In the early years of the Tel Mond bloc, relations with the Arabs can be divided into two aspects. On one hand (according to testimonies of the founding generation), relations were good and friendly. The settlement received help from Arabs; main transportation routes passed near the settlements, and Arabs would stop by the villages for small-scale trade, often eating and drinking together with Jews in their homes. Arabs even helped in constructing the settlement by bringing building materials - such as gravel and sand - that were not available locally, using camel caravans. At this stage, the Arabs had not yet acted out of nationalist motives, and nationalism as a concept had not yet arisen.
On the other hand, the Arabs exploited their early presence and familiarity with the area to commit thefts. The difficult situation is reflected in a letter by Aleksandrowitz, commander of the Tel Mond outpost, who emphasized the challenge of dealing with thefts due to a lack of means and capacity for action. In his letter, Aleksandrowitz also noted that the national secretariat of the “Hashomer” organization had promised to organize security, but nothing materialized. The dire financial situation of the organization is evident in the fact that settlers had to fund the costs of security (fences, guards) out of their own pockets, even though Hashomer did fund some guards and purchased weapons.
A notice from Ein Vered dated July 30, 1935, stated that the member-guards neglected their duties, compromising security (breaches in the fence were made by members for easier access to the fields). This suggests that at the time, the security situation was generally calm. The village committee had to declare penalties for those who damaged security and fencing.
According to Amstel’s descriptions, thefts in the settlements became unbearable. He cited several incidents within a short time span. Complaints were filed with the British police after each event, expecting action against the criminals, but the police did not intervene. On the contrary, British police were accused of covering up and concealing evidence.
Due to repeated thefts, Ein Vered decided to impose several restrictions on relations with the Arabs. It was decided:
“It is forbidden to allow an Arab to remain [in the settlement] after sunset or to invite him early before sunrise. The guard will remove any stranger from the premises and boundaries of the settlement.”
Market guidelines: It was permitted to buy only from Jews and not from Arabs. However, some Jews continued to buy from Arabs, and as a result, penalties were imposed on violators.
Another restriction forbade the entrance of Arab children into the settlement at any time.
The intention, as I understand it, was to disengage from the Arabs both physically (perhaps to reduce thefts) and economically, to avoid dependency. According to documents and testimonies, until 1936 (the beginning of the Arab Revolt), relations between Jews and Arabs were generally successful and characterized by good neighborliness.
Leah Shavit
From the earliest days of the moshav, we encountered our Arab neighbors when they arrived on donkeys to sell vegetables and eggs to the new settlers. The first cows and donkeys on the farms were purchased from Arabs. At times, the Arabs proved to be crafty traders, deceiving inexperienced settlers unfamiliar with agriculture. For instance, they would sell a cow that hadn’t been milked for a day or two - so it appeared to yield a full bucket of milk - only for the settler to discover the next day that it was a poor milker.
They also bought fodder and sorghum seeds from Arabs. Roads back then were dirt paths, traversable only by donkeys and camels. When construction of homes began in the village, Arabs brought building materials on camels - gravel and sand. We children loved watching how they made the camels kneel with a harsh guttural “khar…khar…khar” sound, then released the rope and let the load tumble into a growing pile.
Every Arab visit ended at the water tap, where they washed their hands, face, and feet, watered their donkeys, and filled their containers. At that time, Arabs had no deep wells of their own, and to maintain neighborly relations, they were allowed to water their herds and fill their jugs in the village.
Sometimes, the shepherds abused this right, grazing their herds in orchards and damaging young trees. Then the guards, mounted on horses, would arrive to drive them off. Sometimes this led to serious fights between Arabs who sought to harm or steal, and the workers and guards.
The time of the Arab Revolt was hard. Arabs attacked Jews across the country. During this period, no Arabs were seen in our village. Occasionally we heard gunfire, and our parents were busy guarding the village. Spotlights were set up on rooftops at the edge of the village, with mothers taking shifts, and men guarding in perimeter posts.
