The Book Of THoTH

The biggest problem in a desert area is of course water. I was already carrying a huge backpack, weighing over twenty kilograms (about 50 pounds) with all my implements and food, and could only add to that no more than eight liters of water - two gallons. That’s enough for exactly one day when you’re sweating like a hog in the festering summer heat. So at the end of each day’s walk I had to make sure I reached either an official campsite that had water, or a National Park with working faucets. You can’t walk for long without it, carrying all that weight.

Had I really been into just walking, I could’ve covered a lot more than 200 miles in two months, but the main point of my journey was supposed to be exploration, relaxation and meditation - so when I reached a particularly beautiful spot, I stayed there for a few days. That could be done only near a water outlet. And as this is a very small country, where many people love the outdoors - there were invariably some others hiking or picnicking nearby in daytime.

But due to the security situation in this area, especially in the center of the country and very close to the Palestinian Territories, nobody camps out at night, they all go home soon after sunset. So at nightfall I always found myself completely by my lonesome in whatever wooded grove I happened to be camping at. And if there is one thing I really enjoy doing upon my Shamanic Path, it’s to be all alone at night in the forest. I’ve done it often in the past, but this time had several amazingly profound and powerful experiences.

I had a very good heavy machete with me and a few knives (which added about 12 pounds of dead weight...) I feel very confident with these, having practiced with them my whole life. The machete was mostly to clear thorns from around the campsite, as most of the vegetation in these parts is extremely prickly. If necessary, it could also serve as protection against the only wild animals you can encounter here large enough to pose a possible threat - jackals, wolfs, hyenas and the occasional stray dog (there are a few wild leopards in this country too, but they’re around the Dead Sea area, and they always avoid people like the plague, smart beasts that they are. None have been seen for the past six years.)

I wasn’t worried about people, because as a Master of Tao (which is what I modestly like to call myself...) I usually get along wonderfully with everyone. But just in case, a good machete in the hands of someone who really knows how to use it, and I do, can always serve as a powerful deterrent. I’m strongly against guns and wouldn’t bring one even if I had a permit. Of course I had a heavy walking stick with me as well.

I couldn’t really do any exploring during the day, because I couldn’t just leave my things with all those other people there. And hopping around ancient ruins while carrying the whole 60 pounds on my back would be no fun at all. What bushes are around that area, are rarely dense enough to effectively hide something, or else they have too many thorns to deal with. So when camping out in one spot for a few days, I basically sat near my stuff in the day-time, boiling coffee and meditating. But come night, when I was all alone in the forest, I always did some serious hiking throughout the area.

Around mid-August I reached a very beautiful nature preserve known as the Canada Park, having been built with donations from that country. It’s officially called the Ayalon Park, because its forested hills look over the valley of Ayalon, known from the famous quotation in the book of Joshua: "the Sun stand still in Gibeon, and the Moon in the valley of Ayalon" (Joshua 10:12).

At the entrance to the park on its south-western tip stands the Monastery of Emmaus, built on the old road to Jerusalem, on the spot where Jesus is said to have appeared to a coupe of his disciples after the crucifixion (Luke 24:13). Nearby are some ruins of Roman baths and other structures by a natural spring, and further north lies a small lake, more like a puddle at the bottom of a creek running down from the mountain in the winter. The creek is called a "wadi", meaning it dries out during the summer months - what most creeks in this area do. The Romans built a watercourse to contain it, which stands entirely intact today and in the rainy season the water still runs down it. I also knew that part of the park was planted atop a destroyed Arab village.

The moon was getting full, and visibility at night was very good. All the hills were wooded, and there was plenty of shade during the day. It was an excellent time to really scout the area. I decided to stay several days in the park and spend the night of "Tu be Av" there. This is the full moon of the 15th of the summer month of Av, traditionally known as "the day of Love", which that year fell on the 20th of August. Each night I walked for several hours around the fairly large park, climbing along the remains of the old village streets, checking out the Roman baths, and generally having a great time. I had enough food with me for a week and was in no hurry. The water faucets by my campsite were working just fine.

And this finally brings us to the main adventure of this true tale.


