Half a Jubilee
Golda Meir, Pablo and Marta Casals, David Ben Gurion (1973) [private collection: Amit Peled, cellist. Used by permission.]
Before October 7th, 2023, Israel marked 50 years since the Yom Kippur War and its national traumas. Yet these also stirred other, happier memories from before...
April 1972: Actor Roger Moore visited Israel around Independence Day, toured Jerusalem with Mayor Teddy Kollek and made a personal appearance at Binyanei HaUma auditorium. At the time, few Israelis with or without a television had failed to see at least one episode of HaMalach ('The Angel', as The Saint TV series was called in Hebrew) and to most Israeli children he was a hero. To adults too.
Speaking through an interpreter, Moore commented on how much he was enjoying his trip, then asked if many in the audience understood English. Those who did called out 'Yes' and raised their hands. He then related a ridiculous anecdote about a previous appearance in Egypt, and for want of a better simile, the Israeli translator referred to Simon Templar's halo as a "begaleh"(little bagel).
A uniformed police officer who was posted at stage left, crouched down just below the apron so as not to obstruct the audience' view. As Moore paused to let his translator catch up, he glanced to his right, just as the policeman raised his head to look over the edge of the stage. Their eyes met briefly. Deliberately, the policeman tipped his cap to Moore, then hunkered down out of sight again.
In the spring of 1973 I had just been released from the IDF and went to stay with my father and step-mother in Ir-Ganim, a hill neighborhood at the extreme south-western edge of Jerusalem, just before the drop off to Hadassah Ein Kerem. It was a 'city of gardens' because all the streets had flower names.
I had trained as a hotel receptionist (a very good profession in those days) even before army service, so I went looking for work. I was tentatively hired by the King David Hotel, but they told me they would let me know in a week. Why so long? To make a security check. Fair enough, considering all the VIPs hosted there on a regular basis. After all, a police teudat yosher (certificate of probity) had been required to enter hotel school. I was cleared and became a paid stagiaire (probationer) for a week.
This was a period of celebrations around Israel's 25th Independence Day, with festivities gearing up in a big way. We had much to celebrate. The Six Day War had saved us from almost certain annihilation. The War of Attrition which followed, with its endless sniping and almost daily casualties, had ended. Israel had survived and was beginning to mature. It had gone from a narrow ribbon of fertile land with a pocket-desert tacked on, to a tennis-racket sized desert and a lopsided verdant handle with a bulge at the hilt. There was much to see and explore and wonder at. Israel had survived and thrived half-way to the 49 years of a Biblical Jubilee; we were happy for our country and ourselves and optimistic about the future.
The King David Hotel had an air of sumptuous tranquility, in keeping with the high ceilings and art deco-Oriental style which was popular when it opened in 1931 and lovingly refurbished from time to time. Like a theater production, behind the scenes were not always as tranquil, as one or another crisis was met and resolved. One such I remember with a grin. The PTT* routed reservations, messages and charge slips between departments in transparent yellowing plastic canisters through a network of tubes, propelled by compressed air. It was far from new and periodically jammed, sending bellboys up, down and around while Maintenance tried to find and solve whatever the problem was. I had only seen a PTT from afar as a child, in Washington DC.
What did not sink in at the time was the numbers of powerful, rich and famous converging on the King David from around the world. Each day, new guests arrived, singly or with an entourage, and they were often whisked to their accommodations by one or more hotel VIPs. Many I didn't recognize; others were unmistakable.
In this way I watched Margaret, Duchess of Argyle, walk down the lobby's red carpet: tall, elegant, aloof and alone. On another occasion, comedian Alan King and his wife, in California 'dress-casuals' with matching Arnold Palmer straw hats, asked if there were any messages, somehow making it into a joke...
King David Hotel main entrance. Photo credit Wikimedia
World-renowned cellist and peace activist Pau (Pablo) Casals arrived with his wife, old and frail and bent, but not bowed. Many were waiting to greet them with restrained warmth, engulfing them on the way to their room.
But the most memorable arrival was David Ben Gurion. He walked briskly through the main doors, upright and energetic. He was half-way across the lobby before he was met by Prime Minister Golda Meir, one of several waiting to greet him. They were political opponents at the time, yet they met and embraced with all the warmth of old friends – as only old comrades-in-arms can. Then Moshe Dayan and many others stepped forward to shake hands before they all went off to a more private venue.
At the end of a week Mr. Leon, the Reception Manager, informed me that my stage was extended by a week, but refused to say why. Another stagiaire hired at the same time had already been dismissed. A few days later I personally thanked Mr. Leon, for giving me the extra time to realize I did not yet have the experience to handle the job, and letting me quit instead of being let go. It would look better on a CV... though I never included it.
* PTT: 1) Pneumatic Tube Transport system. Still in use in the 21st century to move paperwork, lab samples and medicines in some hospitals... and food at a New Zealand cafe.
2) In hotel parlance: charges for 'Post (mail), Telegram and Telephone' services; by the 1970s morphed into 'Phone, Telegram and Telex'.
Comments