During the War of Independence, all contact with Arabs was severed. They planned to destroy the settlements, shooting and attacking. The worst suffering was endured by the small and isolated village of Kfar Yabetz.
One morning, masses from Tulkarem came toward the settlements, shooting and shouting. The defenders fought bravely to repel them. The battles intensified.
The day before the Declaration of Independence, a fierce battle took place between our soldiers and the Arab Legion in the village of Tira. Many residents of the bloc were killed in this battle.
After the state was declared, military reinforcements and weapons arrived, and the Arab forces were pushed back. Tira and the surrounding villages were captured by our army and had to adapt to the laws of the State of Israel.
Asa Bartov, May 15, 2009
A month had passed since the night of November 29. The short-lived joy had turned to worry and tension. Road shootings, first casualties, and a sense that difficult days lay ahead.
Despite the burden of night watches, members of the community tried to keep up their daily agricultural routines. The orchards were heavy with fruit, and harvest season was near. They hoped to finally recover from the difficult war years, when they couldn’t market their citrus, and the fruit rotted. They had restored and nurtured their orchards and hoped at last to enjoy the fruits of their labor - yet again, war clouds loomed.
Relations with the neighboring Arabs from Tira and Miska were not like they once were, even if they had never been very warm. The Arabs still passed the village in colorful caravans returning from Wadi Falik, men riding donkeys, women walking with bundles on their heads - but their glances were no longer the same. The eyes peeking from beneath their keffiyehs showed hate or indifference.
Even Mohammed, the chaff merchant who had been like family in the village and knew everyone, now strutted like a peacock, mocking the old-timers. He said that soon the British would leave, the gangs would expel the Jews, and he would inherit the farms - he just had to pick the best one.
Farmers do not “like wars” - they always come at the wrong season. “How can you wage war when it’s time to harvest fruit or reap the fields?” A short war between seasons is one thing - but experience had shown wars were long and destructive. Just ten years had passed since the Arab riots of 1936–1939 and World War II, and here they were again facing more turmoil.
With no choice, they prepared to live with it - combining work with defense, stockpiling weapons, increasing patrols. Packing houses were being prepared. Mats were spread out, as packing was done sitting on the floor. Teams of wrappers, packers, sorters, and carpenters were organized. Each family took turns harvesting their fruit.
What used to be a time of celebration became a time of worry. Being in the orchards was dangerous. Arabs from Tira nearby used the orchards for theft and threats. Armed guards were needed.
Each day, a villager was assigned to protect the pickers with a rifle. Three types of rifles were in the warehouse: the British rifle, with a flattened nose like a bulldog; the short Italian Carbine, which often jammed and had massive recoil; and the heavy, stable, beloved Canadian rifle that inspired confidence.
One cold morning, a guard named Lish took the Canadian rifle and went to watch over the orchard. As usual, he sat at a distant spot overlooking the orchard and the road to Tira. The workers arrived and began picking - after passing a strict fingernail inspection.
Peaceful sunshine warmed the area, and Lish dozed off. He didn’t know how long he napped, but he awoke to a heavy axe blow to the shoulder. Arabs had ambushed him, seized the rifle, and vanished without being seen.
Lish shouted for help. The harvest stopped. The community convened.
The “war council” was brief: the rifle - and honor - must be retrieved.
The next day, several tough members of the moshav took action. A herd of 250 cows from Tira grazing in the fields was seized. The shepherds were “dealt with” and sent back to their village with the bad news. The cows, unaccustomed to new handlers, were herded chaotically into the village pen.
The elders of Tira were told: until the rifle was returned, the herd would not be returned. They swore by the Prophet’s beard that the attackers hadn’t come from their “peaceful village,” but as a gesture of goodwill, they promised to find another rifle.
Indeed, a few days later, a rifle was returned, and the cows went back - though not all. Some had already ended up in the butcher’s shop of Volole the butcher, as “handling fees.”
And what happened to Lish, who fell asleep at his post? He was taken into custody at the newly vacated British police station on Route 4 and became the first Jewish prisoner to inaugurate the “institution.”