The Story

On the night in question, the full moon, I took my water bottle, walking stick and machete, and headed downhill towards the little lake, having decided it’s time to finally go up that old Roman watercourse all the way to the top. And of course it’s no fun at all just walking down an actual road, so I cut across the hillside to get there, through an old grove of olive and fig trees, interspersed with opuntia cactus. The moon was huge and I could see everything just like in sunlight, but silvery gray in the ambivalent shadows of the night.

The night was very warm, and I was wearing my usual minimal amount of clothing - just shorts and sandals (though I always carry a warm blanket with me on such trips, for when I stop to rest and the wind hits my sweating body.) I was slowly winding my way through the thorns, when about half-way down I noticed that I’m walking on the roofs of torn-down houses again. This must’ve been another demolished village.

As always, I stopped and took a long swig from the water bottle, then began to feel the area and come in touch with its past. Such a place for me is always filled with the spirits of the dead from bygone eras. I can feel all their ghosts in the air. They invariably scream out for Revenge, and their old hatred seeks to overwhelm me. This is exactly what I come here for, to see if I can stand up to them, alone at night in the woods.

It is then time for me to do the Chi-Quong balancing movements, after which I stand motionless, connecting myself with the Great Mother. The goal of the Shao Lin chakra system is to serve as an "antenna" between Mother Earth and Father Sky. And my first name is, in fact, Shaul.

Concentrating on this, I try to propitiate the ghosts, and convince them that Revenge is no longer our way. It will get them nowhere, much better to just forget the whole thing, rest their weary minds, and move on to better lives.

After a few minutes of this, things quiet down. The atmosphere no longer seems hostile, the energies settle into the beautiful harmony of the night again. The ruins are not so threatening any more, though definitely scary-looking in the deceptive moonlight, with pointy bits of metal rebar sticking out everywhere between the bushes. I continue walking down an old overgrown path towards the lake.

After another couple of hundred steps along the terrace, I saw a small dark splotch on the ground up ahead. Such things always stand out in the vegetation. At a distance it could’ve been anything from a dead animal to a piece of charcoal, but coming to it I saw that it’s a piece of cloth. I picked it up and felt it was made of wool. I straightened it out in my hand.

A horrible face looked up at me! The thing was a full head ski-mask, with round slits cut out for the eyes and mouth, looking every bit like a human skull. Boy, did that give me a start, suddenly seeing that thing right in front of my face. On impulse, I crumpled it up and threw it as hard as I could deep into a nearby clump of opuntia cactus, the prickly-pear from the unyielding thorns of which "nothing" can escape.

I stood there breathing hard for several seconds. Now who the HELL would lose a ski-mask here, in this horrifically hot area? It quickly came to me. Terrorists, that’s who! Real flesh-and-blood ones, not just some angry old ghosts. How easy it is to forget on such a magical night that this really is a war zone.

And then I also remembered that the Canada Park sits in fact right on the boundary of the Palestinian Territories, and most of it is on the "wrong" side. There is no fence or marker to show the actual border. This is a hotly contested area now, today! Not just in Roman times or in old wars. And these woods would be a perfect place to hide and infiltrate from at night!

It was almost funny how pathetic my machete suddenly seemed against people armed with submachine guns, who may be looking for hostages or an easy kill. I should get out of here pronto. But I'm usually not discouraged so quickly. I reasoned that I am still a Master of Tao on the Shamanic Path, here to appease the ghosts. I can outsmart these people if need be. I can hide myself in the forest at least as well as the next man.

I walked deeper into the grove, and continued going down towards the watercourse, but now crouching and taking side-steps, and with all my senses on full alert, sending out good energy and trying to sense if anybody was nearby.

Suddenly there was an unbelievable blood-curdling scream on the terrace right above me! As if a child screamed out in pain. It shattered the silence of the night ;;like an explosion.

It would be hard to describe the somersaults my heart did, as I dove down and tried to melt myself into a bush. It seemed obvious that I’ve been discovered, and "they" were coming. I braced myself and pulled out the machete.

