It was after the 1948 War of Independence for the State of Israel. A group of young people was sitting in a Kibbutz not far from the Syrian border. Their settlement was shattered into pieces by a mighty fire caused by the enemy. Their land was soaking with the sweat and blood of brave warriors. Sadness and pain were filling their young hearts and exhaustion their young bodies, yet their souls were filled with hope and optimism toward a brighter future.

This future was embracing a whole new world - fishing, agriculture and industry, and to materialize this new life and rebuild their settlement, these young people were working very hard. One day they were ordered by the government to evacuate the Kibbutz, as it would be demilitarized. Some objected, but the majority realized that the only thing they could do was move to other parts of the country, or the new state.

I am David and I am one of them. I did not want to conquer lands or live in a Kibbutz, especially not after the hardships we endured there, up north. I just wanted to pack my humble belongings and travel to Haifa,  where I went to look for a job. As they were looking for seamen to found a Merchant Marine, I, like many others, started to work at the port.

All seemed new and exciting to me – unloading the cargo, cleaning the ships and meeting people. They were immigrants, men who left the Kibbutz or professional laborers. I was blessed with new adventures. Ships came from far and exotic places and unloaded people and merchandise. The little pier was always bubbling and oozing with shades, colors and aromas. Renewal, reorganization and reconstruction were sensed in every corner.

One day I heared rumors that a Merchant Marine carrying the Israeli flag was going to be established, also manned by an Israeli crew. The idea of sailing seemed interesting to me and I was looking for opportunities to join. The offices were located near the port. I went there and waited a long while, after which a spectacled clerk was interviewing me. ‘So, young man, what is it that you want?’ ‘I would like to join the Israeli Merchant Marine as a crew member’, I replied. ‘Have you ever worked on a ship before?’ ‘Not necessarily, but I worked as a fisherman’, and immediately added, ‘in the Hulla Lake of the Galilee. ‘Well, there is no major difference between the two’, was his reply.

This was how I got the job as a ship’s crew member. ‘Where were you until now? We were looking for people like yourself’, said the guy, this time with no spectacles on. ‘I have been fighting in the war, and now, for about a month, I have been working in port’. ‘Listen, I need a cook on a ship. Do you know how to cook?’ ‘Of course. Have you ever seen someone who came from a Kibbutz and has never worked in a kitchen before?’ ‘Great!’, rejoiced the clerk and gave me a little note. I went to the harbor to look for the ship, yet it took me a while to find it. When I arrived to the pier, all I could see was a wooden sailing vessel with a small engine…

When I boarded the ship, I went to report to the captain. He was a middle aged man who made the impression of a mighty naval admiral. He wore a big hat and had ranks on his uniform. He talked to me shortly and immediately sent me to the kitchen. There I met the other cook, who was a Jewish-French-Polish refugee. He talked a lot, some in French and some in Yiddish. He was a friendly man and said: ‘I used to work on French passenger ships in the past, and now I am fulfilling my ultimate dream - to work on an ship that carries the Israeli flag. It makes me very proud and I feel happy about it. I have never imagined that this dream of mine will one day come true’. I was looking for a tear or two running down his wrinkled cheeks, yet all I could see was his eyes wearing a dreamy expression, thanking for his little niche of joy.

Yanek and I were trying hard to cook deliciously. However, it was our luck that the fellows were not too choosy about their food. Sometimes we witnessed expressions of distaste usually demonstrated by flying plates directly into our poor little kitchen. And so it happened, that in some cases, especially after a meal, while washing dishes, we heard a plate or two landing, broken or not, somewhere behind our backs.

Common experience, interaction and conversation helped us crew members to get to know each other. The captain, for instance, used to operate a crane in Haifa harbor and navigate the Danube river in his younger days. The chief-mate was about thirty, an experienced seaman, reliable and liked by everyone. He was a hard worker, professional, knew exactly what he wanted and flexible with his crew. The chief-engineer was a handsome fellow, a former clerk. The first-engineer, a red head youngster, diligent and professional, was the only one who knew what to do with the engine. The second engineer was just a nice guy who loved his uniform.

For two weeks we did not leave port, and one day we received instructions to sail to Marseilles and bring immigrants to Israel. The day of departure was very exciting for all of us. We said good bye to our parents, our families and our friends. A special dinner and drinks were arranged for the board members. While serving, I overheard our company’s manager asking the chief-engineer: ‘Do we have enough fuel to sail?’ ‘Of course’, was his answer, ‘enough to go to America and come back’, a statement that caused us later on the loss of our ship.

It was autumn blessed with a golden morning. The sun just started to rise above the northern mountains and send a combination of yellowish orange rays to the waking world. The air was crisp and the wind was gently blowing as if whispering: ‘Have a safe voyage!’. A mild dew was showing its remnants on the ship’s surface, and there was nothing to hold us back anymore. Unfortunately, a short while after leaving port, the ship started to roll, gently in the beginning and rougher each and every passing moment. The ‘rough’ seamen were getting sea sick, and strong men were turning into shivering leaves.

I was alone in the kitchen preparing a meal, as my colleague was lying on the deck, moaning and promising himself never to board a ship again. I felt sorry for him, and while peeling potatoes, I noticed that the oven started to move. I was trying to catch it, but couldn’t. We played ‘catch me’, the oven and I. The situation started to get pretty dangerous as fire was burning in it. Luckily, I was a young man with sharp instincts and  movements fast enough to fill some buckets with water and extinguish the fire. Only two guys were on duty, steering and watchkeeping. The others seemed to be pretty indifferent to their own destiny. After a while, the oven was finally caught and firmly put in a kitchen corner, and I, right there and then, decided: ‘That’s it! No more cooking for me!’

