Shortly after my return to Palestine I
became entangled in what has since been called "The Wailing Wall
Incident". It was my bad luck that became the central figure in the
biggest Arab-Jewish controversy of the early years. It happened on the Day of
Atonement, the great Jewish festival of Yom Kippur, 1928.
I accidentally met the British District Commissioner near the Holy Sepulchre
that evening and he invited me to accompany him down to the Temple area,
where he proposed to visit some of the religious sheikhs. We walked slowly
down David Street, which runs from the Jaffa Gate, downhill, across the
filled-in Tyropean Valley, to the Gate of the Chain, leading into the Temple
area. Immediately to the right of this Gate is the old Mekhamme Sharia,
the Muslim religious court, where matters of dowries, wards, wills, religious
and charitable endowments and all questions of divorce are tried by doctors
learned in the Islamic canons. There we were met by several of the venerable
sheikhs, clad in well-brushed, black cassock-like garments, their red fezzes
bound with snowy turbans.
We walked into the Sharia court with them, where the District Commissioner, glancing
out of the tall window, studied the Jewish throng at the Wailing Wall, a
few yards beneath us. The enclosure was filled with worshippers, who kept
coming and going as they always did in this great festival. The time was
about four in the afternoon, which it is important to remember, as the
great Jewish feast started at sunset that evening. I had noticed during
one of my visits to the Wall earlier that day that an ordinary bedroom
screen was standing about one-third of the way along the flag-stones. In my
ignorance I failed to grasp its significance, and, as no one made any
complaints about it, I did not suspect that bane of the Holy Places an Innovation!
Real or fancied innovations, planned to establish a precedent and sternly
resisted by the opponents of the innovators, caused most of our fights in
the Sacred Shrines, and usually I was very quick to note any.
The District Commissioner saw it (the screen was made of light wooden battens
with panels of thin cloth, constructed to fold in four) and remarked that
he had never seen such an object at any previous Wailing Wall festival. Those
very astute Muslim gentlemen instantly seized their opportunity; I am
quite sure that they had paid no attention to the screen up to the moment when
the District Commissioner unwittingly gave them their chance to raise a
new issue.
They declared it was a barefaced Jewish attempt to seize the Mosque of El Akhsa
and the Dome of the Rock; the thin end of the wedge to snatching of the holiest
places in Islam because it had once been the site of the Jewish Temple. If the
District Commissioner did not at once take action, they threatened, then he
alone would be responsible for a Holy War that could rouse all the Muslim races
to battle for the blessed shrine from whence the Prophet made his miraculous
Ascension into Paradise. If he did not atone make the Jews realize that they
could not play fast-and-loose with a Muslim holy place (for the Wailing Wall is
the sanctuary where the heavenly steed, El Buraq, stood before taking God's
Prophet on his midnight journey), then he was a false servant to his master the
King of England, and he was also betraying the mighty British Empire.
Shadows of 1900 years before, when the Jewish priests howled at poor Pontius
Pilate that he was no friend of Caesar if he let the Man of Nazareth continue
to preach sedition!
The D.C. looked extremely worried at the storm he had inadvertently raised, and
asked what the significance of the screen might be. The sheikhs came straight
back at him, all talking at once, pointing out that, in a synagogue, the men
and women worshippers are segregated from one another. Let the D.C. look at the
base of the Wailing Wall. Were not the Jewish women all weeping and praying in
the smaller section cut off by the screen? We’re not the men in the bigger one,
assembled without a woman among them? Was it not more usual for the Jews to
stand anywhere they chose while praying at the Wall and not to be divided by
sex?
It was true enough. The men and women were divided by the screen. Then was this
not absolute proof, the sheikhs shrieked, that the forgotten-of-God (their
contemptuous name for the Jews) had instituted a synagogue on this sacred place
where they were only allowed on sufferance by the graciousness of the Muslim?
Matters had been growing tenser during the previous weeks and Idealized that
this seemingly trivial incident might easily be the detonator to ignite the
magazine. The District Commissioner kept calm and made a joke saying that he
would, personally, see that the screen was removed without delay: in fact that
he would go down himself and speak to the Beadle of the Wall, Rabbi Noah.
He did so, and when the Beadle maintained there was no significance in the
screen, saying that it had been put there merely to give the women little
privacy in their lachrymose worship, the D.C. agreed that it could remain until
the close of the service, but then must be taken quietly away. He explained,
courteously, that the Muslim had objected to it and that he was sure the Beadle
did not want to annoy them. Rabbi Noah promised to-do as he was ordered,
whereupon the D.C. and I walked to the great Hurvah Synagogue in the Jewish
quarter, a few score yards away, to pay courtesy visit on the Festival eve.
I became a little restive after about an hour of the ritual and whispered to
the D.C. that I wanted to return to the "Wailing Wall to make sure that
his orders about the screen were being obeyed. He agreed, although I thought
that he did not seem to attach much importance to the matter. When I reached
the Wall the screen was still in position, and Rabbi Noah told me, tearfully,
that as it was already the sunset of a most sacred day no Jew would touch it,
for that would be servile work within the meaning of the Doxology. He promised
me, however, that he would obtain the services of a couple of Christian workmen
during the evening, who could take it away without committing sin.
