My 11th Pen Pal - Letters from Menahem

Honey Gluckman is a former lecturer in the Department of Educational Studies at JCE, now the Education Faculty of Wits. Her subjects included Philosophy of Education, with an emphasis on Critical Analysis. She is today part of the ‘Granny Program’ run by the Chevra Kadisha, assisting young black learners in acquiring language skills using educational games she has developed.

Feature image: Front cover of From Sembel to Gilgil, reissue of the Book of Imprisonment and Exile (published by the Ministry of Defense, Israel, 1980)

In 1948, as a high school pupil aged 15 years, I read an article in a Jewish journal asking people to write to prisoners in camp Gilgil in Kenya. Since I was going through a pen pal stage (I had 11 of these from all over), I decided to add to my collection. That is when I ‘met’ Menahem Heppner, aged (I think) 26. We corresponded for many years, with his early letters closely written on thin, now yellowing airmail paper which sometimes made certain words difficult to decipher. But, after rereading them, I realized that they form a historical record of the birth of Israel.

I have mostly kept the English he used (as a second language speaker) but have split the handwritten account into paragraphs (for easier understanding).

I have omitted many of his personal comments to me, as they are not relevant to this history. What was obvious was that he was so desperate to relieve his boredom that he was prepared to write to someone much younger than himself. As a result, his early letters were filled with paternal and at times, the slightly condescending comments of a kindly adult writing to a child.

5 June 1948

“Dear Honey!

Some hours ago, I received your letter from 8.6.48 and it’s hard to describe my feelings at that moment. I was very happy and reading your letter was very delightful. You could hardly believe that this letter created a big day for me in our life. I myself wouldn’t believe it if I lived outside. But it’s right.

Now let’s go on with the real letter. Your first question about the reasons for my being here is the difficultest and I’ll keep it to the end of the letter. I’m surprised to see your interest in politics, especially your viewpoint about the British interference there in Palestine. You are absolutely right about them and if you had seen their behaviour there as I had, I suppose the outcome would not be far as mine. E.g. being in Kenya [He comments with amusement on the fact that I have 11 pen pals]. I myself write only to family in Israel, London and S. America.

I had to break up this letter in order to go to our weekly picture. The movie is coming to us and today I saw a very nice picture [name given – illegible]

I’ll attend now to your first question about the reasons of my being in this ‘sanatorium’ in the Kenya highlands. Although I arrived at this camp only one and a half years ago, let me give you the short history of our camp, which exists now nearly four years. The ‘pioneers’ were 250 boys exiled by the British Government from Palestine to Eritrea. Then they were transferred to the Sudan and back to Eritrea and at last, two years ago they arrived here at Kenya, “The pearl of the British Empire”, as written in one of the tourist books here. When you ask me about the right which allowed them to exile Palestinian citizens to another country, well, that’s too much for me. You have to forget about the existence of laws and rights when you live under British 'Administration' (that is(Occupation)! It seems that for the English the right to live exists only for themselves and no other people have the right to demand the right to live. Sorry to break up your beliefs (if there were any) in the English colonial system. Let me as an example tell you my history of detention, which I hope will not bore you.

It was October 1946, (quite a pre-historical date) when I lived in Jerusalem a quiet civilian life of a native under British rule. My father is a doctor there and the days were full with ‘terrorism’ against the English. Every day some police or army officers were killed by ‘terrorists’ and the English ruled a reign of terror against the Jews without differentiation between ages and membership of party. I was a member of the Revisionist Party and commander in chief of the Betar Jerusalem. Well, this was nothing illegal because the party was a legal one and recognized by the government.

Then one afternoon in October, when the railway station was blown up by Jews, when I returned home from my work, I saw the lovely symbol of the police before our door; a police truck and two armoured cars, occupied by policemen with various arms. Just when I entered the street, I saw my father carried out under heavy escort into the car and driven out. They wanted him for only a moment, but this moment was about two weeks. As I found out later they accused him of giving first aid to ‘terrorists’ and put him in prison together with Arabs and plenty of bed bugs etc. The same night at 12 o’clock a second visit was paid to us and this time my younger brother and younger sister and I were taken for a ‘journey’ in a nice car between two dozen Tommy guns. We were driven to another prison which was quite clean and everyone had a special chamber. For two days we got no food and then we were separately investigated about our doings and especially our father’s doings. Of course we knew nothing.

On the second day afternoon, I was ‘asked’ by a civil police inspector in his car and driven to the central prison where I met my father in a very bad condition as he was then 58 years old. After a quarter of an hour ten of us were separated, thrown into a car and taken to the detention camp Latrun [half way between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv]. They took good care of us on the way. Twelve armed police guarded 10 bounded Jews. One hand was bound to the car and the other, each to the other’s hand. We were not allowed to speak or to move and of course neither of us wanted to risk his life by a little bullet from their guns pointed on us.

Well, the Latrun camp is just as any other camps in the world, not bad and not good. There I spent half a year, meanwhile my family was released and only I remained the scapegoat of the ‘terrorist’ family. Then came the 11^th May 1947 when suddenly one night we were awoken in the barracks of the camp by “His Majesty Forces.” 50 of us were taken under heavy escort into trucks and the ‘trip’ to Kenya began. Four special airplanes awaited us and together with the guard we entered our first air journey. It was not comfortable as we were bound again and could not move from our places. Eight hours we were in the air until we arrived at Asmara in Eritrea where we ‘rested’ one night. The next day we continued our trip by air, again 9 hours until at last we arrived at the Capital of Kenya- Nairobi. From Nairobi to Gilgil it’s a way of 7 hours, a wonderful way through jungle and mountains of Kenya. Long after midnight we arrived here and were warmly welcomed by our comrades.

Well, that’s the story I have to tell and if you did not fall asleep meanwhile I congratulate your patience….One and a half years idle life in Kenya prison makes one rather dull. One does not recognize special events and one has only thoughts of the past to enjoy.

Please don’t let me wait for your letters too much and answer immediately.

Well, good night.

Sincerely your devoted 11thpen pal

Menahem”