Danger Frontier: The Other Port

The following program is from NET, the National Educational Television Network. The Israeli Army was created in 1948 in the midst of battles against the invading Arabs. It won that war and defeated the Arab armies, but unlike other armies, it cannot lay down its arms. 18 years after the birth of Israel, Arab preparations to crush Israel are unabated.

Every day, by speeches, articles and armed attacks, the Arabs remind Israel of their unchanging intention. The Arabs outnumber the Israelis 40 to 1. They can lose many battles and survive. Israel can only lose once. And so in Israel, everyone is a soldier, serving one month with 11 months off to work and live his life. In time of trouble, every able-bodied man is needed, and in Israel, trouble is never further away than the nearest frontier. In every direction, the enemy. Israel is a small country, less than 8,000 square miles. On the map, it is such a tiny narrow strip that there is barely enough room on it for its name. With its boundaries of 590 miles, Israel is entirely surrounded by the Arab crescent.

Lebanon, Syria, Jordan, Egypt, and Saudi Arabia, all avowed enemies of the young state. In the north, Israel's frontiers touch both Lebanon and Syria. Piles of stones in the hills of Galilee mark the Lebanese borderline. It is a harmless-looking little sign, hardly legible, but the bullet holes tell a different story. Danger, frontier. All around the frontier there are ruins. Some are recent dating back to the war of 1948. Piles is abandoned by their owners who fled this area when the war broke out. Others date much further back, relics of other wars waged centuries ago. The old and the new are constantly intermingled in Israel. This synagogue, in the village of Baram, was destroyed by the Romans 18 centuries ago.

Now, a new settlement is growing in this place. One whose people are determined to stand firm against the enemy. They are luckier than most frontier settlements. Their border with Lebanon is quieter than the other borders. The route along the Lebanese frontier is not heavily guarded. Lebanese farmers cultivate their meager fields. If they see the Israelis working a few yards away, they do nothing to acknowledge it. From time to time, Lebanese children timidly approach the edge of the road and look at the foreign land. So close and yet so far. Sometimes they talk a little, ask for cigarettes. This relatively friendly scene cannot possibly happen on any other border of Israel. Lebanon with its high percentage of Christians and its French political and cultural inheritance is less hostile to Israel than the other Arab countries.

The frontier with Syria just a few miles away is a very troubled one. At first glance, it does not look at. It is a place of peaceful landscape of profound silence and biblical scenery, camels and cattle graze calmly just as they have for centuries. This cradle of both Judaism and Christianity seems to rest in other peace. Again, reality intrudes in the form of a sign. Through binoculars, one can distinguish the spot where the Syrians and to a lesser degree, the Lebanese, have begun to divert the waters of the Jordan River. Two of the three tributaries of the Jordan, the Banyas and the Hasbani rivers, flow in Arab territories. Only the River Dham is in Israel. The three merge near the Israeli settlement of Metullah, where the river Jordan begins.

The Jordan is 253 miles long, but only 70 miles of these waters flow in Israel. The rest belong to Syria and Jordan. Diverting the two tributaries, as the Arabs are in the process of doing, would mean that Lebanon and Syria would get water which they hardly need. The Kingdom of Jordan, which does need water, is badly as Israel, is doing its own work of diversion on the River Yarmuk, and will not get substantial benefits from the work of Syria and Lebanon. What it amounts to then is that the diversion of the Jordan's tributaries will have one tangible effect. Israel's water will be cut off. Israel is determined to fight for this water, essential to her very life. For the moment, the diversion work is slow, and the danger to Israel is not imminent. And so, for now at least, the Jordan flows easily, majestically, just as it did at the time of Joshua.

The people of Israel love this place. Youngsters come every day from all parts of the country as if to convince themselves that the water is still there. It is a pilgrimage to the source of their life which they feel may be in danger. The signpost at the edge of the road indicates the road to Noterra, on the border of Syria. This land, once malaria-infested swamps, has been converted into one of the most fertile lands in Israel. Noterra is hard to find on the map. It is a small village inhabited by soldiers who work the land while they guard the frontiers. Concrete walls protect the barracks from enemy bullets. It is the only way to survive that close to the Syrian border.