Telling him that I must obtain a ruling from the District Commissioner, I
walked back to the Hurvah Synagogue, but found that the D.C. had returned to
the Residency, a Greek Patriarchate building inside the city walls on the route
between the Jaffa and New Gates. He offered me a whisky-and-soda when I
reported to him, but as he had several other guests he paid little attention to
me beyond telling me to make sure, without offending the Jews too much, that
the screen was removed by morning.
I had had too much experience in dealing with all sorts of religious idealists
at the Holy Places to act rashly. I scribbled in my note-book an order
addressed to myself, embodying the D.C.'s instructions to remove the screen by
morning, and stressing that I was to regard it as a matter of urgency. A short
while afterwards I got near my host again and held out my note-book and a
pencil, asking him to sign it. This sort of thing was not at all unusual; he
had signed plenty of orders for me before and had often given me a
search-warrant under similar circumstances. He glanced at what I had written
and scrawled his name, probably amused at my insistence. I walked along to his
chief clerk's office and got the old Greek Christian to press the official
stamp on the order.
I visited the Wailing Wall twice during that night and on each occasion found
the Beadle there. This was not in the least unusual on the Day of Atonement,
and he assured me that some Christian workmen would soon be along to remove the
screen. I told him I should visit him at seven in the morning and that if the
screen was then still in position I should remove it without further palaver.
At half-past six I was eating my breakfast when trooper ushered in the Beadle,
who bowed humbly and gave me a note from the District Commissioner saying that,
owing to the Beadle's being unable to obtain non- Jewish labor, he had given
him permission to keep the screen until nine o'clock. Rabbi Noah insisted on
retaining the written orders his authority to show to any policeman at the Wall.
I was still unsuspicious of any intrigue, and at ten to nine I told a reliable
Arab inspector to take a few men to the Wailing Wall to make sure that the
screen was down. It did not seem important enough a duty to require my presence
at one of the busiest hours in my day, especially as I had no doubt of the
Beadle's good intentions.
A quarter of an hour later the very angry Arab officer returned, with his tunic
in shreds, his face scratched, and die beginnings of a couple of black eyes!
His policemen were in equally bad shape, and boiling with wrath he told me that
a crowd of Jews, mainly women and old ones at that had attacked his party the
moment he entered the Wailing Wall area, where the screen was not only still
erect but had been fixed with iron strappings to the flagstones! There was
worse news: a large crowd of Arabs was mustering in the bazaars, swearing
vengeance on the impious Forgotten-of-God who had seized the sanctuary of El Buraq
and were desecrating it by making it intone of their synagogues!
The situation was explosive and as my two seniors were out of barracks took
immediate action, knowing how quickly such a position could get beyond all
control. I telephoned to Mount Scopus asking for ten British constables in
battle-order, and then, grabbing my own steel helmet, walked down to the Jaffa
Gate to wait for these reinforcements. Meanwhile, the reserve in barracks were
paraded and issued with ball ammunition. I had already told the native orderly
officer to telephone to Police Headquarters to let them know that I had gone to
the scene of action and to ask them to take over control.
The British police arrived in record time, and I felt much happier when saw
four of the old first-year ex-British gendarmes among them. They looked very
cheerful as they leaped on to the pavement; I heard afterwards that they had
all insisted on their right to come, saying that there would surely be some
action if it was Duff who had sent for them. As we stormed down the narrow
alley of David Street, and dived beneath the arches where the covered bazaars
cross it near the entrance to the Jewish quarter, I saw that matters were grown
extremely serious. Arabs were pouring down towards the Gate of the Chain, which
is the main entrance to the Temple area, and every man of them bore a dagger in
his belt or held a nabut club in his hand.
The whole city was buzzing like an angry beehive, and we had to cut through the
throng like an armoured ship's bow; we could not afford to be gentle, for
scores of human lives hung on the seconds we saved. A hundred yards short of
the Gate of the Chain we turned sharply to the right, clattered downhill and
winding round several corners reached the entrance to the Wailing Wall
The narrow area beneath the great stone blocks which have stood there since
King Solomon completed his father's work in building the First Temple, was
packed tight with Jewish worshippers, mainly elderly women, of the older,
orthodox type. A great hush fell as we appeared amid the angry roars of the
great unseen mob of Muslim mustering on the farther side of the great Wall. I
distinctly heard the old fighting rally of Islam shouted bay stentorian voice.
"Kill the Jewish dogs! Islam is endangered. Strike!"
The hush lasted only a few seconds before it was shattered by the shrill clamour
of the raging women. I grabbed the Beadle and demanded why the screen was still
in position, but poor old Rabbi Noah was beyond speech. Hating violence in all
its forms, he was horrified and terror-stricken beyond his strength, and sagged
supinely in my hands. Over the heads of the women saw the screen, the symbol of
the whole incident.
