The General's Son: Journey of an Israeli in Palestine (25 page)

Nader’s daughter Rania was also in Cairo with her husband, Dr. Nahid Hassaniya. Nahid, a native of Gaza, works in the U.S. as a pediatric cardiologist. He came to Cairo with a team of U.S. cardiologists to teach for a few weeks.

That night Rania joined us for dinner with members of Rotary who graciously hosted us at the Cairo City Club. The next day we went to a local distributor to pick up the equipment that we had agreed to take to Gaza. But when we arrived, we found that it had not been ordered, and that we would need to wait at least a day to receive it. I had to remind myself that things moved at a different pace in the Middle East. There is a saying in both Hebrew and Arabic about all delays having a good reason. In Hebrew it is,
“Kol Akava letova,”
and in Arabic it is,
“Kul Ta’akhir fiha khir.”
Besides, for the most part, things were going very well. Nahid
had family in Cairo, and we were invited to wait at their home in the neighborhood of Medinat al Nasser. While there we learned that a relative of Nahid’s would be marrying the famous Egyptian megastar and singer Hamada Helal, and we were invited to the wedding. But if everything went according to plan we’d be in Gaza at that time.

Nader, Nahid and I linger before leaving for Gaza
.

It was five in the evening when the equipment finally arrived. It came in a large van with a driver and guide, all provided for us by our Rotary friends in Cairo. Traveling from Cairo to Gaza freely without a guide is not permitted, and one has to have a guide who is certified by the government. Neither the guide nor the driver we had spoke any English, but they were experienced and they knew the roads and the laws.

The late hour meant we would have to travel mostly by night and I wasn’t crazy about this, but we decided not to delay any longer. We said our farewells and set off to Gaza. By midnight we had crossed the Suez Canal. We kept driving until we reached the coastal town of El-Arish, 25 miles from the Gaza border, where we spent the night.

You know you are in the Arab world when you are awakened at dawn by the call to prayer. This morning was no different, and having been so awakened I went outside to watch the waves at this rather empty and unknown corner of the Mediterranean. Not a soul was in sight, and the horizon was sharp and clear, but inside me, I felt a storm brewing. I was anxious about what the day ahead would
bring; I wanted more than anything to get to Gaza. Only a few short miles from where I sat, a tragedy of immense proportion was taking place, and if Israeli authorities had their way, I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. Rather than drive the 45 minutes from Jerusalem to Gaza, I had to travel around the world to Cairo and then from there go on this long journey overland, and still there was a serious chance that I would not be permitted to enter.

Just as Israel prohibits Israelis from entering Area A in the West Bank, they also prohibit us from entering Gaza. The difference is that Gaza is completely sealed off and there are no side roads through which to enter. The border is sealed tight by Israel and it takes months to get a permit to enter from the Israeli side. So for me this was the only chance to enter, and I had bet heavily on succeeding.

During breakfast, I realized that we were not the only ones at the hotel who were trying to reach Gaza. Practically everyone else was trying to get there, too; some had been waiting for several weeks. Apparently the border had been closed for that long, with no explanation and no sign of opening any time soon. We knew this sort of thing happened often. Indeed we feared this exact scenario because we’d been warned that there would be nothing we could do about it.

At eight in the morning we drove toward the border city of Rafah, passing through several Egyptian security checkpoints along the way. The closer we got to Rafah, the longer the soldiers seemed to take examining our passports, and the more nervous and on edge they seemed. At one point they got into a shouting match with our guide.

Finally we neared to within five kilometers. I had been much closer to Gaza many times while in Israel, but this time it was more significant—this time I was hoping to get into Gaza. We drove through Rafah in silence until we reached the border. As I looked at the gate I remembered that Dr. Suheila told me it would take a miracle for us to get in. I never believed in miracles so fervently in my life as I did at that moment. We had come such a long way, and now we were a few hundred yards from Gaza.

To the right of the gate, a platoon of Egyptian riot police sat idly in the shade. They were remnants of attempts by Gazans about six months earlier to break into Egypt to buy food. Otherwise the place was quiet and desolate. Our driver stopped the car 50 yards from the crossing and Nader and I took our bags and walked up to the gate. A young Egyptian soldier wearing a uniform several sizes too big for him and holding a long rifle told us it was closed. Nader asked to see a superior, but the soldier said, “No, you can see no one.” At that point a plainclothes intelligence officer, whom we secretly called “the weasel,” came to inquire who we were and what we wanted. Then he repeated what the young soldier had said: “The crossing is closed, and you have to leave.”

We refused to take no for an answer. Instead, we made a flurry of phone calls to our friends in Cairo, whom we hoped had connections in high places. They called us back and said there was no one to talk to. The border was closed and no one
knew why or for how long. We stayed anyway and made more phone calls. Finally the soldiers suggested that we go to the Egyptian
mukhabarat
(intelligence service) headquarters, not far from the border.

We drove through dirt roads littered with garbage to an unmarked building surrounded by a wall in the middle of nowhere. We asked the sentry to call an officer whose name had been given to us by the people at the border. He disappeared inside only to reappear a few moments later and tell us we had to leave. Nader insisted. The sentry disappeared again. After a few moments, a guy in plainclothes opened the door and said we had to leave. Nader asked to use the restroom, and the man pointed to the wall and suggested we relieve ourselves there.

