We'll Always Have Beirut

1982 Lebanon. A story of a war, and the inner conflict of those fighting and living it.

           Hora, Hora, Hora

Inhale. 10:47 PM. Goodbye stress! Exhale. 10:47 PM. Back to f*****g reality. There goes the smoke. It didn’t matter. The sky was more smoke than oxygen these days, at least here �" Lebanon, that is.   

“Say Avi, what do you get when a Muslim and Catholic walk into a bar?”

“Oh, well I don’t know Yossi. Please, do tell.” I replied. My faux sarcasm was more desperate than real at this point. That’s one minor casualty for you.

His eyes didn’t blink. Quietly, he whispered, “You get one poor a*s bartender.”

I chuckled, resting my head on our mechanical chariot, coughing out smoke.

“Well, as bad as that was Yossi, somehow you’ve actually improved in two months.”

“What can I say? Lebanon brings out the happiness in me.”

Illumination. If it weren’t for the shells and gunfire, it would almost be heavenly. But, alas, Eden it is not. Yossi, Eli, and I waited. We could only wait, peering into the light that anticipated us. Tomorrow, goddamn. Thank god at last. Goddamn and thank god. Heh, tells you what two months of staring into this f*****g city can do to a man.  So this is what Paris looked like in 1944? I can’t figure out why the hell else they’d call it the ‘Paris of the East’.

Through the years, I believe in the mystery

Of a dance that would always survive

Its history is like a part of me

Feel how it brings us alive

Enough with the light. I got pretty damn sick of it. Goddamn indeed. A few dozen meters or so prayed our commander, Yitzhak. He was with a few other religious soldiers. Yitzhak was calmer than the rest of us. ’73 accustomed him to these sorts of things. He was old. 34. Yossi, Eli, and I weren’t even circumcised compared to Yitzhak. I suppose tomorrow is our bris. I looked at our leader, mesmerized at his composure. He was fascinating to watch. Almost as fascinating as the time I first saw the illumination. Perhaps even more so, for the fact that he never got fascinated at those sorts of things. Finished praying, he opened his eyes, glancing at me. We locked eyes for two seconds. Those two seconds might as well have been two f*****g months. My commander stands up, finally taking in the illumination not too far from where we were.

Walking towards the three of us, Yitzhak spoke. We all listened.

“Tomorrow, we cross the line.”

Not even the shells and gunfire could cease our silence. I sat, waiting for one of the other three to speak first. Nothing. Nothing except the shells, the gunfire, the light, and those words Yitzhak spoke of, “Tomorrow, we cross the line.” “Tomorrow, we cross the line.

Yitzhak turned to me, finally ending the silence. “Avi, we’re going through the Museum Crossing. The bulldozers and engineers will clear the barricades. Stay behind them at all times unless ordered otherwise.”

“The Museum Crossing? So…” Eli said, stopping. He looked at Yitzhak, then at Yossi, then at me.

“So we’re going to attack Fakhani. It’s in the direction of PLO headquarters. It makes sense.” I said, finishing Eli’s speculation.

Yitzhak sighed. “Exactly.”

“Well f**k it. We survived ’48. We triumphed in ’67. We kicked a*s in ’73. What makes 1982 so f*****g special? I bet you by the time we’re at Fakhani that terrorist s**t Arafat will already be hanging from a rope. If not, I’ll kill the little s**t myself.” Yossi said, pausing. “We’re not David anymore.”

No we weren’t.

All the people around me must feel the same

When they hear how the music is sweet

So many days, and yet it never fades

See how it's moving your feet

I couldn’t sleep. My eyes were open throughout the night, staring at the shadowy, somber sky above us. The flashing lights were more beautiful than I remembered. I grew used to the noise of the past two months. The sounds of gunfire became my lullaby, but the thoughts of the future became my nightmare. Tomorrow turned into today. Today, we cross the line. I didn’t notice if my comrades fell asleep or not. I doubt it, personally. I’d like to believe we were all staring at the sky that night, even Yitzhak. He was the first to finally get up.

“All of you, up. You’ll have plenty of time to rest in the evening, God willing.”

Quickly, quietly, the three remaining of us rose up. Breathing heavily, I wiped the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. Yossi put his arm around my shoulder. “Avi, I know you’re secular, but relax my friend. God has always been on our side. Remember what I said last night �" ’48, ’67, ’73, and now ’82. They won’t defeat us. They can never defeat us. Yitzhak survived the attack on the Golan. What’s the worse a few Palestinian stone throwers will do? This isn’t Syria.”

Yitzhak whipped his body, walking towards Yossi and me. He sealed his sights at Yossi. “Survived? I survived the attack on the Golan? Yes, Yossi, I suppose I did. But let me tell you who didn’t. A man named Avi, a man named Eli, a man named Yossi, a man named Yitzhak, and names of other men and women who don’t care about the year 19-f*****g-82. You spoke, last night, that we are not David anymore. You are right, but tell me Yossi �" what happened to David? What happened to Goliath? Even a secular like Avi could tell you what happened. I don’t care if we are fighting the Palestinians or…or…the damned French even. You must never underestimate your enemy or you’re already fighting a losing war.”

Sighing and closing his eyes, Yitzhak hastily walked to another man who commanded the tank next to us. Yossi was frozen. Eli and I grabbed our gear and walked across the makeshift path with our other comrades. Today, we cross the line.

