A three-quarter moon lit our way through the valley. A lone male Little Owl was screeching monotonously in the distance and I, holding my parents hands, was dragged up the hill faster than my legs could carry me. “Faster!” my father, my father, kept rushing us impatiently. “We mustn't miss the news.”
My grandparent's door was open, the place full of neighbors. Grandpa, on his knees, attempting to reduce the flickering of the image, was turning the television channel button. All around discussions, arguments, excited voices. “Quiet!” everybody hushed everyone else once the image of a large clock, its second-hand ticking towards the twelve, took over the screen. Five seconds to the English news ... four … three, the room turned silent. Only my father spoke, translating the words of the announcer. In the background Gamal Abdel Nasser, the president of Egypt, gave a speech.
"The Jews threaten us with war and we say to them, ahlan wa shlan, you are welcome. Rabin we are waiting for you. We are ready! We will not accept any coexistence with Israel. Today the issue is not the establishment of peace between the Arab states and Israel. Our basic objective will be the destruction of Israel. The Arab people want to fight…”
An image of a map replaced Nasser's speech. The announcer kept talking. Abba did not. “Why did you stop? What's he saying? Can anyone tell what’s going on?” The atmosphere in the room was clearly irritated, nervous, anxious. Everybody's stares were directed at my father.
“It is confirmed,” my father's whisper roared in the silenced room. “Nasser has blocked the Straits of Tiran … Another war is imminent.”