The scream sounded again, this time much further away. Whew! I realized that I had probably just woken up a hyena - that’s exactly what their cry sounds like. Except I’ve never heard this close before. I must’ve really startled the poor thing with my elephant feet making all that noise.

Boy, what a night. The hyena continued running as fast as it could towards the far mountains, letting out a loud scream every so often, which clearly echoed across the whole valley for a few more minutes. Then it quieted down again to the night's regular sounds - the chirping crickets and the frog calls from near the water.

That was it, I had enough of that silly grove. I saw a path winding below, and crouching went down as quickly as I could towards the picnic tables around the little lake. Once here I dove under a table and then crawled into some shrubs fifty feet away. That hyena had just been a funny mishap, but the thought of actual live terrorists who could possibly be around here, still wouldn’t leave me.

I sat for about twenty minutes under those friendly bushes, smoked a couple of cigarettes whose light I carefully cupped in my palm, and generally tried to calm myself. Under a nearby table lay a couple of dozen of thick wooden skewers from a shish-kebob somebody ate here this afternoon. I took a few of those and tied them onto some long sticks. I always carry string and rope with me on these little treks, "just in case", there are countless ways for this to come in handy outdoors. I found a good fresh eucalyptus twig whose ends I tied into a crude bow. It would probably break after the first shot, but I felt a little calmer having it.

Not a sound or movement other than my own could be heard, above the incessant frog choir, very loud here by the lake. That can be helpful, because they immediately quiet down up if someone's up close, and I was careful to listen to any changes in their song in the distance.

Eventually I figured it’s "safe" to move on. I started going up the old Roman watercourse, still practicing my "stealth walking", and with the senses on full alert for any movement or unusual sound. The thick grove towering on both sides of me still seemed full of danger somehow, but after another mile or so uphill I started to relax more, and hung the bow across my shoulder.

The paved water channel finally came to an end, and there was a fully intact Roman burial cave cut into the rock-wall off to the side, with a beautifully engraved lintel. Though of course I always carry several flashlights with me at night, I decided not to explore inside this time. The air around it seemed charged with very heavy negative energy, and suddenly I decided I’d had enough of that. Who knows what may lurk in there...

Maybe it was time to start going back to the campsite. I started walking quickly up the narrow unpaved car-path which led from the caves, in what I thought was the general direction of my stuff (the moon and stars are always a great direction finder, especially if you happen to have a watch and know the exact time.) But like I mentioned, roads, paved or unpaved, are not what I’m looking for at night, so after a few hundred feet up I veered into the woods again.

Over the next small rise I came upon a clearing interspersed with what seemed to me strangely half-cut tree trunks. I got a serious case of goose-bumps running down my back from seeing them like that in the moonlight. The whole place reeked of something nasty going on there, I swear I could almost hear the screams. I stopped above the clearing and tried to do the balancing exercises, but this time it didn’t help. No, I probably had too much for that night already, I had to get back to my camp for some refueling.

I retraced my steps from the mound flanking the clearing, and then carefully made my way around it. The bushes were suddenly getting really thick as I continued going up, and getting through them became nearly impossible. I was sweating like crazy, scratched all over and covered with dirt and dried leaves. I decided to just follow the next road I come to, it was high time to leave the forest. But where is that damn road? The moon could not be seen through the heavy growth. I got a momentary feeling that I was headed the wrong way, and went in the other direction. Another few minutes through the thicket brought me to a cliff wall.

Well, if there’s one thing I don’t like doing - it’s going back the same way I came, it's boring, and especially as this time it would probably bring me right back to that awful clearing. There was nothing for it but to climb, and thankfully it was only about twenty feet, with good strong ledges and handholds. And there was a paved mountain road, right at the top of the ridge!

Whoopee! The moon’s relative position was visible now, and seeing that it’s about 4 AM I realized right away that this must be the road headed towards the main gate of the park, near my campsite. That was just great, and this would be an excellent spot for a nice rest before starting down it. The open road is a good place to rest at night, as there’s no traffic and you can see anything creeping towards you, not like in that thicket, where you have to watch out for snakes all the time.