And do the Hora, it helps every way

It makes every day, we dance and we say

It's just the Hora, it's taking away

The sadness each day, and bringing just love

By the time we passed the Green Line, silence became a commodity as rare a Likud voter in Tel-Aviv. The checkpoints were at last irrelevant to the siege. For two months, no one dared pass them, but here we were. Yossi was right. This was not the Syrians we were fighting. I drove behind the engineers and bulldozers, following Yitzhak’s orders. We outnumbered the Palestinian fighters, but they used tactics no Arab army used against us before. Hiding in civilian homes and in civilian clothes, the Palestinians attacked us with snipers and AK-47s. For us in the Armored Division, three letters terrified us more than any other three letters could ever do: RPG. Despite the chaos, I felt safe in our mechanical chariot. The worst of the fighting transpired in the house to house combat that the infantry fought in. There were two sounds that shattered my ears as I drove our tank through the streets of West Beirut. Gunfire and screams. Gunfire and screams. Whose screams, exactly? Both, I suppose. I couldn’t close my eyes, despite my want to do so. The National Museum of Beirut was in the distance. The leaves on the trees adjacent to the museum were gone �" a far cry from the Lebanese flag. The bombings and shelling did its work.

“Stop here Avi.” Yitzhak calmly declared.

An Israeli military personnel walked to the tank. Yitzhak opened the hatch, lifting his head to receive orders. Things were quiet here, as quiet as it could get, at least.

The man, about Yitzhak’s age, wearing sunglasses, climbed on the tank to speak with us.                

“We got the museum and track under control. We still have to strike and isolate the Fakhani district to get this f*****g Arafat. We need you guys to help out the infantry. Go south pass the stadium. You guys should be okay. God willing.”

Yitzhak nodded and closed the hatch. “You heard what the man said, south.” South I drove, god willing.

 

 

And I know, if you care in the greatest gifts

We can start by just doing this dance

And all our pain will melt before the dawn

Let's give the future a chance

                “He’s awake, he’s awake.”

                I opened my eyes and observed a light. It wasn’t the illumination of the flares that kept Beirut awake for two months, but instead just a candle. Barely flickering like the last days of a Shiva. I was inside a room. Looking out the window, it must’ve been late afternoon. Sometime around 4:00 or so. My eyes shifted from the window to the speaker. I could see she was disturbed. Fidgeting her fingers, she glanced away from me to a man. He was wearing civilian clothes, but carried a gun. A Palestinian, it must be.

                “Do you understand Arabic?”

                After a few long breaths I finally answered, “Yes. My family is from Iraq.”

                He pointed the gun at me. “Good. Now, I don’t want to kill you, for you are far too valuable alive then dead, but don’t try me. I’m not a moron, no matter what you Jews think of us gentiles.”

I closed my eyes. I hoped I was dreaming. I even prayed I was dreaming.

I gazed at the man. He was strong-jawed with a light beard and olive skin. I guessed he was about 20. Same as myself. We actually looked alike.

“Where are the others in my….” I said before being interrupted.

“They’re dead. All three are dead. How you survived the RPG blast, I don’t know, but that’s a moot point at this moment.”

I closed my eyes again. I felt like crying, but no tears. Nothing. I kept them closed for perhaps a minute or so. Slowly opening them, I looked at the woman. She had green eyes and graceful, black hair. She was beautiful.

“Don’t mind her.” The man said. “She lives here.”

“What do you want from me?” I asked, scared of the answer.

He lowered his gun. “I don’t want anything from you. It’s what we can get with you that counts. You know how it is. One jailed Jew equals a thousand Palestinians. Why you’re government would waste a thousand warriors for a rat like you, I don’t know. You voted for the naïve, I suppose.”

Yitzhak, Yossi, Eli. All dead, yet I survived. Why?

 

 

And do the Hora, it helps every way

It makes every day, we dance and we say

It's just the Hora, it's taking away

The sadness each day, and bringing just love

Waking up again, I opened my eyes to see the sight of the woman. She stared at me, walking towards me and rubbing her hand upon my back.

“Calm down. Everything will be fine. You should be gone by tomorrow morning. The man is making the plans as we speak. Hopefully it will be over soon. Hopefully this will all be over soon.”

She spoke to me like my mother used to whenever I was scared as a child. I scanned to the window. It was darker, but there was still light outside. I could still hear the shells and gunfire. I could still hear screaming. I looked back at the woman.

“What is your name?”

“Halimah. And yours?” she said, caressing me.

“Avi.”

“Avi? I love that name.” she says, smiling. “Wasn’t the Israeli Eurovision contestant named Avi?”

I opened my mouth, shocked. I sat in awe of her, tied up like I was. “Yes. Avi Toledado is his name, but, um, I’m not him.” I said, as we both laughed.

“I thought he should’ve won. That ‘Hora’ song is so catchy. What do you think, Avi?”

“I…I agree Halimah.”

We smile for a moment, but then the rush of fighter jets shook the room. Back to reality. We stared at each other. We knew. I guess one Jew wasn’t worth a thousand Palestinians to the government. Inhale 7:02 PM. One final kiss. Exhale. 7:02 PM. Killed in action.