Even the walls are not always sufficient. And yet, a few yards from the enemy life goes on. The youngsters chat on the lawn, girls fetch the water, and at harvest time everyone lends a hand in the fields. The Syrian village is right there on the mountain slope. Nothing much seems to be happening, but many in attack has been launched from those silent houses.

In the last two years there had been more than 1,500 armed attacks in this region. For the people of Noterra, tending the sheep with a gun has become a way of life. No matter how long it takes, no matter how long it takes, no matter how long it takes. The kibbutz of Engave, on the eastern bank of the Sea of Galilee, was entirely destroyed during the war. The kibbutz of Engave, on the eastern bank of the Sea of Galilee, was entirely destroyed during the war and then rebuilt.

Engave is bordered by the water on one side and by enemy territory on the other. The Syrians live in the hills. The kibbutz is in the valley. This makes for an easy target. Shots are heard often in this area. They are accurate, too. Following the border to the south, the settlement of Magal faces another border and another enemy, Jordan. If Magal has any advantage over Engave, it is because it is situated on the hillsides and is slightly less exposed to attacks. But attacks have been launched over and over again and here to the members of Magal spend half their time cultivating their fields, the other half digging bunkers and trenches. They stand guard day and night and facing them the Jordanians, hiding, moving quietly in the shadows, attacking unpredictably.

Sometimes at night, other times in broad daylight, and always they claim by error. A few yards away, a Jordanian farmer plows his land bordering on the Israeli road. This part of Israel is only about 12 miles wide, so that for Israeli jet pilots, one second of distraction may mean an international incident or a fatal battle. The nearness of Israel to the Arab states is best illustrated in Jerusalem. A thin barrier separates Jordan and Israel. It takes a fraction of a minute across to Jordan or back to Israel.

The mandalongate is the only opening in the 590 mile long frontier. This gate is named after the man who owned the building until 1948. When the Arab legions attacked Jerusalem, its tanks were stopped there. The house was shelled repeatedly from the Arab lines and virtually destroyed, but it was never taken. The armistice left half the ruins of the house in Israel territory and the other half in the nomans land between Israel and Jordan. It is now the Israeli checkpoint Charlie, open only to pilgrims and members of the United Nations. The city of Jerusalem is divided between Israel and Jordan. This street is in Israel, on the other side of the wall, Jordan. According to the partition plan voted to the UN in 1947, Jerusalem was to be an international zone surrounded by Arab territories. But a few weeks after the UN vote, even before Israel had declared itself a state, Arabs from Palestine and from the neighboring states had begun guerrilla warfare.

Blocking the main highway to Jerusalem, they had cut the city off from the rest of the country. It was after months of starvation in the city that the Burma road was secretly built, the siege was lifted and Jerusalem was liberated. The new demarcation line dividing Jerusalem in two is the result of the armistice agreements of 1949. In the streets right near the border, concrete gates have been erected to ward off bullets. Defense walls and sandbags are everywhere. It is not an attractive neighborhood. Only the poor live here now. Those who had a little money have moved away from the border. Those who stayed have had to learn to live with poverty and danger. The children of this place grew up with the wall. For them it is a plaything, something to hide behind, something to bounce a ball against, to peek through to a foreign land. Growing up, two want to peek at foreign territories. From the reservoir turned observation tower tourists look at Jordan.

The Jordanian centuries do not react very sharply. They are used to it. The old city of Jerusalem is in the hands of Jordan. And so it is only from far away that tourists in Israel can catch a glimpse of the holy places of Bethlehem, the gardens of Guestemini, the Mosque of Omar. But there is no real safe spot near any of the frontiers, and the roads in Jerusalem are not immune.

An Israeli truck hit by a mine is an everyday event. The driver was killed. The vehicle was crumpled beyond repair. As usual, a military commission inquires into the matter and UN experts are dispatched to the scene. The facts are noted, taken down and analyzed. They finally end up in some file or other. The remains of the truck are towed away. Other things cannot be filed away that neatly, and are not as easily replaceable as a truck.

