As in the days of Ihdis the Egyptians attacked with artillery, with tanks, and with an infantry assault. The attack failed. In the evening we were sent out to collect the booty, to test the enemy positions, and to gather in the weapons of the dead left in the field.
But the hope of opening the route to the Negev was disappointed. After the Egyptians had failed to recapture the village, they occupied - in
violation of the ceasefire conditions - the hill to its south. Karatiyya
remained in our hands. But the Negev was still cut off.
We stayed a few more days in Sawafir, ready to react immediately to any breach of the ceasefire by the enemy. But our opponent, who had suffered enormous losses, sorted out his own positions and kept quiet.
For the first time we could think about home. For eleven days that was a remote, forgotten world. Suddenly we remembered: we have a home. We have a family. We have parents.
19 July 1948
Sawafir
For our parents
The guns are silent and the soldiers crawl out of their trenches. The desire is strong to send a few words to the parents - your own parents and the parents of friends, to the parents of all the thousands of sol-diers at the front who have survived the storms of the battle on the southern front:
* * *
Your son returns for a short period of leave. He is tired and uncom-municative. And you feel that something is standing between you and him which you have no part in.
You would so dearly like to understand it. To have a role to play in everything that concerns him. You ask him questions: but he shrinks back. He falls silent and turns away from you, or he replies with a tor-tured smile.
And you, mother, you tell your son about your problems. About the bombing, the sleepless nights, the high prices, and the limited amount of food on sale - and he doesn’t even listen. As if all that was too far away, as though he came from a different world.
Sometimes you ask each other. Why is your son so distant? Has he