We sang battle songs whose words described the great deeds of our ancient heroes, and our own creed: "In blood and fire did Judea fall, in blood and fire will Judea rise again." We learned to use pistols, draw quickly, shoot from the hip-of course without ammunition because a live bullet was as precious as gold. When I was entrusted with the company stock of three pistols to hide in my bed, I was overjoyed.
Our families were forgotten. Work was a nuisance, to be dispatched as quickly as possible. Life was dismantling a parabellum and putting it together again blindfolded (I think I can still do it). Sex was standing with an Irgun girl in a dark street corner, pretending to be lovers, one hand on a hidden button ready to warn our comrades training on the roof of the approach of police.
We distributed leaflets describing the glorious deeds of our older comrades-who had planted a bomb in a crowded Arab market, or killed a police officer who had tortured a boy found in the possession of arms. We demonstrated against the British, burning the government offices when the British published, in May, 1939, the White Paper that put an end to Jewish immigration, thereby blocking the last avenue of escape for Jews who still could get out of Nazi Germany.
It was a great life. Arrest and torture were always just around the corner, but we lived every minute, knowing we were right. Life had meaning, purpose. When I close my eyes, I can still see a hundred and twenty boys and girls at attention in a blacked-out cellar, standing behind their trusted officers (clerks and salesmen in civilian life), singing-softly, so that no sound would escape the roomthe hymn of the Irgun:
Unknown soldiers are we, without uniforms,
Around us but darkness and death,
We have joined the army for life,
Only death will relieve us from the ranks...