This is all that is left of the Kibbutz Ramachal at the southern outpost of Jerusalem. It was entirely destroyed during the war. A few people still live there, but the ruins, the uncut fields, the trenches, the shell houses, and the abandoned farm equipment are a sad reminder of what might have been. The frontier with Jordan is the longest, 329 miles. It stretches through the northern negative to the Dead Sea and then down to Elat on the Red Sea. Because of the strange way the Israel-Jordan frontier has been designed, it takes the Israeli traveler at least three times longer to descend from Jerusalem to the Dead Sea than it should. But it's an extraordinary road, a deep descent through bizarre and moonlight landscape, through eerie rocks and multi-colored sand.

Down below, at 1,300 feet below sea level, is the lowest point on the surface of the earth. And right at the site of Sodom and Gamara, the cities destroyed for their sins, the Dead Sea provides one of the richest sources of life-giving minerals in the world. Before 1948, the Palestine Padash Company operated works at both ends of the sea. The northern part was destroyed during the war. The southern works were taken over in 1952 by a new Israeli company. Today it yields vast amounts of minerals, bromines and chlorides, and most important of all, Padash, an essential fertilizer. Only a quarter of the Dead Sea surface belongs to Israel. These boats, once used as freighters, now mark the demarcation line between Israel and Jordan. But Israel is making the best of the quarter of the sea assigned to her. Beside the minerals and the growing industry, it is a famous tourist spot.

The water is pleasant and so saturated with minerals that one can literally lie on top of it and stay afloat. Tourists arrive every day to look at the strange water and to see the place where God's fury has been vented. Not very far away, according to the legend, stands Lot's wife, who turned into a pillar of salt when she disobeyed the Lord and looked back at burning Sodom. It is hot here. The temperature can go as high as 130 degrees. Sometimes when the sun is particularly harsh, the story of Sodom and Gomorrah comes alive for the poor tourist. In the little diner called Lot's Wife's Inn, weary travelers can eat, rest, and wonder as they recount the biblical legends of this place.

Another biblical town and another frontier lies on the Mediterranean. It's the city of Gaza, or what is now known as the Gaza Strip. This is the frontier with Egypt for the last nine years under UN supervision. Gaza is now inhabited by Arab refugees who fled there during the war. Their number varies from 200,000 to 400,000 depending on where the statistics come from. Israel tends to minimize the figure while Egypt tends to exaggerate it. Until the Sinai campaign of 1956, this strip was occupied by Egypt and was used as a base for Egyptian raids against Israel. With a capture and then the withdrawal of the Israeli forces from Gaza, the United Nations Emergency Force took control of the evacuated sector.

It is doubtful whether Egypt regards the transference of these regions to the control of the UN forces as a surrender of her sovereignty in this area. But even now, nine years later, units of the UN Emergency Forces are still stationed here and the border has become much calmer. Life is no great fun for the UN soldiers serving in the area. No civilian is allowed within 1,500 feet of the border. They may talk to no one but each other. Mostly they just stand and watch. But because of these soldiers, the Gaza Strip occupies much less space in the international press than it used to and their presence makes life possible in the neighboring Israeli communities. Nahal Oz is two miles away from the Gaza border. Here life goes on as if there were no border, no bullets and no Arabs.

But the young couple is well aware that their life in the Kibbutz so close to Egypt means danger and hardship. Like all other members of the border settlements, it's a life they are taking on willingly and their wedding is a happy one. Close to the borders between Israeli settlements in the Arab states live most of Israel's Arab population.

This is the domain of Sheikh Suleiman, the only Sheikh reigning in Israel. He remained in the country during the war and was granted the same rights granted to all other Israeli citizens. The Sheikh lives with his many wives and many children. All told he has 36 of the first and over 100 of the latter. He takes great pride in remembering the names of each of his 70 sons. As for the girls, he makes sure their names are all registered in the record books. Basically, Sheikh Suleiman needs the same sort of life he led before the war of 1948, holding court, passing the time of day on his terrace, sipping black coffee, and enjoying his stature and importance among his entourage. Other Israeli Arabs are not so lucky. The Arab defeat following the unsuccessful invasion of Israel in 1948 caused a profound upheaval in their lives.

