A Counterpunctual Reflection On Myths And Men Who Died In Gaza

by: Paul Rosenberg

Sat Jan 24, 2009 at 19:12

The death of Israel's 'shooting and crying' soldier By Gabriel Piterberg Not heeding Hegel's dictum that scholars, like Minerva's owl, ought to await dusk before spreading their wings, I would venture that Israel's ferocious onslaught on Gaza's Palestinians might deliver a coup de grace to one of the most effective tools in its propaganda kit: the image of the morally handsome, "shooting and crying" Israeli soldier.

And Democrcy Now!:

Palestinian US College Grad Loses 2 Brothers in Israeli Shooting; Father Watched Son Bleed to Death After Israeli Troops Bar Ambulances AMY GOODMAN: Well, as the [Israeli] Foreign Minister [Tzipi Livni] was denying Israeli war crimes in Gaza Friday, my next guest lost two of his brothers to Israeli attacks on that same day. Amer Shurrab is a Palestinian from Khan Yunis living in the United States. On Friday, his father and two brothers were fleeing their village when their vehicle came under Israeli fire. Twenty-eight-year-old Kassab died in a hail of bullets trying to flee the vehicle. Eighteen-year-old Ibrahim survived the initial attack, but Israeli troops refused to allow an ambulance to reach them until twenty hours later. By then, it was too late. Ibrahim had bled to death in front of his father.

AMY GOODMAN: Amer Shurrab lives here in Washington, D.C. He joins me now in the studio. Amer, can you explain what you understand took place? AMER SHURRAB: Well, thank you for having me, Amy. What happened on Friday, my dad, Mohammed Shurrab, and my two brothers were leaving our farm in the Fukhari area. It's a neighborhood of Khan Yunis. They were driving back home at the time of the daily lull or the ceasefire. They left the farm at around 12:45, afternoon, and they were driving on one of the main roads in the area. As they turned into that road, Israeli troops opened fire on them from a house that they occupied in the area. They started firing at them without warning, without saying "Stop" or "You can't pass by." And they fired to kill. They didn't fire at the engine or at the tires. They fired toward the passengers and toward the drivers.

The book, which forged the image of the handsome, dilemma-ridden, existentially soul-searching Israeli soldier, was a hymn to that frightening oxymoron - "purity of arms" and the ideal of an exalted Jewish morality. It was also a kind of central casting from which Oz drew many of his fictional protagonists.

AMER SHURRAB: My brother Kassab was hit with several bullets, and as my dad and my brother Ibrahim tried to duck, Kassab was hit with so many bullets, including a bullet in the chest. And he tried to jump out of the car, but he fell out like a meter away from the car, and he fell on his face. My dad got Ibrahim, and then the soldiers started shouting at them with broken Arabic, "Get out of the car, you SOBs!" So, as Ibrahim opened the door of the car, he was trying to get off, and they shot him in his leg. He was shot in the leg under the knee. So he screamed, "I got injured!" and he fell on the ground. And my dad, at this point, he couldn't even get out of the car because of the hail of bullets. And he finally managed to get out.

Not surprisingly, the book became an invaluable propaganda tool. In a well-attended gathering in the United States, Israeli prime minister Yitzhak Rabin (then ambassador to the U.S.) and Nobel Laureate Elie Wiesel read passages from the book "in order to present the Israeli soldier's profile," according to one account.

AMER SHURRAB: So, they were outside of the car. Ibrahim tried to call an ambulance, but the soldiers shouted at him, "Drop it, or I'm going to shoot you, you..."-and he cursed at him. And they told them not to move. So they had their backs to their car. The car hit a wall. And my dad and my brother had their back to the wall. They were both bleeding. My dad was hit with a bullet in his left arm. They were bleeding. The soldiers them, "Oh, call an ambulance." But they would even only allow my dad to use a phone. They wouldn't allow Ibrahim to do it. And they threatened to shoot them several times.