My little forest adventure had ended, and here was my way home. I lit a cigarette and lay spread-eagled on my back on the still-warm asphalt, looking at the moon and quieting my mind, the sweat slowly drying and my body cooling off in the night breeze. I brushed the leaves off myself, and threw that silly twig bow down the hill, won’t be needing it anymore.


The Encounter

I had time to take only a few drags off the cigarette, when the sound of a motor could faintly be heard in the distance. There was no way of telling how far it could be, the way the sound echoed in that narrow valley, and I continued lying there enjoying myself. After a couple more minutes though, it became apparent that it was headed in my direction. It was getting much louder by the second now, and had the intensity of the broken and belabored moan of an old truck without a muffler, struggling with every hill. It was time to get off the middle of the road, unless I wanted to get run over.

I gathered all my stuff which I had previously spread out to dry all around me, and sat under a small fig tree by the shoulders on the side opposite the cliff. The hill continued its sharp rise behind me, the road cut around its middle. I habitually cupped the cigarette in my hand so the cherry wouldn’t show, and waited to see what crazies drive trucks around here in the middle of the night. Probably some worker going out early to the fields. I was sure they wouldn’t notice me under the low branches of that tree, they’d be watching the cliff side and the narrow road.

As the sound was almost upon me, I found it very curious that I still couldn’t see any headlights. Then they drove past. It was indeed an old covered truck, which was tugging an even older and smaller closed truck on a long chain. Neither vehicle had their lights turned on, and they were going very fast. The driver of the second truck was not looking at the road ahead of him, but to his left, what seemed like right at me under that tree as they zoomed by. I thought I saw his eye glint in the moonlight.

My heart started beating very fast again. What IS this! Now who the hell would be driving so fast with no headlights down a precipitous mountain road in the dead of night? I didn't think they were terrorists, because these would shy from the open road even at night, when it's so much easier to hide in the woods. Still, this could only be something very bad.

I held my breath and listened to the sound of the motor dying in the distance. It sure seemed like it disappeared long before it should have, as if they'd stopped some short distance ahead around a couple of bends. Straining to hear anything above the chirping crickets in the seemingly deathly quiet that ensued, I was almost sure I caught the sinister click-clack of submachine rifle lock snapping home. It’s a sound I know well, heard it for many years during my time in the infantry. It could’ve been just my imagination, but it was enough.

I quickly climbed up a couple of terraces above where I was sitting, crouching to stay low. Wiggling into a bush, I looked back on the road. Nothing. But then I realized that if somebody really saw me and they were coming back - I was still way too close to where I sat earlier. If these were some bad people, and those were really guns I heard, then they would for sure look for me here, and will find me .

There was no question in my mind that these had to’ve been criminals of some sort. Otherwise why hide like that, driving at night with no lights down this back road. Probably smuggling something, hence the trucks. But what would they be carrying? Not drugs, they wouldn’t be using those old trucks for that, shiny new vehicles in daylight would be much safer. Electrical appliances from the Territories, probably stolen or with customs duty unpaid, to be sold in Israel for a hefty profit? Could be, but then I literally froze on the spot as another idea struck me.

It must be those East-European “hookers”! Female slaves, cooped up in those trucks. This area has unfortunately become a huge clearing-house for them, it’s internationally listed as a danger zone in that regard. Poor innocent women from Ukraine, Moldova or Romania, answering ads promising big money, assured of good employment abroad, then forced to submit to some asshole Patron once there, with no passport or money and no ability to leave, often beaten, and treated worse than cattle. I knew a guy who was doing a stint of duty in the reserves down south in the Negev desert, and they caught a convoy of Bedouins with trucks carrying these women. It’s horrible stuff, and the whole operation is run by the new Russian Mafia.

This was bad, really bad. These guys would kill me out of hand without a second glance, if they thought I saw them. The guy in the Negev was with his paratroop platoon, all heavily armed, when they surprised the Bedouins. There was no struggle. But now here I alone am with just my silly machete, and I got the actual fuken Russian Mafia on my tail!