Displaced, disoriented, the Arabs who stayed on suffered a tremendous mental and moral shock. The whole fabric of their society was torn violently apart. The end of 1965, Israel's Arab population numbered more than 300,000. The Israeli government has worked hard to integrate its Arab citizens into the life of the state. Arabic is an official language of the country and a medium of instruction in Arab schools. The Arab community is represented in parliament. They share in the educational, health and welfare services. But the Arabs of Israel are linked to the neighboring states by close family ties, as well as by strong religious and cultural bonds, and their conflict between loyalty to Israel and loyalty to the Arab states is almost insoluble. They are constantly subject to preachings of hatred from the Arab countries, with open threats to anyone who is remiss in his devotion to the Arab cause.

The inevitable result has been a state of tension in these areas, sometimes rising, sometimes falling, but always in evidence, as their population is torn by conflicting hopes and fears. Israel is doing what it can to relax these tensions. In the last years, in spite of the risks involved, new regulations have made it possible for most Arabs to travel freely to all parts of the country. Once again, there is the familiar sight of the Arab on his camel roaming through the Negev desert, just like the nomads of many centuries ago. The Negev has always been a major thoroughfare, and served as a bridge between the Mediterranean and the Red Sea, between Egypt and Adam. It was not always a desert, once the Negev was a fertile and productive region of both agriculture and industry.

It flourished under the early Israelis, and later under the Romans and the Byzantines, who made the Negev an important strategic center. It was not until the Arab invasion in the 7th century that the area declined and withered, the desert took over, and the dry millennium began. The Negev comprises more than half of Israel's total territory. It was imperative for her to revive the region. The first three settlements were set up in 1943. For years later, there were 30. Today, beside scores of additional settlements, there are six new Negev cities, with Bersheva at the north and a lot to the south. The new road from Bersheva to a lot is called the Dry Suez Canal. It helps to connect the Mediterranean to the Red Sea. It is not altogether a safe road. The signs of error of attacks are evident, but the traffic grows as the region develops. There are still only two garages on the way. This one is about 60 miles away from Halat, 30 miles from Egypt, and less than a mile from Jordan.

It's a lonely place, and the two men who run it work and sleep with a gun at their sides. For the next 60 miles, stretches the desert. Right down at its tip is Halat, Israel's port on the Red Sea.

20 years ago, Halat was a deserted place, almost inaccessible. A lonely British post was assigned to guard the frontiers and to oversee the traffic between the Suez Canal Zone in Egypt and the eastern part of Transjordan. The first Israeli flag to fly over the Red Sea in 2000 years went up on the shores of Halat, March 10, 1949. Four countries join at this spot, Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Israel, and Jordan. It is a sparsely populated region with only two sizable centers. Halat in Israel and Akhaba in Jordan. Both cities face each other directly across the Gulf with only three miles between them, and yet this is one of the commerce of all of Israel's frontiers. Let's take a look at the two cities.

The first settlers arrived in 1950. From the beginning, the plan was to build, not a village, or a caboose, but a city. In July 1951, the first apartment house was built, but it was not until the Sinai campaign of 1956, which opened the Red Sea to Israeli shipping, that Halat gained real momentum.

From 926 people in 1956, the population grew to 10,000 in 1963. Modern houses were built on the hill slopes. Culture centers were erected, even a stadium was constructed. Shops and supermarkets appeared. It became a real city. Two desalination plants were put up. One experimental looking for cheaper, better ways to solve the water problem by desalination of sea water. The other built in 1964 actually provides a lot with water both for drinking and for irrigation.

Bushes and trees are now a common sight in Halat. The state builds all the houses and provides living quarters, refrigerators, air conditioners, and a small sum of money to anyone under 45 years of age who wants to come and settle in Halat. The Doton family arrived three years ago. Mrs. Doton, who was born in Europe, spends a lot of her time in her modern kitchen just like any other mother with three growing children. Mr. Doton is a travel agent, but his real love is his weekly information paper for tourists, which he hopes will be the city's first newspaper. The children all go to school, already education is available through high school.

