I do not know Mohamed Hammoudi personally. I heard his story for the first time in a National Public Radio report about displaced Lebanese returning home to the south.
Mr. Hammoudi is a 66 year old academic who returned to Ainata in south Lebanon after spending twenty years in the United States. He returned to his hilltop house in Ainata alone to retire and spend time growing tomatoes and grapes. When the war started, he wanted to leave but was waiting for an opportunity. His friend managed to leave before him and stayed in contact with him until about twenty days ago. When he returned to Ainata yesterday, he found his friend dead, his house having been hit by Israeli tank fire. He was buried in his garden, in a simple grave between two olive trees.
I do not know why among the hundreds of equally sad stories, Mr. Hammoudi's affected me so. Perhaps the reason his story resonates with me is that our lives' trajectories have some similarities. I too long to return some day to the place of my birth.
I am recounting this story to say that there is nothing uplifting, nothing redeeming about war and its consequences. Mr. Hammoudi is not just a number, a casualty of war to be tabulated and then forgotten. His is an honorable life snuffed out in a second, his corpse left to rot for twenty days. And for what? So we talk about honor and steadfastness and the Isrealis can bask in their worship of the warrior mystique, but it does not change the fact that war is the ultimate expression of human depravity.
3 comments:
the last days of Mohamed Hammoudi are very touching; his death is a disaster.
this story illustrates war perfectly: the perverse interruption of life`s harmonies...it is also beautifully written :)
Thank You for what You write.
Mohamad Hammoudi is my uncle
The first time i met him was before one and half year of his death
this period of time wasn't enough to know that special man...
last time i saw him i asked him why you are reading all this books...he told me i'm looking for the Truth......I believe that he finaly reach the final truth.
sometime i wonder what he was thinking in the last moment....in this dark night .....Alone......with his only friends....his Books and Imagination.
My uncle was like nice dream....with a sad end.
Anonymous,
I am glad you liked my humble tribute to your uncle long after I wrote it. I was very touched by the story of his death even though I did not know him. I am glad to see you confirm my impression that he was indeed a special human being.
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