third episode of years of no decision

1. 7
But it was at this time that I was finding it especially hard to survive at University.
My brother Abdul Salam and his family had been forced to leave their home in
Jaffa as a result of Zionist pressure against the people of the city. He was rescued
by my other brother, Qassim, who came by boat from Khan-Yunis to salvage what
he could, suffering terrible seasickness. I had counted on my two brothers to meet
all my financial needs — now the elder brother had to leave everything behind.
Our family property in Jaffa and Abu Swairih was confiscated by the Zionists. We
were all in trouble.
Facing up to our grim financial situation the three “founding members” of
the Students‟ Organisation now got together and decided to spend the summer in
Chicago looking for work. We were told that this industrial city; the “Windy City”,
had more opportunities than any other place. Some American classmates scared us
by saying that the city was known for the many crimes committed in it and called it
the city of the gangsters. However, this did not change our minds. We wrote to all
members of our organisation informing them of our endeavours with the Arab
governments. We explained that these would take a long time to come to fruition
and suggested they join us in Chicago during this summer and also look for work
there. Many came. Later on, my classmate Salam decided to go to New York.
On arrival many of my colleagues started looking at the job advertisements‟
in the Chicago Tribune. One advertisement was very tempting. It invited students
to sit for an examination and, if passed, they would join a big firm and make 97
dollars or even double that amount every week. To all of us that was too good to be
true. One of us did sit for the exam, passed it, and received a cable for training the
following day. The same ad appeared in the Tribune the following day. We all sat
for the exam. We all passed and received the same cables, and joined for training.
We had our breakfast in the firm then turned to the Training Centre. Only then did
we realise what it was all about.
We were to be trained as salesmen of the Filter Queen‟ vacuum cleaner. The
instructor explained to us that everyone should go carrying a machine from house
to house, knock at the door, and when the lady of the house opened the door he
should smile. When he was allowed to enter, and before starting the demonstration
of

2. Years of No Decision
the machine, he should admire the place and the good taste of the lady because that
psychological move would encourage the lady and help the salesman. The
instructor added that even if the door was slammed in our faces we should take it
„with a smile‟.
I doubted that I could succeed in this kind of work and had to quit after the
first breakfast and first lesson. Other colleagues continued for the three days of
training and tried to promote the sales of the „Filter Queen‟ without success. We all
returned to square one
looking for jobs carrying with us what little experience we had gained since our
arrival in the „Windy City‟ while hunting for jobs and facing many difficulties and
we would tell each other: „Keep smiling!‟
I started working as a pipe welder in a factory making army beds. The
American boss, a patient and friendly man, taught me how to do it. It was easy and
I grasped the knack without much difficulty. Of course, I spoiled many pieces of
pipe before mastering the job, but the boss was very understanding. The only
problem was its effect off the eyes. The boss warned mc about this and asked me to
use the special mask all the time. The mask covered the eyes and face. I worked for
one month and then decided to quit. I remember that my superior was sad to see
mc leave them. He was familiar with the difficulties of the Palestinian students in
America and appreciative of my work.
I ended up working in a factory cutting iron bars into different sizes. The
income from this job during the summer was more than enough to cover my
expenses and college fees for a whole year. The work was very hard and I was not
used to it. It was also a very hot summer.
There was another machine in the factory used for making screws. It had
many gadgets hut was very simple to handle and, also, very safe. No one working
on it would leave it for another machine. I asked Sam the foreman to let me have it.
He promised to write to me any summer that particular machine would he
available.
Sam was an American of Italian origin. He was in his late forties. He was
husky and looked like a rustler. He would move all day in his navy blue safari suit
to watch the work with a big Havana cigar in his mouth. He would always look at
the counter in every machine to make sure that the right production was made. But
with time and the tolerance and understanding of my American boss I gained
experience. It was very dangerous, and I had to be alert all the time. The machine
that weighs four tons and that comes down to chop the iron bars needed much
attention. When it cut the bar you had to push the piece which the machine had
already cut out of the way to