They will study and grow up here in this expanding city in an atmosphere of Israeli pioneering and of Western culture. Western influence is much less prominent on the other side of the Gulf. Three miles away Aqaba is an oriental city. The citizens of Aqaba are Muslims, but their origins are varied. Some are Bedouins, other Negroes, some are descendants of the Turkish soldiers who used to be stationed there. Aqaba served as a useful operation base for the British during World War I. It became Jordanian in 1924. In spite of the European and American products exhibited in Aqaba's market, the city is all Arabic.

The imported goods on the shelves are not for the average citizen. Only the Europeans working in Aqaba can afford them. The Arab of Aqaba is still poor. The bountiful shops, the teeming bazaars in the middle of the city are not within everyone's means. On the outskirts of the city, there is abject poverty. The inhabitants are Bedouins who have drifted there from the desert or refugees from the Palestinian war. There is nothing here except dust, heat and idleness, tin huts and a few goats. The harsh sun seems even harsher in this barren place.

Only down to the bay does one find relief, in a miniature oasis of palm trees. In their shade, enterprising women have managed to cultivate gardens in which some vegetables grow. Yet Aqaba is developing, though not as fast as Jordan would like it to. Because of various problems with foreign construction firms, the initial plans for the city had to be redrawn. So far, Aqaba has only two new streets, with street lighting yet to come. The modern houses all belong to Europeans who work in the port.

The new luxury hotel is also for foreigners. It is the only one in the city and it is expensive. Its clientele is mostly European, under water divers and contractors who have temporary business in town. Few local Arabs can afford even a meal there. Aqaba is counting on tourism and looks forward to the opening of an airport which will facilitate the arrival of travelers. The planning of the city has now been taken over by a German firm. It is assigned to carry out a general development plan of streets, houses and parks. The development work is slow, but it is progressing. Aqaba is Jordan's only port. The Jordanians are willing to work hard to see it grow.

Aqaba is the only one in the city. Aqaba is the only one in the city. Another German company, the Duisburg firm, has sent 26 of its specialists to Aqaba to help develop the port. New peers are being built. The most recent one, 195 yards long.

The only exportable item that Jordan has is phosphate. The main customers are India, Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia. They buy about 300,000 tons a year. Jordan has to import almost everything, and 90% of the port activity is in imports. One third of the import is food alone, meat, rice and flour. All consumer goods are brought in from abroad.

All in coming cargo even delicate electrical appliances like radios, refrigerators and washing machines live for weeks in the open air. It seldom rains, the storage space is cheap, and there's a lot of it. Trucks are available for transportation into the hinterland. Sometimes 200 trucks leave on a journey of several days. It is not the west's idea of efficiency, neither is the afternoon siesta on the piers. It is strictly eastern style.

The last preparation before the 250 mile trip. The loaded trucks are ready to go. Soon they will turn east to the only road which connects Akaba with Aman, the capital. And across the Gulf, the other port, a lot. A Swiss firm has been hired to plan construction for the city's second port. Ships up to 30,000 tons will be able to tie up with the new piers of a lot.

New installations for handling phosphates, patech and cement are being built. Up to now the handling of cargo and elat was limited to 100 ships with a turnover of a quarter of a million tons a year. By 1971 the planners expect to surpass the million ton mark. Israel exports through elat, copper cement, patech, phosphates and bromines as well as consumer goods like cars and refrigerators. It imports coffee, copper, rubber, leather, asbestos, meat and rice. The most important import item in elat is oil. Israel can produce only a fifth of its need. The rest must be brought in. From these installations the oil is pumped through a 16 inch pipeline all the way through the negative to the refineries in Haifa. Since sabotaging a pipeline is an easy matter, the pipes are sunk into the ground.

By air elat is linked to the rest of Israel by daily commercial transport. Five times a day the DC-3 sets its nose to the north after making a wide sweep over the bay. The tower is always in contact with Tel Aviv. This tower will soon be replaced by a more modern one. This industry and tourism play a big part in elat's plans for the future. A new jet airport will be built six miles to the north. To give the city direct access to international routes. For the arriving tourist elat already provides ample opportunities for fun and spending money. Fine hotels, museums, theatres and nightclubs. One of the most inviting aspects of elat is the sea itself.