Without further ado, chills running up and down my body from what had suddenly become a very real and physical danger now, I got up scrambled up that hill as fast as I could, trying to stay in the shade of the trees. Five minutes later, bleeding from several scratches and totally out of breath, I reached its pinnacle. But the very top terrace was overgrown with thorns, so I stopped on a small ridge just a few feet below it. Checking the ground for snakes, I stretched out, partially hiding myself behind a cypress sapling.

What an incredible vista opened from here! I could see the entire narrow valley lit up silver in the moonlight, with the Roman watercourse on the bottom and hills rising higher than mine on the other side. The road was clearly visible a couple of hundred yards below me, winding a silvery serpentine trail around the mountain. The valley opened up towards the coastal plane, where city lights twinkled like friendly stars. The sea-side road thirty miles away was a diffused yellow line on the horizon.

This was an excellent observation point, I would notice anybody trying to climb up here from miles away. If I see movement - I’ll just run, there will be plenty of time to hide in the woods before they get up here, and there’s no way they could find me in there, with sunrise in another hour, and the attendant park-rangers and picnic traffic. I was safe in this spot. I relaxed, lit another cigarette, and started enjoying the view, pondering about what an incredibly close shave with death I’ve just had there.

Far down, below the road I’d just left, a small red light went on all of a sudden. It was a curious light, serrated and dim, more like a laser than one of a car’s rear lights. I found this curious, but not overly so. It was pretty far, and maybe that light was enough for them down there. Then I heard the sound of a revving motor from that direction. Straining to see, I realized that the light and sound were coming right from that nasty clearing I had such a bad vibe about earlier. The people I saw probably stopped there to fix that second truck, or maybe they were transferring their "goods" from one to the other. No wonder I felt such heavy energy in that spot, that must be their regular transfer point or something.

Well, they weren’t about to get me where I was, and in fact were probably not looking for me at all. I figured the reason I heard them stop was because they went and parked in that clearing, not far below where I was sitting on the road before. And the "gun locks" I thought I heard had probably been the truck doors being opened. It was definitely dangerous to be near such people, but far away and unobserved I could stay in this beautiful scenic spot for ever. Tomorrow I'll have to find somebody and tell them about this.

I lay there for about twenty minutes enjoying the view, no longer so careful to hide myself, but staying low on the ridge. My senses were still fully alert though, in case those guys did decide to climb up here for some reason. Or so I thought.
When suddenly...

"Police, don’t move!" - barked a voice above me to the left. I must’ve jumped two feet in the air right from my prone position, and snapped my head in that direction. Moving very briskly down the almost invisible path from the upper terrace (I should have climbed up there!) were three figures. The face of the one in front looked completely outer-space, a huge black mask with glinting eyes and a mouth contraption, and small pin-lights shining out on each side. I think I froze in mid-air for a second.

But they were moving very fast. "Do you have identification?" one shouted. The next moment I saw that the ugly mask was in fact SLS night-vision goggles with attached field-radio mike. The others were bare-headed. All three were wearing strictly civilian clothes (one had on just shorts and sandals, like myself,) but each carried two submachine-guns and other stuff I didn’t bother trying to understand. Their hands held one at the ready, three barrels pointing at me. I realized right away that these were professional Israeli commandos, on patrol of this border zone. I’ve seen plenty of their type during my many years in the paratroop reserves.

My heart was pumping like crazy from the shock, but it became obvious that I was in no danger. These guys are really out there looking for terrorists, and I’m just an ordinary citizen on a night walk out in the country... I had put both my hands high in the air immediately, and continued sitting motionless on the ground, with the three of them now towering above me.

I was fighting to catch my breath. "Yes, I have my ID right here!" Thankfully I always carry it with me, it’s a must in this country, and now you know why.

One of them was poking through my things. I quickly said, "I have a machete there", before he found it himself. He said "I hope you don’t mind if I just kick it aside for a second", and did. I said "I have another knife", and handed him my belt.

"Are you alone here?" he asked. "Yes, I’m walking the Israel Path." It was good to have an official cover story, which also happened to be true. ;;

"With just this blanket?" ;; "No, there's a campsite downhill with all my things, at the entrance to the park. Just taking a little night stroll, you know, beautiful view from here." “Do you have a gun?” ;; “No.” ;; I had all the answers down pat.