3. Boy with a Horn
make room for the following one. If you failed to synchronise your hand
movements with those of the machine it would chop your hand or fingers off.
One evening a student friend of mine, Jalal came to see me. He had met an
American girl. They had become good friends and then he had fallen madly in love
with her. She wrote him beautiful love letters in green ink. She ended every letter
with a request. “Please send some money for Wanda‟s‟ food.” Jalal told me that
Wanda was his girlfriend‟s dog. Every time he visited me, Jalal, who had no work,
asked me to read the love letter he had received. Naturally I used to read it with
much interest.
After showing me each letter Jalal would say: “She said so and so and I
believe her. What do you think?” I would answer: “Since you believe her why ask
me?” Whenever she wanted money for “Wanda” Jalal would come to me for a
loan. I never rejected his request, for I knew that one day he would pay me back.
This was my weakness— I could never say no to a man who was a stranger in a
foreign land, because I had also passed through this experience.
One evening Jalal while walking on West Windsor Street in up-town Chicago was
hit on the head by a gangster. He was robbed of his watch and the little money he
had borrowed from me for “Wanda” and he was taken to hospital where he
received seven stitches. I went to see him and assured him that, since the police
had arrested the criminal who came from a rich family, Jalal would himself he a
rich man soon. The court would compensate him with a huge amount of money,
but he should not waive his rights in the police station or in court.
He said: “Never.”
The following day two pretty young ladies visited Jalal in his room. They
gave him back his watch, money and other personal things the gangster took from
him, and apologised for what happened. They asked him to go with them to the
police station in order to sign a paper and waive his rights.
Sure enough, Jalal went. When I saw him that afternoon he told me what had
happened. When I criticised him severely for waiving his rights, he answered back
saying: “The girls entered my house. I had to be kind and hospitable to them. Don‟t
forget I am an Arab!” He was emphasising the traditional Arab hospitality to
guests. It was almost the last I saw of him for when the summer was over; we all
went back to our colleges.
Fareed Khoursheed who was my neighbour in the Nuzha Quarter in the city
of Jaffa and who was with me on the ship got his degree in engineering. His city
and home having being taken by the Israelis,

4. Years of No Decision
Fareed got married and resided in Washington D.C. In December 1984 1 attended
a reception given by Farouk Taji, a leading businessman, and saw Fareed there. It
was a pleasant surprise for both of us. We had not seen each other for over twenty
years. We reflected on old memories all evening with mixed feelings for both of
us, like many others, had ended up without either home or country. Like many
others, we feel like exiles and, despite success, long to go home.
8
I finished the requirements for my LL.B and graduated, but did not know where to
go. I was a man without a country. Since no opportunity beckoned, I decided to
work for my Master‟s degree. I finished that at Boston University Law School in
one year. Then I was again faced with the same problem. What to do? Where to
go? Again, I had no answer and little advice to give to Sabri, Uncle Mustafa‟s son,
who came at this time to study medicine in the States. He was followed by his
brother Mahmoud. Sabri became a leading doctor in Hollywood. Mahmoud a
businessman in the same State, California. I decided to work for my Doctor‟s
degree. I was offered a scholarship from the University of Pennsylvania and
registered for that degree at the University Of Pennsylvania Law School and
resided in Philadelphia. A few months later I received a letter from Ambassador
Farid Zeineddine, the Permanent Representative of Syria at the United Nations,
asking me to see him in his office in New York. I learned that my friend and class
mate, Salam Dajani, who was working at the U.N. information department had
recommended me to him as a research officer.
I was happy to meet the Ambassador hut I explained to him that it would be
difficult for me to work with him since I was a candidate for my Doctor‟s degree. I
would have accepted his offer had it not been for my new commitment. The law
school required one year‟s residence.
He came up with a suggestion. He said he would arrange with the President
of the University to have me reside half of the week in Philadelphia and the other
half in New York and to extend the time of residence for two years, not one. This
was an unprecedented arrangement made by the university as a courtesy to the
Government of Syria.
I was now happy. I was studying for my Doctor‟s degree. I liked my job. It
was certainly very different from the previous summer work in the Chicago
factory. It was a little funny that at almost the

