourselves. As we
came limping home through the streets of our village, I
caught sight of my own smith and Wesson revolver in
the hands of a mere boy of fifteen, the son
of a well known Arab outlaw. I realized that the
Turks had not taken our weapons, but had distributed them
(08:45):
among the natives in order to complete our humiliation. The
blood rushed to my face. I started forward to take
the revolver away from the boy, but one of the
old men caught hold of my sleeve and helped me back.
End of Chapter five recording by Setu
Chapter five of With the Turks in Palestine by Alexander Aaronson.
This libery Wox recording is in the public domain. The
Hidden Arms. When I finally reached Zicron, Jacob, I found
rather a sad state of affairs. Military law had been declared.
No one was supposed to be seen in the street
(00:21):
after sundown. The village was full of soldiers, and civilians
had to put up with all kinds of ill treatment. Moreover,
our people were in a state of great excitement because
an order had recently come from the Turkish authorities bidding
them surrender whatever fire arms or weapons they had in
their possession, a sinister command. This We knew that similar
(00:45):
measures had been taken before the terrible Armenian massacres, and
we felt that some such fate might be in preparation
for our people. With the arms gone, the headmen of
the village knew that our last hold over the Arabs,
our last chance for defense against Suddain violence would be gone,
and they had refused to give them up. A house
(01:07):
to house search had been made fruitlessly, for our little
Arsenal was safely cached in a field beneath growing grain.
It was a tense, unpleasant situation. At any time, the
Turks might decide to back up their demand by some
of the violent methods of which they are past masters.
A family council was held in my home, and it
(01:29):
was decided to send my sister, a girl of twenty three,
to some friends at the American Syrian Protestant College at Beirut,
so that we might be able to move freely without
the responsibility of having a girl at home in a
country where, as a matter of course, the womenfolk are
seized and carried off before a massacre. At Berut, we
(01:50):
knew that there was an American consul general who kept
in continual touch with the battleship anchored in the harbor
for the protection of American interests. My sister got away
none too soon. One evening, shortly after her departure, when
I was standing in the doorway of our house, watching
the ever fresh miracle of the Eastern sunset, a Turkish
(02:10):
officer came riding down the street with about thirty cavalrymen.
He called me out and ordered me to follow him
to the little village inn, where he dismounted and led
me to one of the inner rooms. His spurs, jingling
loudly as we passed along the stone corridor. I never
knew whether I had been selected for his attention because
of my prominence as a leader of the Jewish young men,
(02:33):
or simply because I had been standing conveniently in the doorway.
The officer closed the door and came straight to the
point by asking me where our store of arms was hidden.
He was a big fellow, with the handsome, cruel features
usual enough in his class. There was no open menace
in his first question. When I refused to tell him,
(02:54):
he began wheedling and offering all sorts of favors if
I would betray my people. Then all of a sudden,
he whipped out a revolver and stuck the muzzle bright
in my face. I felt the blood leave my heart,
but I was able to control myself and refuse his demand.
The officer was not easily discouraged. The hours I passed
(03:14):
in that little room with its smoky caresen lamp were
terrible ones. I realized, however, how tremendously important the question
of arms was, and strength was given me to hold
out until the officer gave up in disgust and let
me go. Home. My father and old man knew nothing
of what had happened, but the rest of my family
(03:35):
were tremendously excited. I made light of the whole affair,
but I felt sure that this was only the beginning.
Sure Enough, next morning, the Sabbath, the same officer returned
and put three of the leading elders of the village,
together with myself, under arrest. After another fruitless inquisition at
(03:56):
the hotel, we were handcuffed and started on foot towards
the prison, a day's journey away. As our little procession
passed by home, my father, who was aged and feeble,
came tottering forward to say good bye to me. A
soldier pushed him roughly back. He reeled, then fell full
length in the street. Before my eyes. It was a
(04:20):
dismal departure. We were driven through the streets shackled like criminals,
and the women and children came out of the houses
and watched us in silence, their heads bowed, tears running
down their cheeks. They realized that for thirty five years,
these old men my comrades, had been struggling and suffering
for their ideal, a regenerated Palestine. Now in the dusk
(04:44):
of their life. It seemed as if all their hopes
and dreams were coming to ruin. The oppressive tragedy of
the situation settled down on me more and more heavily
as the day wore on, and heat and fatigue told
on my companion. My feelings must have been written large
on my face, for one of them, a fine looking patriarch,
(05:07):
tried to give me comfort by reminding me that we
must not rely upon strength of arms, and that our
spirit could never be broken, no matter how defenseless we were.
Thus he, an old man, was encouraging me instead of
receiving help from my youth and enthusiasm. At last we
arrived at the prison and we were locked into separate cells.
(05:29):
That same night we were tortured with the falagy or bastinado.
The victim of this horrible punishment is trussed up arms
and legs and thrown on his knees, then on the
bare soles of his feet. A pliant green rod is
brought down with all the force of a soldier's arm.
The pain is exquisite, blood leaps out at the first cut,
(05:53):
and strong men usually faint after thirty or forty strokes.
Strange to say The worst part of it is not
the blow itself, but the whistling of the rod through
the air as it rushes to its mark. The groans
of my older comrades, whose gasps and prayers I could
hear through the walls of the cell, helped me bear
(06:13):
the agony until unconsciousness mercifully came to the rescue. For
several days more, we were kept in the prison, sick
and broken with suffering. The second night, as I lay
sleepless and desperate on the strip of dirty matting that
served as bed, I heard a scratch scratching at the
grated slit of a window, and presently a slender stick
(06:35):
was inserted into the cell. I went over it and
shook it. Some one at the other end was holding
it firm, and then a curious whispering sound began to
come from the end of the stick. I put my
ear down and caught the voice of one of the
men from our village. He had taken a long bamboo pole,
pierced the joints, and crept up behind a broken old
(06:57):
wall close beneath my window. Means of this primitive telephone,
we talked as long as we dared. I assured him
that we were still enduring, and urged him on no
account to give up the arms to the Turkish authorities,
not even if we had to make the ultimate sacrifice. Finally,
(07:18):
when it was found that torture and imprisonment would not
make us yield our secret, the Turks resorted to the
final test, the ordeal which we could not withstand. They
announced that on certain date a number of our young
girls would be carried off and handed over to the officers,
to be kept until the arms were disclosed. We knew
that they were capable of carrying out this threat. We
(07:40):
knew exactly what it meant. There was no alternative. The
people of our village had nothing to do but dig
up the treasured arms with broken hearts, hand them over
to the authorities. And so the terrible news was brought
to us one morning that we were free. Personally, I
felt much happier on the day I was put in
prison than when I was released. I had often wondered
(08:02):
how our people had been able to bear the rack
and thumbscrew of the Spanish Inquisition. But when my turn
and my comrades came for torture, I realized that the
same spirit that helped our ancestors was working in us also.
Now I knew that our suffering had been useless. Whenever
the Turkish authorities wished, the horrors of the Armenian massacres
(08:23):
would live again in Zicron, Jacob, and we should be
powerless to raise a hand to protect ourselves. As we
came limping home through the streets of our village, I
caught sight of my own smith and Wesson revolver in
the hands of a mere boy of fifteen, the son
of a well known Arab outlaw. I realized that the
Turks had not taken our weapons, but had distributed them
(08:45):
among the natives in order to complete our humiliation. The
blood rushed to my face. I started forward to take
the revolver away from the boy, but one of the
old men caught hold of my sleeve and helped me back.
End of Chapter five recording by Setu
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