Off for the Holy War!
139
Arabs everywhere were confident of victory. They gloated
over their arms, their money, their numbers. "If we Moslems
choose to spit on the Jews we could drown them," one said
contemptuously. From another: "We are like a ball of snow.
We have just begun to roll. We will crush the microbe of
Zionism forever."
The Arab Goliath of eight States and forty-five million
people would win over a tiny, sausage-shaped, "militarily indefensible" area, encircled by Arabs, and containing 650,000
poorly armed Jews and a fifth column of at least as many
Arabs. There was no doubt that the Arabs would win easily.
They said so.
WE'RE OFF AT LAST
A TAXI brought me to Green Shirt headquarters early in the
morning of April 1. It was a scene of wild confusion. Excited
orders were being shouted every moment. Two telephones
jangled constantly. I announced myself to Ahmed Hussein
and also to Moustafa, who had acquired a pistol and a cartridge belt. After this, I waited quietly by the door. Nothing
in the Arab world, I knew, is done quickly or on time. Whatever the Arab's other talents, if there is a complex or a long
way around, he is likely to take it instead of the simple and
efficient way. Then, too, the average Arab finds it difficult to
subordinate his fierce independence to the demands of teamwork. Two instincts: to rebel against an order, or to give one
himself, clash within him immediately. The result is often
a great deal of verbal thunder, but little actual accomplishment.
And so, I waited patiently for the snowball to start rolling.
Shortly after noon, Hussein hurried up to me. "Do you have
your camera?" I patted my hip pocket. "Good," he said.
"Come with me."