The ship was rolling pretty hard. We were somewhere in Haifa bay, when the vessel was filling with water, as we found out later on that there was a hole in the bottom. We called for help, and a United Nation’s destroyer towed us back to port. In the morning I went to the office and asked to be transferred to the deck. They begged me to stay in the kitchen, but I refused, and indeed, the next day I started to work as a deck boy. As a cook the guys always smiled at me in the hope of receiving more food, but as a deck boy, they had a tradition of bullying the new comers. The change in this attitude came as a surprise to me, yet it did not take them too long to realize that I was strong and at least a seaman as they were. So, we all decided to get along and this was how I came to be one of them.

The vessel was repaired and we sailed. As a deck boy, I was ordered to enter the chain locker and arrange the anchor chain, which was coming in and filling the locker. Nobody showed me how to actually do it, and I was just standing there, making sure that the chain came down alright. After a while it became crowded in there, and there was not enough room for the chain and me. I was stuck and decided to shout, so that someone could hear me and help: ‘That’s it! No more room for the chain!’ The chief mate ordered the chain to be taken out of there, so that I could come out, and the second time around, another sailor was kind enough to show me how to arrange the anchor chain in the locker.

The weather was summerlike and the waters were calm. We were leaning on the railing, looking at the Carmel Mountains as the ship was sailing away. Peace and quiet were surrounding us. The deck boys were cleaning the deck and the other crew members left for duty, whether bridge or engine. The shores of Israel were slowly disappearing beyond the horizon, and there we were left alone with nothing but the turquoise waters of the Mediterranean around us.

None of the officers knew how to read maps or navigate, so we needed the help of a 17 years old cadet who had just graduated from the Haifa Marine School. He was the only one who understood that in order to reach Marseilles we had to sail west, but was not pretty sure about it. He had never sailed before, and after this first cruise left the sea for good. After a few days of calm sea, a storm broke and the waves were throwing and rolling the ship. Senses of uncertainty and disorientation spread among the crew members as the ship ran out of fuel and we did not know where we were.

At nights I was sent to look for shore lights. At first it was difficult for me to climb the rope ladder and cling to the top of the ship mast, but after a while I got used to it. There was a strong wind, and I had to keep from falling down. I felt good for being able to cling to the mast in spite of the strong wind. At the same time I was also trying to communicate with the officer on duty, as the sounds of the whistling wind and the moaning ship were swallowing our voices.  Sometimes I thought I saw shining lights in the distance, but they were only illusions. 

With the crack of dawn, a little fishing boat approached, and a fisherman boarded our ship. He explained to us, that we are somewhere around the coasts of southern Italy. One of the officers argued and insisted that Marseilles was closer, but he finally gave up. The sea calmed down, the fisherman left and we continued with our instructions, but only for a short while, as one of the engineers told us that we almost ran out of fuel.

We approached the Italian coast, and close to one of the villages we tied the ship to a large buoy. It was a fishermen’s village. It had a few buildings and a small population, and the residents welcome us. While anchoring, we were instructed to organize, clean and restore the ship, and after consultation the command decided to send the third engineer to Rome to contact the company and ask them to send us our salaries as well as fuel.

We were busy for a few days. We waited for the fuel, for the third engineer and for our salaries. One day an Italian government’s representative announced the coming of a mighty storm. To secure our ship, we added some more ropes to be tied to the buoy. As night came, the wind, the waters and the waves became stronger and stronger. The ship was moaning as if aspiring to break loose from the ropes and chains that were keeping it tied to the buoy.

We did not have life boats. All of us stood there on the deck shivering, wet to our bones and waiting for a miracle to happen. We were totally helpless without fuel. Ship parts, tools and instruments were ripped apart and lifted by the wind and the waves, and we were trying our best not to let this wild combination of water and air uproot us and throw us away. We were absolutely not aware of the fact that a long while ago the ship had already been thrown to the shore and was about to shatter into pieces any moment. We hit a sandbank.

It was dark all over and very close to us there were car lights flickering. The returning engineer called us: ‘Hey, guys, hold on! Everything will be over soon. I brought fuel’. We were satisfied, but could not rejoice yet, as when morning came and darkness faded away, we realized that the ship was not in the water anymore, but on land, still trembling from being thrown to the sandbank by mighty waves. Although still a little bit insecure and uncertain, we let relief overwhelm us, as the end of the first voyage was there.

It was impossible to leave the ship as the huge shore waves were still running wild. The fishermen were kind and helpful. A rope was stretched between the boat and the village, while we were grabbing one end and the fishermen the other. First we sent our equipment to the village, and then came our turn. Slowly, one by one, assisted by the kind fishermen, we started to unboard. The village was quite a long distance away from the ship, and we were often carried away by raging waves. Yet young at spirit and full of life, we overcame the hardships, and apart from a few blows, we were safe and sound.

Wet and tired we were staring at the truck full of fuel barrels and the ship stuck in the sand. Our hearts felt sorry for leaving her as for the last few days she was our home. She looked lonely without us, her ladyship, like an empty bowl, a lifeless body. The villagers were happy to accommodate us in their humble abodes. A small crew was left in the village to tow the ship to the nearest port, and the rest left to Rome on their way home. I was one of them.

In Genova we boarded an Italian passenger ship, and unfortunately, I got sick with malaria, still from working as a fisherman in the Hulla Lake of the Galilee. The ship stopped in Naples and I was taken to a hospital, where I stayed for a whole months until my total recovery. Healthy and happy at last off I went back to my homeland, to Israel.

This was the story of my first voyage as a seaman. It is a true story that happened in 1948. Since then Israel as a state has advanced a lot in many areas, including seamanship. The small wooden boats became large modern and sophisticated vessels, and the young and spiritful deck boys became excellent and professional Israeli marine officers, who carry the Israeli flag on the masts of their ships with pride.