Colonel (ret.) Nori Harel

“No. 101 squadron RAF had Messerschmitt aircraft, No. 105 had Spitfires. When they were being dumped, Weizman was my Base Commander. He said to me: “Norik, one spitfire is mine. I’ve got a friend in England, he’s a vice-marshal and he’s got his own plane.” So I chose the best spare parts and the best aircraft. And that’s the famous Spitfire No. 57. Weizman and I were friends. He got me out of the Air Force. I was supposed to join the staff but he needed me as managing director of a company in Karmel. He was “Chairman of the Board”. We travelled abroad together on business trips. He used to say to me: “Norik, you’re going to take care of that plan for as long as I live.” So I took care of it for all those years. I had retired but I still took care of the plane. “As long as I live” he said. About a month after he died the motor of the aircraft went caput. It somehow went hand in hand. We’re looking for a new motor now.”

“There were 75 of us at the reunion we held in Liberec. Perhaps there are others, probably in America. They later spread all over the world. About twenty of them live in Israel today. I was the youngest of the group. They used to call me “suckling” because they used to get coffee with bromine, I still got milk. In the morning they’d call out: “Attention suckling, your milk is here.” There were Hungarians, Poles, and Americans, even some Russians among them.”

“The Messerschmitt, the Avia, was a poor quality plane but it was important because at that time we didn’t have any fighter planes. Egyptian Dakotas were bombing Tel Aviv and we couldn’t do anything with light aircraft. The Messerschmitt, however, brought down two Dakotas over Tel Aviv. Suddenly, we had an Air Force...As the Egyptians were approaching Tel Aviv four planes commanded by Weizman bombed and stopped them. It was a lousy aircraft; many of our people were killed flying them. But that was the beginning and it was a necessity. Without those planes and other weapons, riffles and machine guns, Israel probably wouldn’t exist. We didn’t have anything.”

“My father had typhoid fever and died. I was left alone in Russia when I was twelve years old. That’s the “short story”. How did I survive? I was good at opening locks. I stole food, flour. I lived off what I stole. When the War ended in 1945 I wanted to go home. I didn’t have any form of identification, my clothes were all torn. I took the train. I jumped onto one train, then another. I travelled in one direction, then I found out I was going the wrong way and had to change direction. It took me about a month and to reach Těšín in Poland.”