It's not uncommon in Israel to run into well-known military figures or politicians at the supermarket, at your friend's wedding or at your child's school. Israel is a small, intimate country. Before someone was a member of Knesset, a leading general or a military hero, he was your buddy from school, from your army days, a cousin. The attitude was "I knew him when…" No mystique. No one is impressed. However, meeting an American general, well, that's something different. That has an exclusive flair to it.
And now, I would be hosting one. I received a message one afternoon in June 1978 telling me a United States general and his entourage would be visiting my moshav in the Jordan Rift Valley. What it didn't say, of course, was that he had been involved in the war in Vietnam that had dominated my high school and college years. Would that have influenced the visit? Like most college students in the 1960s, I had also participated in protests.
I always found these handwritten notes announcing upcoming visits from VIPs in my mailbox. They were usually cryptic, sterile, nameless. Not because of security consideration. It was just that names didn't usually convey the message. What mattered were words like: US senator, or governor, or a delegation from a European parliament. And: US general and his entourage. That was typical of Israel in the 1970s. Without the title, no one would know who they were or their importance. It was their status that was emphasized in the messages I received, and I usually had to call governmental offices to find out exactly who I'd be hosting on our moshav.
I was the only American and one of four non-Sabra members of the moshav. These VIP guests were exciting for me. I was a young mother in my twenties, working land that had been fallow for 2000 years, dotted with archeological finds older than that, and I was standing up in front of people whose names made news but were not household names in Israel. This time, however, the idea of an American general created an interest. After all, all the men on the moshav and many of the women were veterans of the Israeli army and still serving in the reserves. No generals, but several officers. Here was a visitor they could relate to.
The general was due to arrive around 4 pm and I knew that our clubroom, even if I turned on the air conditioners in the morning, would be too hot in our 100-degree plus heat. I decided to host the group in our home. I filled our huge GE fridge (our single luxury imported from the US) with beer and coca colas and the moshav's famous green table grapes. I went to the center to wait for our guest of honor, whoever he was. I still didn't know who he was! High-ranking officers from the nearby brigade headquarters arrived in jeeps, and although this was an hour when most moshav members sat at home near the wall unit air conditioners sipping ice coffee, many couldn't resist the pull of meeting an American General.
The helicopter landed just outside the moshav perimeter. Soon we were shaking hands with General George S Patton IV, son of General George S. Patton of World War II fame. The name Patton, known to most of the post WWII generation, was reinforced with the 1970 movie of the same name. I, too, had seen the movie. But this was General Patton, the son, of course, not the controversial father. I knew nothing about the son but his rank and that he had chosen to come to Israel. That was enough for me.
"We were expecting someone in his 40s," I wrote my parents. After all, it's not uncommon for officers in their forties to become generals in Israel. We were wrong. "He's 52 and looks around 70! Actually, he reminds me of Ike!" I wrote. I grew up in the 1950s and Dwight D. Eisenhower was the first president I ever "met." Both, I believe, were tall, thin-faced and white haired. Images from childhood that never fade.
Gen. Patton and I, followed by his aide, a colonel from the US Embassy, the military attaché and several Israeli colonels and officers, slowly walked from the moshav center towards my house.
"I was told that you're originally from the States," he said immediately as we started walking. So, while I was wondering who our VIP was, wishing I knew more, our VIP was being prepped on who his host was! I wondered what other details had been passed on.
I wrote my parents that at times, I felt he wasn't paying attention, but "only because he was trying to see and absorb so much on the five-minute walk to the house."
As we approached my house, my three-year old, Karen, saw me from the neighbors, where she was playing.
"Ema! Ema!" she started crying for me.
"Bring her along!" the General said. An order from a General is an order! So, I did. I was worried she'd bother us in the house, but she was well-behaved and when she did interfere in the conversation, Gen. Patton "was amused and thought she was cute."
I told the General about the moshav's history, our agricultural successes and a bit about our security situation.
"The women have weapons training as well," I said. "Every woman here has an Uzi submachine gun. If there's an alert, the men run to their positions and the women stay home to protect the family. And I take my Uzi when I drive somewhere by myself."
"Oh, that reminds me of when I was in Vietnam. It's just like in Southeast Asia," Gen. Patton said.
"I'm not sure if that's good!"
In retrospect, I'm also not sure this was a proper response to a visiting dignitary. Although I did write in the letter that he was only comparing the need for both men and women to undergo training in both countries because of the dangerous situations we both live in.
"I'm proud of what you've done here," Gen. Patton said and wished us good luck in continuing to develop the area and act as a line of defense. He even gave us advice on how to defend the moshav. I have no idea what that advice was or if we implemented it, but his concern was genuine, not just professional.
He gave us a little thank you gift – a silver-plated ashtray with the insignia of the Second Armored Division, which he had commanded – the same division that his famous father had commanded in World War II.
Earlier, the military photographer had motioned me aside.
"When they leave, you should ask the general for a picture with Karen."
We never took pictures with the VIPs who visited. I don't know why. Surely the precious rolls of film that my parents sent me could have been used to snap a picture or two of the many VIPs that we hosted. I'm thankful to that military photographer because now I have at least one memory in black and white.
The General was happy to comply and even took out his personal camera and handed it to his aide. As we were walking back to the cars that would take them to the helicopter, we saw my older daughter, Sarit. Gen. Patton posed for another picture. The photographer not only promised he'd send me a copy, he actually did. The helicopter rose, creating the typical dust storm and they were off to another meeting somewhere. Would it be as successful as this visit?
I later heard from one of his entourage – the military attaché I believe – that Gen. Patton had felt a connection to the moshav and that they were very impressed with how we had hosted him.
"When Vice President Mondale comes to Israel, we want to bring him to the moshav, too," he said.
VP Walter Mondale's visit to Israel was canceled, so my chance to host a vice president of the United States never happened. "But" I wrote my parents, "It was the nicest compliment I could ever get."
The letter to my parents written two weeks later added some regret to the previous elation about the visit. "A few days after the visit, someone told me about Patton's Vietnam escapades, and I was sorry I had brought him into my house," I wrote. "I didn't really connect him to Vietnam (although he did mention it and I was annoyed that he compared us to them), but I wasn't really focusing on the whole period and what went on there."
I don't know what those "escapades" were. Maybe it was merely his being a colonel in Vietnam that prompted that long-forgotten person to relay his views of my guest. The visit was just a few years after the war ended, so visions of flag-draped coffins on the 6 pm news every night on TV when I was still in the States, and visions of napalm, jungles and destroyed villages were all still vivid.
I suppose, however, that I wasn't as outraged as the words might have conveyed, as I don't remember dwelling on the subject. My letter continued with a new topic and exciting news: I had received an invitation to the exclusive Time Magazine cocktail party in honor of the outgoing bureau chief, Donald Neff.
Would I have refused to host Gen. Patton if I had heard about his escapades in Vietnam, whatever they may have been? I doubt it – unless it was massacres and atrocities. Even now I searched the Web trying to find out if his name was associated with such activities but I found nothing negative about his conduct. I did read one interesting fact. He used a helicopter as a mobile command post and was shot down three times. What did that make him? Dedicated? Fearless? Reckless? I don't know. I just know that his visit stands out among the many VIPs we hosted over the years.
Pullouts:
I was a young mother in my twenties and I was standing up in front of people whose names made news.
"I'm proud of what you've done here," Gen. Patton said.
"When Vice President Mondale comes to Israel, we want to bring him to the moshav, too".