5. Boy with a Horn
same time I received an invitation from Sam, the American factory manager, to
work on the screw machine. Sam fulfilled his promise but that was a little late. I
wrote to him thanking him for his courtesy.
The minute I walked into the United Nations building in early 1952 I
remembered Fans Bey El-Khouri and how he had taken mc to the session that had
so impressed me.
Ambassador Zeineddine, an able statesman and brilliant diplomatic, had a
high regard for me and gave me the authority to participate in U.N. debates. I
started practising my academic knowledge at the United Nations. My favourite
subject was the item called international Covenants on Human Rights.‟ The fact
that the people of Palestine were deprived of exercising this right made it of special
interest to me.
I finished my J.S.D. degree in 1958 and started lecturing as part of my work
at many American universities on Arab problems — Morocco, Tunisia, Algeria,
Oman and Palestine. In the five years I did this I visited many states and got to
know more about the American people. I owed a great deal to American
institutions and hoped one day that the good-hearted Americans would understand
our cause and apply their great traditions and values to our problems. I felt that the
values of Presidents Washington and Jefferson should be the guiding star of all
American behaviour and practice in the world, because it was those values that had
made America great.
In 1959 the Jordanian Ambassador in Washington, Madhat Juma‟a, received
a cable from Samir Bey Rifai, then Prime Minister of Jordan, offering me a job in
Jordan‟s Foreign Service with the rank of Counsellor. The Prime Minister met me
only once, hut my name had been suggested to him by my good friends Abdul
Monem Rifai and Zaid Rifai. The first was Samir Bey‟s brother and the second his
son. Both later became Prime Ministers in Jordan.
I received this offer at a time when Arab differences were reaching at their
sharpest and I was not in a mood to work for any government. But I was most
grateful to the Prime Minister and to my friends for their thoughtfulness. I asked
for more time to think the matter over. I then consulted my brother Qassim and my
friend Ambassador Zeineddine; both encouraged me to accept. Qassim had been
the one to encourage me to work for my Doctor‟s degree.
I agreed to join the Jordanian Foreign Service. My first assignment was the
United Nations. In less than a year, however, there was a change of government in
Jordan. The Rifai government was replaced by Hazza Majali‟s government.
Subsequently I was

6. Years of No Decision
transferred to Amman.
I met the new Prime Minister and he was kind to mc. He said that he had
transferred me because he wanted to reinforce the Division of his Foreign Office
concerned with international conferences. I-k added that he wanted me to attend
every Arab international conference on Palestine. In less than two years in 1961 1
was transferred hack to New York to be the second man in the U.N. delegation.
Ambassador Abdul Monem Rifai, a very able and experienced diplomat was its
head.
9
One evening in 1961 after the General Assembly adjourned I went home for a
dinner party there in honour of a visiting colleague from Jordan. Ten couples had
accepted my invitation. Before going up to my apartment I passed by my private
mail box in the building and found a thick letter awaiting me. It was from my
brother Qassim who, as a rule, did not write long letters. This time it was very long
and I wondered why. Should I read the letter or keep it until my party was over?
The guests would arrive in a few minutes. I decided to read the letter.
It started with some unusual observations about my childhood. Its memories
were most pleasant to me and I love them. Oassim mentioned my school and the
night of the ambush when I took my horn and went with Uncle Tewfic into the
fields. He mentioned the horses I loved. Then he spoke about my mother. 11cr
special love for mc, being the one son who never saw his father.
I started thinking again about the reason for all this history. Why now‟?
The letter continued saying more about my mother, explaining many little
things I had almost forgotten. I started to worry about her. I didn‟t want her to die
while I was far away across the ocean. I wanted to see more of her. When I reached
the last two pages 1 felt that all the emphasis was on the last few days and what my
mother was doing. Qassim was apparently coming to the end of his narrative. I
reached the conclusion that my mother was no more, he was giving the news
gradually so I would not have a shock. And by the time I reached the last line of
the letter I realised that our dear mother had had a stroke and passed away. He
added:
“I am writing this to you immediately after the funeral. Mother and a
haemorrhage. After a few hours she had a stroke and died. He could not speak after
she had this stroke. She kept looking at me and saying: MMMMMM‟. I did not
know what she meant. She

