Friendly Fire Alaa Aswany (no david read aloud .TXT) 📖

into one great greeting. And, truth be told, the Jordanian army, with its awe-inspiring military formations and angry black weapons, merited such enthusiasm. Its men were men, with huge, muscle-bound bodies and Arab mustaches “sturdy enough for a hawk to sit on” (without misgivings). The whole scene spoke of power, and when the first tank appeared it all became too much to bear, and everyone rushed forward to climb the steel walls, and the topknot of a tank opened and a warrior poked his head up, laughing and accepting hugs and kisses.

In a few minutes the entire column had broken ranks and the soldiers were swept up with the natives in an irresistible popular demonstration. Shoulders competed in sincere desire to be the ones to carry the heroes of Jordan and the crowds overflowed the lanes of Jenin, ending up in the square of the Great Mosque (Jenin’s largest), where the preacher, finding himself in a unprecedented situation, in no way fell short of the required ardor, organizing everyone into rows and leading a one-of-a-kind prayer, as to whose religious propriety no one gave a hoot, and then delivered a fiery sermon, whole chunks of which he would repeat in subsequent years to his children. To start, the preacher spoke of the first of the Prophet’s followers who migrated to Medina and of those who supported his cause there. Then he shifted to the concept of holy struggle in Islam. By the time he came to the verse of the Qur’an that says, “O believers, if you help God, He will help you,” things had slipped out of his control and the prayerful masses were transformed into a veritable volcano of cheering and shouts of “God is Great!”

It was a day of truth in the life of Jenin. In the evening, the enthusiasm did not flag but became somewhat calmer and the commander of the Jordanian forces, whom they called the Officer in Command (such was his rank), met with the sheikhs and leading men of Jenin to go over arrangements for the defense of the city. Those gathered there spoke of certain ancient canons situated on the high hill and the meeting broke up quickly, the sheikhs and notables emerging well-satisfied to reassure the people and bring them the glad tidings of the clear impending victory.

Thus it was, good people, that Jenin lived June 4, 1967, and on that night, the night of June 4 and 5, 1967, the people of Jenin slept, as they had to, calmly, their breathing regular. When war broke out the following day, the people received the news of the fighting with high spirits and unshakeable optimism. How could anyone be afraid? How could anyone think, even for an instant, of anything less than total victory, or of retreat? How could such a thing be, when the day was to be one of victory? The day was a day of victory—God’s hand guided ours, we would crush them—and on that day too we would destroy the Jewish State and its citizens would be scattered once more to the ends of the earth. This was a reality of scriptural certainty; if it were not, then what was the meaning of Abdel Nasser? What was the meaning of the heroes of Jordan, thirsting to rip apart the Jews? How, otherwise, were we to interpret the communiqués from Cairo about Israeli planes dropping like flies? Could all this mean any but one thing? And for a whole hour, on the morning of June 5, from nine o’clock to ten o’clock, a rosy hour granted by God in His mercy, all hearts enjoyed their victory over Israel. And what a victory! A final and absolute victory, a mighty victory from days of old that brought with it memories of Hattin and the sword of Khalid combined with the battle cries of the first Muslim conquests.* But such moments of happiness pass quickly, like dreams, and in Jenin, as the clock struck ten, the time of dismay arrived.

Turn the cooling dial all the way up, my dear sir. The sweat is starting to drip.

It all started with a foolish word, a silly rumor that no one could repeat without sarcasm but which, to the amazement of all, kept going, spreading and becoming more insistent until the whispering in the lanes of Jenin was transformed into clear and pitiful cries: “The Jordanians are withdrawing.” Until the last moment the people remained half in belief, half in denial and doubt, until the Officer in Command appeared, gathered a goodly number of the sheikhs, and informed them of the new orders: “The Jordanian army will withdraw from Jenin.” When the people asked him why, he answered curtly, “The plan of defense has changed.”

“And who will protect Jenin, sir?”

At this, the Officer in Command almost lost his temper. “I can assure you that we are not simpletons,” he said. “We know exactly what we are doing. We shall withdraw, and then an entire division of the Iraqi army will come and defend the city.”

For the second, and last, time, the Jordanians drew themselves up in their implacable ranks and shouldered their choleric weapons. Then they began their withdrawal.

We report both the positive and the negative. Thanks to the skills and long experience of the Officer in Command, the withdrawal from Jenin took place with notable alacrity, and the people of Jenin stood and watched, surrendering one and all to a deep silence that was simultaneously both restful and eloquent. The chains of the withdrawing tanks grated over the earth, creating a doleful rattling sound, and from time to time (one knows not whether to laugh or cry) a passing breeze would gust over the withdrawing forces causing one of the broad banners proclaiming “Welcome, Heroes of Jordan” to move over their heads.

Ladies and gentlemen,

I must reaffirm that my story is innocent of any ill intent or slander. If the people of Jenin did not understand—and still do not understand—why the Jordanian army withdrew