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October 3, 2008
Memoirs from Mediterranean
The winter of 1990 – Abie Nathan, the Voice of Peace and the experience of a lifetime.
DAVID J. LITVAK
The first time I met the late Abie Nathan, the flamboyant owner of Kol Hashalom (The Voice of Peace), an Israeli pirate radio station that used to broadcast "from somewhere in the Mediterranean." was in the Israeli port of Ashdod. We exchanged a few polite words and that was all. Nathan, who passed away this August, had seen countless Voice of Peace disc jockeys come and go and I was just another one of them.
The only thing noteworthy about me was that I was Canadian. Most of Nathan's DJs were British, but we were all there for the same reason – for the excitement and novelty of broadcasting on a pirate radio station and to get some broadcasting experience. I also liked the idea of promoting peace through music. But there was one thing that we all learned very quickly: the Voice of Peace was really the voice of Nathan. And I learned that the best way to remain on his good side was to remain invisible.
In fact, the second time I met Nathan was when we were docked in the Israeli port of Haifa for 10 days for extensive repairs to the ship. At the time, Nathan was serving a prison sentence for meeting with PLO Chairman Yasser Arafat (which was illegal at the time). He was permitted, however, to leave the prison during the day to supervise the repairs taking place. Nathan boarded the ship and acted like a nervous parent. He wanted to ensure that there were no problems with the station's broadcasting capabilities. At one point, he wanted a volunteer to climb up a mast and make some adjustments to the ship's transmitter. I respectfully declined and, after that, I made a mental note to myself to be scarce whenever Nathan was around. Otherwise, he might find some other "interesting task" for me to do. This also ensured that I stayed out of range of Nathan's short temper. As it was, an Israeli DJ and I almost created an incident once when we spoke to an Israeli reporter about the Voice of Peace (VOP). VOP DJs, I learned, were not allowed to speak to reporters. Only Nathan was allowed to talk to the press. It was, after all, his ship and the VOP revolved around Nathan and his activities. (A sticker on the door of the Tel Aviv production studio best summed up what we all knew – Abie Nathan is the Voice of Peace.)
Nathan was a legendary peace activist and he initially gained notoriety by flying a biplane to Egypt before the 1967 Six Day War. In 1973, he founded the Voice of Peace radio station, purchased a 570-ton freighter and converted it into a radio station by adding a transmitter, broadcasting and production studios, state-of-the-art equipment and an extensive music library. He anchored the ship off the coast of Tel Aviv, just outside of Israeli territorial waters, and, aside from broadcasting English-language and some Hebrew-language programs 24 hours a day, he used the ship to promote missions of goodwill by sailing it to Lebanon and Cyprus. He also used the ship to support his political activities. For example, when he was in jail for meeting Arafat, special messages were broadcast several times a day, informing the listening public that Nathan was still in prison. He also introduced two hours a night of Arabic music to the VOP's schedule just prior to his second meeting with Arafat.
The Voice of Peace, which became one of Israel's most popular radio stations in the 1970s, also featured a one-hour phone-in program called Ma La'asot? Shalom (What to do? Make-Peace) musical programs like The Peace Program and Nathan's sermonettes about peace, love and understanding that were broadcast daily. He also participated (when he wasn't in jail) in VOP programs that originated from the Tel Aviv studios and visited the ship when it was docked in Haifa or Ashdod and kept in constant contact with the ship.
Nathan kept a tight reign and had many restrictions for us lowly disc jockeys. DJs weren't allowed to receive mail or phone calls while aboard, weren't allowed to make dedications to listeners or talk to reporters, were only allowed to announce their names at the beginning and end of each program and were expected to play music that Nathan liked, particularly Perry Como and Edith Piaf. He also didn't like "wailing guitars" on the The Peace Program.
I flaunted most of these restrictions with glee. I made unofficial dedications to my friends on shore and to my friends on board and I always played Como or Piaf (two singers who weren't exactly my favorites) near the end of The Twilight Time Program (which featured golden oldies from the 1940s and '50s). That way, I could fade them out before the show ended. I also played U2 (one of my favorite bands) on the Peace show, which got me into constant trouble with the office (the VOP, a pirate radio station, actually had an office in Tel Aviv). First, I played "Sunday Bloody Sunday," which they said was too raucous, then I played "Pride" (a song about Martin Luther King) and they said that was also inappropriate and finally they acquiesced when I played a mellow U2 song called "40" (no wailing guitars). So I had won a small victory. But, ultimately, I realized that I had to play by Nathan's rules. And, despite some of the challenges and restrictions, being a DJ on Nathan's peace ship provided me with a wealth of good memories that will last a lifetime.
For example, on several occasions, while I was lounging on the deck of the VOP and gazing at the aqua blue of the Mediterranean, I spotted schools of dolphins swimming by in formation. On another occasion, an Israeli naval gunboat cruised by and the Israeli sailors yelled out song requests to us. Of course, we played them. You don't want to mess with the Israeli navy (actually, I wasn't even aware Israel had a navy up until that point). And, on Saturday afternoons, when the seas were calm, Israeli sailboats and yachts would gracefully glide by us.
I also met some eclectic and talented broadcasters, like Kenny Page (who at one time was a famous broadcaster in Scotland), longtime VOP broadcaster and recluse John MacDonald and Macllelan Hackney, a very talented DJ from Texas, Sagi Levek, an Israeli engineer, Michael Howard, a Jewish DJ from London, and Richard Harding, a great bloke from England. During Chanukah, the other Jewish DJs and aboard the VOP lit the menorah together and sang holiday songs with the waves of the Mediterranean Sea lapping in the background. It was my first nautical Chanukah. On New Year's Eve, all the VOP DJs on board broadcast live together and counted down the end of 1990 and sang "Happy Birthday" to Donna Summer (who was born on Dec. 31), while sipping on a Macabee beer.
Not only was I a DJ on the VOP, but, from time to time, guys like me were recruited to be deckhands. In fact, one time I helped my friend Nick, a deckhand from Manchester (who called me a Canippy, a Canadian hippy), guide and unravel the ship's anchor chain and, during the times that we sailed to the Israeli ports of Ashdod and Haifa to replenish our fuel and water, the DJs on board helped the ship dock. It made all of us feel like we were sailors.
Being a DJ aboard Nathan's peace ship was a grand adventure. And Nathan's concept of bringing the people of the Middle East together through music was a noble experiment. Ultimately, however, the Voice of Peace reflected the voice and the vision of only one man – Nathan.
When I heard that Nathan had sunk the peace ship in the Mediterranean in 1993, I wasn't surprised. Despite my mixed feelings about him and the challenges of being a DJ on his ship, I and countless other neophyte DJs around the world had the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to broadcast on a swashbuckling pirate radio station. May he and his station rest in peace.
David J. Litvak is a Vancouver writer. His experiences as a Canadian aboard the Voice of Peace will appear in a Canadian travel anthology from Summit Studios called I Learned Kung Fu from a Bear Cub.
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