The book also elicited self-righteous and self-congratulatory pronouncements from some sanctimonious figures. "We are fortunate to have been blessed with such sons," declared Golda Meir. "It's a shame that no one has seen to its translation in all the languages of the world," said Wiesel a year later. The latest version of "Soldiers' Talk," in terms of register and success, is Ari Folman's 2008 Golden Globe award-winning animated documentary film "Waltz with Bashir."

AMER SHURRAB: So my dad tried to call the ambulance. He asked Ibrahim for the emergency number, which is 101. He called them. He called the Palestinian Red Crescent, and they asked for an ambulance. He gave them his location. But they said, "We can't send an ambulance without the coordination and approval of the Israeli army. And they're not giving us permission." So my dad called my uncle, asked him to find a way to send an ambulance. So my uncle found an ambulance and went there, on his own responsibility, trying to rescue them. But they were stopped by some Israeli tanks, and they told them, "Go back, or we will start shooting at you." So they had to leave. And my uncle called the Red Cross, the International Red Cross. He called, and the Red Cross tried to get in touch with the IDF to get help through, but the IDF wouldn't give them any positive response. They also called-the Red Cross called a human rights organization, the Physicians for Human Rights, the Israel chapter, who also got in touch with the Israeli army and tried to get help through, but they wouldn't get any permission. They kept calling them, but in vain.

Given the might of Israel's warriors and the vulnerability of their targets, now that the country no longer engages in wars against other state armies and has justified its nickname (Israel Occupation Force), the shooting and crying image is hard to keep alive.

AMER SHURRAB: At the same time, my dad and my brother were still bleeding. They weren't even allowed to get back into the car. They asked the troops, who could see them and hear them, they asked for help. They asked for some first aid or to allow some ambulance in. But the troops would say, "Oh, call an ambulance. Let the ambulance come and pick you up." My dad continued to call the emergency number, and they told him, "We can't do anything."

At the same time, it no longer matters in the way it once did. For political and military elites in Israel, and the War on Terror constituency in the U.S., the killing of Arabs and Muslims no longer requires any weeping or soul-searching. It's just something freedom-loving people do.

AMER SHURRAB: That was-so by around 7:00 or 8:00, you know, the media, local media, started calling him, and they asked him to broadcast his-lively, on air. He gave his location. He gave his name and the condition he is in, and he asked for help, for somebody to dispatch an ambulance. He called several-several local radios talked to him, as well as BBC Arabic, and he broadcasted his plea, but no one would help. Physicians for Human Rights also called, as well as contacting the IDF. They got in touch with members of the Knesset. They got in touch with some Israeli media websites, including Ynet and Walla!, who also, in turn, got in touch with the IDF, describing the situation, asking to allow help. But it was all in vain.

But there's another reason for the image's fading appeal. The Israeli social stratum for which the image was existentially crucial has not only lost hegemony, it has been severely marginalized. The war adulation displayed by pro-Israel demonstrators in Los Angeles recently is horrifying, but you couldn't call it hypocritical.

AMER SHURRAB: Around 8:00, my brother Ibrahim was still bleeding, was telling my dad, "Daddy, I'm cold." He was shivering and trembling. So my dad took off his coat and covered him. And he asked him, "Ibrahim, are you still cold?" He's like, "Yes, Daddy, I'm cold." So he told him, "Stand up. I will help you to get back into the car." So, as they stood up, the soldiers told them-you know, the soldiers told them, "Sit down, or I'm going to shoot you." He said, "Do whatever you want. I'm taking him to the car." He took him into the car and put -tried to cover him. And they were stuck there. By midnight, Al Jazeera channel called my dad and asked him to describe his case, and he did on air. AMY GOODMAN: Amer, our show is going to end in fifteen seconds, I'm so sorry. Your brother died a few hours later? AMER SHURRAB: Yeah, he died at midnight. And the army wouldn't allow help to come in until around noon the next day on Saturday.

Perhaps with the benefit of hindsight, the attack on Gaza will be seen as the excessive viciousness of a colonial power running out of ideas - not unlike France in the final stage of the Algerian war.