A Wall of Light - Edeet Ravel [72]
We continued as far as we could, walking a few dozen metres behind a group of hikers. A guide was telling them about the history of the city in English. I don’t speak English but Dror understood. We took what photos we could and saw what we could. We didn’t get too close; in any case, we were in uniform. Uniform and Australian hats. I had the camera. The pictures didn’t come out that well, we weren’t great photographers. Today the photos are all over the place—Davidi [Gen. Aharon Davidi, then Paratrooper Commander] has some, and Arik [Ariel] Sharon, and other people.
We walked until 3:00 in the afternoon and then we headed back. When we got to the mountain of Ras al Naqab, we saw an eight-man patrol approaching. They were about fifty metres away and didn’t notice us.
We hid near a ditch. When they reached the path, they saw that the footprints in the sand suddenly vanished. They began to look for us and when they found us they opened fire from both sides. We killed two of them and even took loot— a small knife, an English rifle, binoculars and other things.
We had an Uzi and a Czech rifle. When they began shooting, we had to return fire. I fired first and Dror covered me. I was wounded in my hand and leg. Then I covered Dror, and he was shot in the head and died on the spot. I went over to him, took his compass, the maps, and the Uzi. Bullets were flying all around me, they hit my canteen, my grenade carrier, my hat. I tried to run. I ran along the path. I felt the blood dripping; I saw blood stains. I bandaged the wound on my hand.
Next to the path there was a ravine. I had no choice. I jumped four metres and sprained my ankle. I hid in the ravine. I had to wait for hours, until dark. They continued to look for me until nightfall.
At night I climbed out and headed back towards Petra. I skirted it and returned not by the path that we came on but through Wadi Musa [lit. Valley of Moses, then a tiny village, today a small tourist town].
I walked slowly, leaning on the barrel of the rifle. All night I walked. On the patrol path I came across a smuggler on a camel. He shot at me and I shot at him. I only wanted to take his camel and ride it back but I missed him.
Before we left, we’d arranged with friends that they would wait for us near the memorial. The signal was three shots on either side. I saw them in the distance. They were sitting on the memorial. I didn’t know whether they would recognize me. I was wearing an undershirt on my head. We’d been two and I was now alone. I fired three shots and they responded. Suddenly I realized I didn’t have any bullets left. But they saw through their binoculars that it was me and they sent two people to help me.
They bandaged me, gave me water, and sent me to the hospital. On the radio it was announced that two had died on the way to Petra, then things were clarified. When I got better, I had to stand trial, but I was acquitted. In return I had to complete an officers’ training course. That was an order from Arik Sharon—he would try to get me off and in exchange I had to take a course.
The trial was a long story. Meir Har Tziyon came to testify and Aharon Davidi and Arik Sharon. They testified on my behalf, saying that patrols often go to distant areas. After that Dror’s parents sued me, how come he was killed and not me, how come I was acquitted. But I wasn’t found guilty in the civil suit either.
A few months after this, when others were killed going to Petra, it wasn’t because of anything I said. I didn’t give anyone directions or anything like that.
But after they were killed I was discharged from the army.
They simply sent me home.
I feel at one with myself regarding my trip to Petra. Though of course it does weigh a little on my conscience. But it was Dror’s idea too. It was equal, both of us. I didn’t force him to go, he went of his own free will. But all the same it weighed on me quite a lot. And I was kicked out of the army.
—Interview for Ma’ariv, 1971
35. The fifty-page dual-language Haggada was typed painstakingly