I walked between the two IAF officers, the third man at their side, to the helicopter on the landing pad behind the palace.
Another soldier, wearing a paratrooper’s high brown boots, a paratrooper’s wings on the flap of his shirt pocket and the straps of his parachute harness attached to his shoulders and chest, was dozing in the helicopter. The two officers disappeared into the cockpit. The third man waved to us, “Have a safe trip, my friends!”
I, too, continued to sleep in the helicopter but before long I felt a bump and a jolt. The paratrooper awoke, too. “We’ve landed. Let’s go.”
An IDF jeep was waiting at the landing pad. It was still dark. Another soldier opened the door for me, motioning me to get in.
“What’s the time?” I asked him.
“23.45.”
Within minutes we arrived at my parents’ home in Ashdod. The soldier had alerted my parents that I was on the way.
My mother and father were both standing on the pavement as the army jeep pulled up.
“Good night, now,” said the driver. “We’ll be in touch with you,” and he drove off.
After hugging my mother and father, I walked with them up the steps to our home. I think all of us were too overcome with emotion to speak.
“Go and continue your sleep,” said my mother. “We’ll talk in the morning. I’m sure the army already knows that the mission was accomplished. We’re going to bed now, too.”
IX
I woke up mid-morning, happy to see my two younger brothers and little sister; it seemed I hadn’t seen them for so long, even though I generally only see them on Friday and Shabbat since I stay at the Ben Gurion University dorms during the week and often go sailing with a friend at the Ashdod yacht club on a Friday morning.
I was just finishing breakfast when the door-bell rang. I heard my mother answer the door and saying, “Please come in.”
She called me to the living-room where I was surprised to see a second- lieutenant of the Israel Navy, his peaked cap on his knee, a second-lieutenant of the IAF, whose peaked cap was in his hands, and a soldier with the Intelligence Corps insignia on his epaulette.
“My name is Itzik, you must have had quite a week,” the Air Force lieutenant got up and shook my hand.
“Yes, I’m very glad to be home. I guess you had something to do with the operation?”
My mother began to speak, filling me in with the background, before Itzik had a chance to answer. “When I saw that the weather changed so rapidly last Friday, and the winds started so suddenly, I called the yacht club to see if you’d returned. When you hadn’t come home by 3.30, half an hour before Shabbat, I called the police, telling them that you had gone out, as you often do, on a yacht or boat, but you had gone missing.”
“And that’s where we came in,” continued Itzik. “For the last two weeks the Air Force and the Navy have been conducting manoeuvres in the Mediterranean, and so searching for you, Tal, became part of our exercises. And with the help of Kobi here–” and he turned his eyes to the soldier from the Intelligence Corps, “we found that you were on that island. H.Q. has been spending the best part of the week planning your rescue.”
Kobi continued, “We had to ascertain whether that island was part of Egypt, or whether it was in the hands of terrorist forces – any number of them.
“Now, we saw that the island doesn’t appear on any civilian map, but it’s certainly on the maps of the IDF – especially the Navy. So we marked the island on our maps and then we needed to determine if you were being kept as a hostage and––”
Itzik interrupted him, “The Air Force made a number of reconnaissance flights, both by day and by night, and saw the lights on the turret on the mosque and the lights of the nearby houses. On Sunday night we also noted a row of four lights close to the mosque that we hadn’t sighted before, and each night we noticed the addition of a light until it became clear that it was possible that these were lights for Hanuka.”
I have a question,” said Kobi. “Did the family ask you – or make you do all that physical work in return for their hospitality?”
“Absolutely not! Quite the opposite! It was totally my idea. I insisted on helping out – after all, I couldn’t deal with doing nothing all day, just sitting around and waiting to be rescued… whenever that would be.” It felt very unsettling to realize that my movements, and the Murphy family’s, had been closely followed for days without my awareness of it, even though, obviously, it was totally for my benefit.
My father broke the pause and turned to me. “Last night, a little before ten, we received a call from the IDF that you were on the way home – thank you Itzik, thank you Kobi, and – what’s your name?” he turned to the Navy officer.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. My name’s Nissim.”
“Thank you so much, Nissim. I understand that you, too, had quite a lot to do with this operation. You are all part of our Hanuka miracle.”
**
Friday night’s chicken soup, and the Shabbat day’s cholent were the best I’ve ever tasted – or maybe it was just that I had missed my mother’s cooking so much without even realizing it.
During and after the meal I shared some of the adventures I’d had during the past week with the Murphy family: I’d worked as a builder, fisherman and shepherd, milking by hand, taking the flock out to pasture, bringing the fish in with the trawler’s net and attempting the pigeon-post. But most of all, I spoke of the Murphy family’s generous hospitality and warmth.
That Friday night, I dreamt of David Murphy, Dr. Daoud Murphy’s grandfather. David Murphy had the same red hair that Dr. Murphy must have once had and the same pale-blue twinkling eyes as his grandson. In my dream, I was standing next to David Murphy who was holding a Shamash and lighting eight Hanuka lights with the blessings… singing “Ma’oz Tzur” in his deep, melodious voice.
“How do you come to have the name, Murphy?” I asked him.
“That’s the name the immigration officer gave my parents when they came to Ireland to escape the pogroms in Lithuania in the 1890s. Our family name, Mendelevitch, was too hard for him to write.”
He smiled at me, “Thank you… thank you….”
I opened my mouth to say, “For what?” and to ask him some more questions, but he faded away with the dream.