The Zionist Bombing of Haifa Police Station 1947

The Zionist tactic was to inflict fear and cause panic among the Arab population to send a stern and unequivocal message: ‘this is Jewish land, this is a Zionist led country, Arabs may submit or flea or die.’ Since the bombing of the King David Hotel in Jerusalem, Zionist groups had been emboldened to carry out further bombings with devastating effect to push the British to abandon their mandate early and pull out completely.

 

Italian bombing of Haifa in WWII

 

It was a Beautiful mid-winter’s day, a Saturday afternoon, January 12, a Jewish day of rest. Michel’s brother Kamel was taking his coffee as usual with friends at Café Edmond on Kingsway Street in the heart of down town Haifa, a well-known haunt for young up and coming middle class Palestinians.

 

Earlier that day a Zionist terrorist cell stole a 2.5 ton RAF truck and kidnapped its Arab driver. A little after five, a man drove that truck now laden with explosives into the Northern Palestine Police District compound along Kingsway, which included the police club, billets for 200 men in the five story Khayat building and police HQ.

 

Press reports of the incident said the man was challenged by a police constable when the constable noticed a burning fuse dangling from the rear of the vehicle. The man ran and the policeman fired five shots after him but missed. Upon reaching the gate of the compound, another policeman fired at the man but his gun jammed. Three minutes later, as evacuation was underway, the bomb exploded with immense force, enough to shatter the glass store fronts of all shops along the north end of Kingsway. Furniture inside apartments was wrecked as a result of the shockwave and the ground was strewn with glass inches deep.

 

The bomb was packed with nails and ball bearings to ensure massive loss of life and horrific injuries. Two British police officers died, two Palestinian TACs (Temporary Arab Constables) died as well, one British policeman suffered life threatening injuries and 50 TACs were injured and sent to hospital. Café Edmond suffered as much as any shop front on Kingsway, those seated outside enjoying a quiet afternoon tea or coffee, suffered terrible injuries. Every ambulance in Haifa was mobilized to ferry the injured to hospital, some to the government hospital, a few to the Rothschild Hospital others to the Red Shield Society. The blast was so powerful it was heard clear across town to Hadar Carmel.

 

The café’s busiest time of day came to a sudden shuddering halt. Dust filled the air, the eerie silence was only broken by the half conscious patrons’ moans of pain. Cars parked along Kingsway were now mere lumps of contorted and mangled metal. Wood splinters, some the size of spears and daggers, remains of chairs, tables, furniture from the shop across the road, littered the area around the street, the café and police compound.

 

Kamel was rushed unconscious to the new government hospital in Haifa. The hospital was built by the British and completed in 1938. Michel was at home practicing his violin when he heard the blast. Looking out of his window, he saw thick black smoke coming from the vicinity of Kingsway. He swallowed hard, his throat dried up and a chill went up his spine, he knew his brother’s routine, Kamel would be at the café right about now. He hoped his brother was late at work, but he couldn’t help feeling a deep foreboding.

 

A short while later, a friend who had been near the blast zone but walked away with only minor injuries, knocked at their door. Michel’s mother answered the door and let out a grief-stricken shriek alerting her daughters who were at home as well as Michel and his brother Subhi. The man at the door looked like he had just walked out of a war zone, dried blood on his face and neck, a white shirt stained red. It was Fikri, their next door neighbor. “Kamel was injured badly,” he said, “I asked the ambulance man where they were taking him and they said to the new government hospital.”

 

The family rushed to the new government hospital only to find Kamel lying on a blood-soaked sheet on a rusty old gurney in the corridor leading to the A&E, one of many victims of the bombing choking the narrow passageway, some were lying on canvas stretchers, some on sheets on the floor.

 

The hospital staff were clearly overwhelmed. Michel and Subhi went to look for the doctor on duty. They found the young Palestinian medical student on duty who told them that Kamel’s left leg was peppered with multiple small fragments of metal and there was a danger of infection.

 

“Our hospital is understaffed and we can’t spare a surgeon to operate for four to five hours to remove all the fragments. Amputation is the only option,” the doctor said in a cool emotionless monotone.

 

“My brother will not lose his leg!” Subhi exploded. “If he was British I bet you’d find a surgeon to operate,” Subhi said, holding the young doctor by the lapels of his lab coat.

 

“Subhi!” Michel said, “This is pointless, we must find an ambulance and transfer Kamel to Rothschild. They have a good German surgeon there and I bet he can operate and save Kamel’s leg, but we must move quickly!”

 

“If you move him he could lose a lot of blood and die!” The young doctor warned.

 

“Don’t worry, he’s our brother, we’ll take care of him,” Michel said.

 

Michel and Subhi scrambled to find an ambulance at the hospital willing to take the risk to transport their stricken brother. They soon found a driver who would do so for a couple of pounds. Subhi rode with the ambulance, while Michel, his mother and two sisters took a taxi which sped behind the ambulance as it wound its way up towards Rothschild.

 

The staff were ready; Michel had called them before leaving the new government hospital. The surgeon was prepping for surgery and in minutes Kamel was rushed in to the operating theatre. A couple of hours later, the surgeon, cool and unphased came up to Michel. “Mr. Bathish, your quick action and cool nerves today probably saved your brother’s leg.

 

“We removed a kilogram and half of shrapnel from the leg. Nasty things these homemade bombs.” Michel was relieved, Kamel had long been like a father to him and young Elias. Fouad was the oldest, but he was always short tempered and too serious, he had no time for little kids.

 

That evening, as Kamel regained consciousness with his family gathered around him, Michel headed out to meet a friend. Adeeb, was active in the Arab-supported resistance movement. He was older than Michel by ten years and had served in WWII first as an air force mechanic and later as a tail gunner on an Avro Lancaster bomber. It was rare for Arabs to enlist to serve in the armed forces of the hated British, but Adeeb saw this as an opportunity to learn a few things.

 

Weapons training was in short supply among the Arab fighters and Adeeb was a treasure trove of information. Michel knew Adeeb had contacts with the Arab Baath Party in Syria and that he was well placed. Michel had long tried to avoid getting involved in any kind of violent resistance, primarily due to his Christian upbringing and his respect for human life, but what happened to his brother convinced him that the Zionist threat had to be met with equal force and brutality.

 

“Mike, what a surprise,” Adeeb said opening the door. When he was younger Michel preferred the shortened Mike to Michel, which he thought too feminine. “What are you doing here… are you ok, is aunt Hanneh ill?” Adeeb said with concern.

 

“Kamel almost died today,” Michel said with bitterness and anger welling up inside him. “Those bastards bombed the whole street to get at the British police.”

 

“Yes, I heard,” Adeeb said, motioning to Michel to get inside. “Come in, have a seat, I’ll get you some tea with a little whisky.”

 

“You know why I’m here,” Michel said, his gaze firmly fixed on Adeeb, “I’m ready to do my part for the cause.”

 

Adeeb handed him the whisky, a generous double no tea, sat down in his arm chair, raised his glass in Michel’s direction and said with a wry smile: “To a free Palestine.” They both drank, then paused. Adeeb looked straight into Michel’s eyes and said: “Welcome to the fight comrade, it’s about time.”

 

(With thanks to www.britishpalestinepolice.org.uk for helping to shed light on the forensic details of the bombing)