Our guide and driver were in shock at the lack of courtesy displayed by these officials. They knew we had come all the way from America to help people in Gaza and that we had medical equipment to deliver. They were as appalled as we were by the fact that the Egyptians were no more helpful than the Israelis, and they took the insult personally and on behalf of all Egyptians. In their frustration they looked for ways to assist us. It was a moment of clarity for me: I could see that if Egyptians had a say in their country’s governance, as opposed to being ruled by a dictator, things would be better for the entire region. As it stood, the Egyptian government appeared to be committed, along with Israel and the U.S., to maintaining the siege on Gaza.

At last one of them said, “I used to work for the Belgian Embassy. Maybe if I call them, they will help.”

We realized we were getting nowhere, and I was concerned that if they did let us into this building, we would never come out. I was beginning to imagine what it would be like for me as an Israeli in an Egyptian jail, a thought that terrified me, so we drove away as quickly as we could. We stopped at a small hut on the edge of town that sold tea and coffee, sat in the shade, ordered tea and called Cairo again. We were conspicuous in our suits, and I felt most uncomfortable. Our friends in Cairo said they would check for us once again, and in the meantime we should wait. So we did. We sat there until it got late and we had to return to our hotel in El-Arish.

The following morning we were determined to try again and were met by the same resistance, but this time another plainclothes officer came out to talk to us. They told us he was a colonel. As he and Nader spoke, curious soldiers, policemen, “the weasel,” and a host of other onlookers who seemed to come out of nowhere surrounded us. Nader and the colonel talked for a long time. Then the colonel took our information and said he would return with an answer.

A few more hours passed and I grew nervous. The thought of the Egyptian jail came back, and I was about to tell Nader we’d better give up and head back to Cairo or we’d surely be arrested. At last we saw the colonel and his retinue heading toward us. He said there was no way we could enter Gaza. After hearing yet another passionate and compelling argument from Nader, the colonel said plainly, “I can’t let you in, the Israelis are watching us.”

What the officer was saying may or may not have been true, which is that the Israelis were preventing him from letting us enter rather than his Egyptian superiors. I had no doubt that Israel demanded the border closed, and that the Egyptian government complied. I just think the demands were made at a much higher level.

Throughout this whole ordeal, I sat quietly on the side, hoping no one would pay attention to me. Although I was carrying my U.S. passport, it stated clearly that my place of birth was Jerusalem. I obviously didn’t have an Arab name, so it wouldn’t have been easy for someone to conclude I was an Israeli. At one point the weasel noticed me and came up, trying to talk to me in his broken English. He looked at my passport and noticed the place of birth. “Falastini, Falastini” he remarked, using the Arabic for “Palestinian.” He assumed that since I was born in Jerusalem that I was Palestinian. I smiled and pretended not to understand.

Frustrated but not surprised, we finally gave up. It was hard not to feel defeated. It was obvious to me that I was up against a force that was not going to be easy to defy. My desire to do something had to be tempered with the realization that in my desire to defy Israel I was going to fail more times than succeed. I decided I was going to get in the game, to speak out and to act more than ever before. Whatever voice I had I was going to use it and whatever strength I had I was going to muster it. More than anything I needed patience, because this was gong to be a very long battle. Still we could not have done more and for me the most difficult thing was to call Suheila and let her know we were returning to Cairo. She thanked me for trying and wished us all better luck in the future.

We drove in silence back to Cairo. When we arrived, exhausted and depressed, it was after 9 p.m., and I remembered that we had been invited to the wedding of Hamada Helal, which was taking place that night. It seemed like a small silver lining, and if nothing else it might be uplifting after the disappointments of the past few days.

The wedding was—unbelievable. Inside the wedding hall, lights dangled from the ceiling like fireflies, a dim, enchanted light. All of Cairo’s elite was present—as well as all of the biggest names in Arabic music and film. I recognized practically no one, but Nader was jumping on chairs like a child to get a good look and snap pictures. The music celebrities were not just there to be seen, they performed as well. So it was an all-night marathon of Arabic music.

At one point I looked at Nader’s watch and noticed it said 3:30. I told him his watched must have stopped, and he corrected me: “It is 3:30 a.m.”

“Remember where we were when the day began?”

Nader nodded. “It was a crazy day.” He said the party would probably go on until nine or 10 a.m. and that this was typical of weddings in Egypt. We didn’t last quite that long. At 4:00 a.m., we finally gave in and went back to our hotel to get some sleep.

The following day was a Friday; Nader went to pray, and I relaxed at the hotel. I
stood on the balcony again, taking it all in. Later I phoned Mahmoud, and together we went to Cairo’s famous market, Khan El-Khalili. Then we walked around old Cairo and visited Al-Azhar, one of the oldest universities in the world, and the magnificent Al-Azhar mosque.

From Egypt, Nader and I flew back to Amman, and then I returned to Jerusalem. I took the equipment with me and left it at the Episcopal Diocese. Several months later, Bishop Suheil Dawani was able to enter Gaza and delivered it all to Al-Ahli hospital.

Three weeks after we returned home, it became clear why the border with Gaza had been closed.