7. Boy with a Horn
pointed at the dress she was wearing which you had brought her from the United
States of America. I then realised that she meant YOU. I said to her: you mean
Muhammad?‟ She had a big smile off her face and answered with a nod saying
yes‟. I told her not to worry. I know it was your hope to see Muhammad married;
He will get married this year. I promise you ‘She had the same big smile on her
face and looked happy. A few seconds later she died.”
Before I had folded the letter, the door bell rang. I left the letter on my bed
and rushed to open the door. My guests were arriving. I showed them all
hospitality. Oriental music was playing all the time. I asked the ladies to choose
an‟ other records they liked. They were very happy, laughing and chattering at the
top of their voices. They had a very good time and thought I was the happiest of
hosts all that night. We had dinner which my cook Elizabeth had prepared. I had
promised my guests and a few friends to take them to see the sights of Greenwich
Village, so they could see what kind of place it was. We stayed there till late.
We came home at 2.00 a.m. All my guests left, except for my friend, the
guest of honour, Hasan Ibrahim, later Foreign Minister, who was staying in my
apartment that night. I said “good night” to him and we retired.
I saw the letter still lying on my bed. I could not control my emotions any
more. The memory of my life with mother came back to me in one second. I cried
and my guest heard me. He came rushing out. He could not understand what had
happened. Then he saw the letter lying on my bed and read it. He was both sad and
astonished. He could not understand how I had been able to control myself all that
time. Six hours of acting. Hiding my feelings to make my guests happy. how could
I have done it. He asked.
I asked him to forget it and go to sleep. I stayed up by myself. Lying on my
bed. I was looking at the ceiling and reflecting on my childhood, youth and
manhood. I saw her there all the time. I saw that great woman who had devoted her
life for the sake of her children and for my sake in particular. I had never seen my
father. I had lost my country and now I had lost the dearest person in the world —
my mother.
All night long I reflected on my memories of mother. Now she was no more.
I felt so lonely and so discouraged.
Not having attended her funeral I could not believe that my mother was
dead. Why I was not asked to attend mother‟s funeral is another story. According
to the Moslem religion the dead should he buried as soon as possible, usually
within twenty-four hours. For me to come from the United States together with the
formalities and

8. Years of No Decision
processing to enter my own town would have taken a long time. And it had been
my mother‟s wish to he buried quickly, because she was very religious.
The last time I had seen mother was in 1960. She was everything to me. My father
had died when she was very young and beautiful. She never married again. She
would look at me when I was a child and say “this will be my man. She is
everything to me.” She would then hug me and kiss me. I remembered her warmth
and genuine love.
I was so attached to her and was with her all the time. While sitting to
prepare something for the house I used to put my head on her knee. She would start
singing so I could sleep. Her songs were always very sad. Many times her tears
would drop on my cheek. They were hot. They would wake me up when they fell
on my cheek. I never knew what made her tears drop. But I do remember she was
singing something about life and her own destiny in particular. Many times she
would hug. Squeeze and kiss me.
When I came to the United States I wrote my mother many letters. Her
answers were full of wisdom and encouragement. She was always telling me how
to endure difficulties. In one of her letters she said that nothing was impossible.
“Anything others can do you also can do.”
Now it is my desire to visit my mother‟s grave in our family‟s cemetery. I
want to walk in that cemetery and feel I am walking in mother‟s funeral. I want to
sit by her grave and recite phrases from the Quran. I want to sit in that quietness of
the grave for an hour or more. But even today, this is impossible. My homeland is
occupied by Israeli forces, and even the cemetery is not quiet any more. I cannot
cross to that part of the occupied territories. The Israelis are there.