A butcher’s knife

In reply to my friend’s request, and with regards to the “butcher’s knife” comment I have posted on his page; I will recall a sad chapter which will never be written in our history books (nor will it be taught to our children in our schools).
In order to make this story seem more plausible to the foreign (non Lebanese) eye, one has to understand the animosity that is ingrained not only amongst Lebanese, but within those who were envious of such prosperity.



Another consideration is that when the war first broke out, the means to fight were somewhat archaic and not widely available. The power (fighting power that is) balance was far from equal; on one hand we had “so called refugee’s” armed to the teeth (thanks to the Cairo treaty), and on the other side a bunch of what some might call a bunch of fascists armed men with (mainly) hunting weapons .This was the case in the VERY early stages. Soon enough a wide array of combat arms was flooding the streets of the capital. Demarcation lines were (artificially) drawn, and the capital was split in two. Each warring faction started building its arsenal, spreading terror and committing heinous crimes against not only its fellow man, but also against it fellow citizen.
And now I come to my story about my first encounter with the “butcher’s knife”; trust me it will not take long.
On one faithful journey in the seventies trying to cross towards what was then labeled as the west side of Beirut, and on the crossing between Chiyah and Ain El Roumaneh was a check point for “fatah” (a Palestinian faction). We stopped two cars shy of oblivion, for the three passengers in the car that was stopped at the check point, were all taken out, and had their throats cut from ear to ear on the side of the road (with a butcher’s knife). Luck was on our side, for the check point was dismantled and we went our way.
Those people who used such a primitive way had within their arsenal SAM6 missiles, but they chose the most painful and degrading way to kill a person who’s only sin was to have “Christian” written on their ID card.
This is nothing but one story amongst many. I have entered Tal Al Zaatar after it fell and caught a glimpse of the horrors that were planned against my people, yes MY people. Granted I knew a guy in my Christian neighborhood that had above his bed rest human parts in pickle jars, but those parts were not of Lebanese, but of those who tried to take over.