
Winston Churchill, 1941, and Hannah Senesh, 1942.
Today I’ve read to the end of two books, both about lives honed on the cutting edge of history.
So what is “history” and what does it mean to live on its edge? Let’s stipulate that history is the tale told by the transition from one view of the meaning of life to another view of life’s meaning. So it’s not just the chronicle of what happened but the story of why the participant/actors thought it happened and what they believed was at stake.
Though a realistic account must include chance events – unforeseen accidents – the whole medley becomes a scene of action when the agents line up events so that they will take their places within the story-line of human purposes.
In sum: macro-history, the big story, lines up more or less the way our personal lives do: with a story to honor, or betray, or forget, or resolutely continue to carry forward.
The book about Churchill, the British Prime Minister who rallied his country, including the US and the Allies-in-exile, to resist the Nazi project, bears the title, Churchill and the Jews: A Lifelong Friendship (2007) by historian Martin Gilbert. I have it as a house present given me by Australian philosopher David M Armstrong, when he and his wife Jenny visited us here in Bucks County. It’s been years since I looked at it, but somehow got curious to reread it now, at the same time that I’ve been reading Crash of the Heavens, a book about World War II heroine Hannah Senesh, written in 2025 by investigative journalist Douglas Century.
I never knew that Churchill, whose eloquence and unusual practical intelligence made a substantial difference to the Allied victory in World War II, had also been a consequential figure in modern Jewish history. He happened to like Jews, even as a child – not a common preference among our British friends. “Some people like Jews,” Churchill wrote in 1920, “and some do not, but no thoughtful man can doubt the fact that they are beyond all question the most formidable and the most remarkable race [sic] which has ever appeared in the world [p. 38].”
However, what cemented Britain’s commitment to an eventual “National Home” for Jews in Palestine was not their “formidable and remarkable” talent. It was acetone. Thirty thousand tons of it were needed as a key component in the production of explosives that would facilitate Britain’s supremacy on the High Seas and eventual victory in World War I. Churchill was First Lord of the Admiralty when he approached an obscure Jewish immigrant chemist named Chaim Weizmann with a request that he produce acetone in that quantity. Weizmann said he could do it, given certain assistants and equipment. Then Churchill was succeeded in the Admiralty by Arthur J. Balfour, “whom Weizmann won over to the prospect of British support for a Jewish National Home in Palestine once Turkey were defeated (p. 25).”
The end results of these unplanned coincidences would be the letter sent by Balfour in November of 1917 that “His Majesty’s Government view with favor the establishment in Palestine of a national home for the Jewish people… .”
The backtrackings and reconfigurings and post-War turning of the whole project over to the United Nations in 1948 – eventuated in a UN vote for partition – accepted by the Jewish representatives but answered with war by the five nearest Arab nations. All that occurs farther along, though detailed with clarity in Gilbert’s valuable account. I found much that I never knew in this exhaustively researched history.
* * * * *
Where does Hannah Senesh figure in the larger story? She was a young Hungarian woman, very pretty and smart, who became a Zionist when her native Hungary became unrecognizably dangerous under a floodtide of anti-semitism. She then made her way to Palestine. She joined a Kibbutz in Palestine, learned Hebrew and, with her obvious talents and strength of purpose, was recruited to join a contingent of Jewish volunteers under the command of the British authorities, to be parachuted behind Nazi lines in Eastern Europe. Their mission was to aid downed Allied pilots and rescue any Jews who’d somehow managed to escape the Nazi mass murder regime.
In carrying out her task, Hannah fell into enemy hands, was tortured, became a fellow-prisoner inspiring to other captives and finally, in the last year of the War, was shot dead by her captors. She’d been a gifted poet and writer, a young woman of singular dedication and focus, and she is now a national heroine in Israel.
As the two histories unfolded for me, I began to locate members of my own family in some of the incidents recounted. My first cousin served in one of the units that made up the British component of the Italian campaign. Another cousin, his sister, was smuggling arms from the British headquarters in Cairo where she worked as a young secretary. My mother’s cousin was manufacturing bullets in a factory that was literally underground – the noise of production masked by the old-fashioned washing machine placed above its entrance. The British army unit that was stationed nearby took its weekly laundry to that noisy machine.
Here’s what Hannah Senesh wrote to her brother, who’d arrived in Palestine knowing nothing of her assignment. Her note was written before what would be her final mission.
Will you understand? … Will you sense that I had no choice, that I had to do this? There are events that render one’s life meaningless, a worthless plaything, or else compel one to action, even if it means sacrificing one’s life . …
What moral can one draw from these interwoven evidences of world-historical lives? Did lives like these unfold with a Divine Scriptwriter writing them out? Or does Chance roll the dice?
Even to have an opinion, one would need to stand above these events, which I am quite unable to do.
I suspect that God is involved, but with a component of freedom in the mix as well. Once freedom is included, no one – perhaps not even God – can predict
how the story will come out.
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