"Why did you try to run and hide from us?" another looked at me angrily. The entire sequence of what had just happened here hadn’t clicked in my mind yet, and I said "What do you mean? I never ran form you!" He didn’t reply.

My hands were still badly shaking and I was dropping things, but long before I managed to pull that ID out of its recess in the deep pocket of my water-bottle bag, I saw that they ;;knew I’m not the kind of person they’re looking for. They glanced at it perfunctorily and handed it right back.

"I’m sorry to have startled you so, sir. Just doing our job, you know," the big kindly-looking one supplied. All three had moved away from my things to the path leading towards the road.

By that time I was ready to hug these guys. "It’s absolutely no problem man, now I really feel safe, knowing you guys are out there in the night!" And I did, I did. "But sheeeet, you people! How the hell did you manage to sneak up on me like that? And me here a night walker, trying to be sensitive of every sound." I could see they were very pleased that they were able to surprise me.

I meant it, I just couldn’t see how they did it. They had to've rounded most of that mountain on their ascent to come up behind me like they did, running the whole way with all that equipment, and quiet as a mouse at that. And they weren’t even breathing hard. These dudes were baaad with a capital D, no two ways about it. Much badder than me... It was good to know we’re on the same side here.

I still wasn’t thinking very clearly, and figured I better tell them about the Russian Mafia. "Hey listen, if you’re looking for something suspicious, I just saw two trucks go by down there without lights, obviously smuggling something from the Territories!"

They didn’t react to that one at all, then one chuckled back. "Those trucks really scared me..." I started to mumble.

And only then did it finally strike me. That was no Mafia, it was these guys riding around in those things...

The whole situation suddenly started to seem funny. "Haha! Oh man. So you DID see me sitting on that road, with your SLS! You guys were watching me scram the entire way up this mountain! You knew exactly where I was the whole time, somebody below telling you where to go on the radio. Man, I’ve gotta hand it to you people, you really know how to do it. I’m awfully happy we’re on the same team."

Giving no reply to that rant, the three were quickly heading down the hill already, this time taking the path I took climbing up. "I’m sorry to have given you guys such a chase, I had no idea it was you!" I shouted to their rapidly retreating backs.

The one behind stopped and looked at me. "It’s no big deal, just this damn hill was no great fun to run up on." But I could see he was smiling, it was probably an all-around very good exercise for them. Then they melted into the trees below. Afterwards I thought I should’ve told them about the ski-mask, but it was probably theirs too...


The way back

Wow, what an amazing night it has been! But all’s well that ends well. I was in no physical danger in this forest from anybody, with these kinds of people patrolling the area and watching everything.

It really was high time to get back to the campsite though, I was still badly shaken and in need of major refueling with an urgent cup of coffee and other medicine.

I gathered my things and went up to the top terrace that they descended from. There I saw right away from the position of the huge moon low over the coastal lights on the western horizon that the camp must lay right at the bottom of the far side of this hill. I headed in that direction at a moderate pace, trying to savor the remainder of this amazing night’s air.

The barren flat top of the mount soon gave way to the forest again, as I started descending on the other side. I found myself walking down an old Roman street paved with large stones, with remains of an old village all around. I’ve been up here already a few nights earlier, but during this full moon at night’s end the ghosts were really out in force. This was probably the main and largest village of the area, up on the hill, and its erstwhile residents seemed to be very upset for having been forced to abandon it.

But nothing could phase me any more after my earlier shocks, so I continued on my way down. More slowly though, and stopping here and there for an "energy treatment", even sitting down a couple of times in a particularly powerful spot.

With my campsite really near now, I figured I could "afford" to spend a little more time here before the night runs out. The Park Authority had placed some convenient benches and stumps between the ruins. I’d sit for a couple of minutes, close my eyes and open my inner being to the ghosts, trying to appease them the way I do.

At a certain point I came to a well in a side alley, its upraised part standing like a stone altar among the ruins. Something drew me to it right away. These things are always welded shut in official Nature Preserves, so people don’t fall in. I threw a rock through the grating, but didn’t hear it hit anything - which can happen if the bottom is muddy and far below. I shone my powerful torch inside, but still couldn’t see it.