Marvellously clear it reveals a breathtaking underwater world. It is a deep sea divers paradise. For those who prefer to keep dry there are boats with glass bottoms through which beautiful coral reefs. An unusual fish can be seen floating by. Only the boatman notices the Israeli patrol boat. A reminder that enemy territory is only minutes away. A few minutes from here is the sight of the mines from which King Solomon extracted copper.

The metal that was so important in his legendary trading between elat and the Kingdom of Ophir. Twenty centuries later, Israel again works the same hills. At the copper works at Timna, 15,000 tons of ore are processed each day. A capacity soon to be doubled.

The semi-precious stones that are a byproduct of copper mining are also playing a part in elat's economy. In this factory, 30 stone cutters and silversmiths process the stone. Green malachite. These stones are cut, processed and then sold as jewelry in Israel and abroad. The workers are mostly from Tunisia and Morocco, people who are known for their skill in delicate precision work. Most of these workers have immigrated to Israel in the last five or ten years. In elat, they found an opportunity to begin a new life in a new city.

The local jewelry store is run by Carmen, the daughter of an Algerian family who has only recently settled in the area. The faces in the bust that brings the mine workers back to Elat reflect their many origins. All immigrants who were helped by the government to settle in the city. Elat needs a labor force and each of the workers gets a better salary here than he would have received in any city in the north. Around five in the afternoon, the last worker gets home.

Across the Gulf, in Nakaba, the end of the afternoon is spent in small cafes and pool rooms. Men, young and old, play billiards, checkers or cards. No woman is ever seen here. A woman's place is at home. This is a man's world. A woman's place is at home. In Nakaba, everything ends with a setting sun.

The club is empty and slowly the street activity dwindles and disappears. Another day has ended, indistinguishable from the one before or the one after. In the evening, Elat prepares for the second half of the day. The supermarkets are open late. In spite of the constant arrival of newcomers, there is a shortage of labor. Many married women work and they do their shopping in the evenings. The money is good in Elat and there is a great deal one can buy with it.

Families often do their shopping together. Everyone knows everyone else. It's a sort of informal meeting place. There are other more formal places to go. In the cinema, in the center of town, every now and then, there is a social event. This time, it is a theatrical group from Tel Aviv. The audience is from Elat and from the Kibbutz Yopvata, 40 miles away. All performances in this hall are received with enthusiasm. There is no competition. Television is a long way off and people are thirsty for entertainment and culture. The play, a Hebrew version of Tennessee Williams The Glassman Agri. The curtain is just about to go up.

Other people spend their evenings dancing. This small dark underground room is called The End of the World and it's packed every night. And there is a representative, the and so it goes past midnight into the next day. Tomorrow there will be more hard work,

but they don't mind. They believe in their future and in the future of their city and they are willing to work for it. But how safe is their future? It is said that Arabs never forget nor forgive. These Arabs feel that they have been driven away from their homes and even as they work to build their city they drill for a future war. They pass on in their fields to the coming generation, even in school the children are not allowed to forget who the enemy is. The people of Elat have no illusions, but as long as they can they try to live their lives as productively and as normally as possible. Elat, Aqaba.

Two cities three miles apart. They have different cultures, different histories, different ways of life. But in one way they are alike. They build and grow. Their people work hard with a sense of purpose. They create new industries, new products. They pave roads and build new ports through which they seek to trade with the rest of the world. On the surface at least it seems like a competitive, healthy, peaceful situation. The awesome red mountains and the clear sea create a tranquility which makes the wars of

men seem out of place. But the peace here is based on fragile factors. It is peace based on temporary accommodation. How temporary is this accommodation? How long will the desire to build overcome the passion to destroy? No one in Israel knows. At the foot of the mountain over the calm water there is the sign Israelis have come to look upon as part of their lives. Danger. Frontier. This is NET, the National Educational Television Network.