behavior!" the man declared pompously. "In Europe I have never seen a young man who wouldn’t offer his place to a lady."
One of the passengers was pleased at the chance to teach the sol-dier a lesson, and answered in Yiddish: "It is the army that spoils them. As soon as they put on a uniform they think they are the most important thing in the world."
"Yes," said the lady, "that’s the sabras1 for you. They haven’t been brought up properly."
The soldier who was the center of attention seemed unaffected. Was he really asleep? But shortly before Rishon LeZion he suddenly opened his eyes and pressed the button. The soldier slowly got up, holding onto the driver’s seat, shuffled to the door, and climbed out cautiously. Outside he stood still for a moment and then went off slowly, his body strangely twisted.
The driver cast a cursory glance after him and drove on.
On 25 January elections took place for the first parliament of the State of Israel, which was built on the blood of the frontline soldiers. The soldiers regarded this election with indifference and scorn. It was the first official demonstration of the chasm that had opened up between the front and the rear.
The election campaigns dealt with unimportant themes. The writers of the election posters competed with each other in total ignorance of the military reality. The worst thing was that none of the parties realized that a group of people had been formed at the front with their own atti-tude to things, with their own style and their own leadership. The par-ties carried on with business as usual. And a parliament was elected without a single person who could legitimately speak in the name of the frontline soldiers. None of the new representatives was in a position to formulate the thoughts and feelings of those who had founded the state.
Election day
"We have brought you thus far!" screamed the loudspeaker. "We have founded the state!" boomed another. "Your vote for the founder of the state!" said the headline of a newspaper.