Isolated wells in the middle of nowhere have become very scary places lately, because of little Samara from that horrible recent movie, "The Ring". The little girl who was thrown alive into the well, to die an awful death. This usually hadn’t bothered me too much in real life before, and I’ve even camped next to some old wells like that on my trek, some completely open. When the ghosts start rising up out of there, I have my ways of dealing with them, as I say.

But this well was different from any I’ve encountered. As I was trying to peer down through the bars, the most immense wave of bad energy hit me all of a sudden, and I had the clearest feeling of some Great Evil in this place. Sure, it was probably all just my "imagination", but even after everything I went through earlier, it was probably my scariest moment of that whole busy night, and I started shivering.

I couldn’t handle this any more, and didn’t even bother trying to understand that energy. Taking a good grip of my things so they wouldn’t bounce, I ran as fast as the fading moonlight would allow, down the last few hundred feet to the friendly clearing of my campsite and the water faucet. It seemed like shrieks and howls were following me every step of the way.

The embers of my old fire were still warm, and I quickly piled all my remaining wood on them, which lit-up the flanks of the surrounding grove. Then I boiled a nice strong cup of coffee. A couple of bong hits later, from the trusty utensil I kept hidden nearby, and I felt much better. Soon I lay down on my little mat and tried to rest the weary mind. The sky was already bright pink above the hill with the old village behind me to the east, as I finally fell asleep.


Epilogue

To close this story, here is an eye-opening excerpt I chanced upon a couple of months after returning home. It was written by the Israeli writer Amos Keinan, who was a soldier with our forces during the Six-Day War of 1967. If I remember correctly, he was canned from his job as reporter for the Yediot newspaper for saying this, there was a big public scandal about it.

Now mind you, I’m not trying to imply that any actual killing of civilians took place there and then, such things have invariably been very sternly punished in this Army, and there are usually many eyewitnesses so it can’t be just covered up. Nor do I subscribe to many of the views presented on the website where I got this from (although it should be noted that most of the details on that particular page are true.)

But the people in those villages were definitely driven out, and in a very bad way. It’s little wonder their ghosts cry out for revenge like they do.

Here’s how Keinan describes it:

"The unit commander told us that it had been decided to blow up three villages in our sector; they were Beit-Nuba, Emmaus and Yalu. This was explained by strategic, tactical and security considerations. At noon the first bulldozer arrived and pulled down the first house at the edge of the village. Within ten minutes the house was turned into rubble. The olive trees and cypresses were all uprooted.

After the destruction of the three houses the first refugee column arrived from the direction of Ramallah. We told them to go to Beit Sura. They told us that they were driven out everywhere, forbidden to enter any village, that they were wandering like this for four days, without food, without water, some dying on the road. They asked to return to the village, and said we’d better kill them. Some had a goat, a lamb, a donkey or a camel. A father ground wheat by hand to feed his four children.

On the horizon we could see the next group arriving. The children cried. Some of our soldiers started crying too. We went to fetch them water. We stopped a car with a major, two captains and a woman. We took a jerrican of water and distributed it to the refugees. We also handed out cigarettes and candy. More soldiers burst out crying.

We asked the officers why are these refugees sent from one place to another and driven out everywhere. They told us this was good for them. Let them go. Moreover, said the officers, why do you care about the Arabs anyway. We drove them out. they go on wandering in the south like lost cattle. The weak die.

In the evening we found out we had been deceived, for in Beit-Sura too, bulldozers commenced destruction and they were forbidden to enter. We found out that not only in our sector was the border straightened out for security reasons but in all sectors. Our unit was outraged. At night we were ordered to guard the bulldozers, but the unit was so enraged that no soldier was willing to carry out such duties.

None of us understood how Jews could behave like this. The chickens and doves were buried in the rubble. The fields were turned into wasteland in front of our eyes. The children who went on crying on the road will be Fedayeen in 19 years, in the next round. Thus have we lost on that day of victory."

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