"Tear it down, Sergeant!" I roared, and led the way through the crowd.
It was very hot and the smell of over-heated and under-washed femininity hung
cloyingly sweet-sour in that narrow, sun-smitten space. Keeping closely
together we forged our way forward, pushing aside the angry ladies as they
hammered us with umbrellas and sticks, which clattered on our helmets; one
beldame, who chose me as her particular target, belaboured my back until her
parasol broke. Their fingers slashed and tore, they satin our faces and
shrieked obscenities as they strove to block our passage.
I reached the flimsy screen first, but as I did so a Jewish worthy, clad in
long caftan and a fur-trimmed wide-caved hat, caught hold of it and shouted in
English that he meant to die where he stood and that we would have to take him
along with the screen. None of our female attackers were struck by any of us
and not a Jewish man was injured as we stormed our way out with the screaming
rabbi clinging convulsively to the wreckage of the screen, which we carried in
our midst. We reached the narrow lane leading to the Dung Gate at a point where
there was a break in the houses opening on to the cactus-covered slope of the
Tyropean Valley, opposite the spring of the great arch of the bridge, which
once connected the Temple with the Upper City. There I halted my party, turned
them about, ordered the sergeant to throw the shreds of the screen into the
valley, and when the Rabbi refused to loosen his grip, he went down the
twenty-foot-steep slope with it. The British police, veterans of many Jerusalem
street fights, took up a strong defensive position in a deep archway, where we
could be attacked only in front.
The crowd of furious women believed they were fighting sacrilegious infidels
who had offered their religion a deadly insult in its most sacred shrine on the
holiest day of the year, and would have torn us to pieces or trampled us to
death, an unthinkably humiliating and disgraceful end for any man conscious of
his masculinity, and already ashamed of the sordid part he was being forced to
play in fighting females.
Fortunately for us the situation changed as soon as the shrieking women
realized that we were holding an impregnable position. They screamed with
hysterical fear and fright, and a wild stampede started as the whole crowd of .worshippers
ran shrieking uphill towards David Street. We wheeled out of our archway and
mingled with them, keeping our ranks very tight as we were carried along, for I
was afraid of what might happen when that crowd of insanely-shrieking Jewish
women met the mob of angry Arabs thronging the main street above. At the
intersection of the lane with David Street we resumed our line, facing downhill
towards the Gate of the Chain, while three of the British police moved quickly
up to the junction of the covered bazaars, to stop the hordes of rage-filled
Arabs flooding in from the Muslim quarter, and also to block the main entrance
to the Jewish quarter.
I still maintain that that day we prevented a general massacre of Jewson those
cobbled, sun-drenched narrow streets. Not a single Jew was seriously injured;
even the Rabbi, who had clung to the screen, sustained only a few abrasions and
bruises. A few of the Arabs who tried to attack the terror-stricken torrent of
Jews had their sconces cracked by our rifle-butts, but that was all.
No one who has not served in the Holy City can realize how quickly ghastly rumors
can spread; within fifteen minutes the furthest alleyways of Meah Shearim and
Mustashfa outside the walls were filled with white-faced folk watching the
shopkeepers as they frenziedly clamped their shutters, while tales of a
massacre in the Old City grew more horrifying with each repetition.
The first person in authority to arrive on the scene was the Inspector-General,
at the head of a strong posse of armed police. He looked very-angry until I
gave him my report, whereupon he left at once for Headquarters so that he might
have fuller control of the situation.
After him came a senior officer of the Legal department, who accused me of
having used the most brutal methods against the Jewish worshippers. He would
not allow me to say a word, and consequently I became extremely angry. When he
asked me how many had been killed by the police I turned on him savagely and
bade him to look round for any wounded or dead he could find, and when he
failed to find any to come back to me and apologize. He was very angry at being
addressed in such a way by so junior a personas myself, but I was past caring
what might happen to my career; I have always detested the men of the long
gown, especially when they presume to interfere in scenes of action.
After a couple of hours the blaze died down, and I was ordered to report to
barracks, where I found my own senior officer and the Inspector-General. They
asked me why I had caused such a flurry over so simple matter as removing a
screen. I explained what had happened and the significance of the screen, but
they still seemed to think that I had acted rashly in forcibly removing it, and
told me that I should have asked for higher authority before taking such
drastic action.
I again explained the swiftly-mounting Arab fanaticism but I was told that I
should not have acted on my own responsibility in so dangerous situation. I
gaped at that, and said that I had not taken any initiative but had merely
obeyed the orders of the District Commissioner, and produced my note-book with
my very definite orders to remove the screen at all costs, with the D.C.'s
signature beneath it. That ended my personal responsibility, but I knew only
too well how close I had become to being made the official scapegoat. As it was
I made very powerful enemies, for the "Wailing Wall Incident"
burgeoned into far greater importance than any of us imagined possible on the
day when it occurred.
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