CHAPTER 1

On the Euphrates

Few places in the desert are capable of supporting even asmall community for an extended period of time. So theBedouins of this area, with their herds of sheep, goats, andcamels, migrate from one barely fertile area to another. Eachplace offers shelter and sustains them for a time as naturereplenishes the others. In the vast arid expanse of MountSinai, as in the Negev and the deserts of Arabia, the tribesof the Bedouin follow a traditional way of life and maintaina pastoral culture of exceptional grace, honor, and beauty asthey journey by camel from oasis to oasis.

Most of the Bedouin tribes of the Sinai descend fromimmigrants of the Arabian Peninsula who arrived in Sinaisometime between the fourteenth and eighteenth centuries.Today, many of Sinai's Bedouins have traded their traditionalcustoms for the pursuits and conventions of the modern worldon the banks of the Euphrates. This river originates from twomajor sources in the Armenian mountains and flows into thePersian Gulf. Its entire course runs 1,780 miles, more than two-thirdsof which is navigable by boat. The Euphrates River hasan ancient history. The city of Ur, founded at the mouth of theriver, was the birthplace of Abraham and the future site of themajestic city of Babylon.

* * *

Najar Ali, a forty-eight-year-old Bedouin, whimpered asour chaplain carried him into the tent from the Euphratesriverside. The American attack struck the area on March 3, 2006,intending to gain control of the Iraqi insurgents. The severityand magnitude of the attack were beyond imagination. TheAmerican relief marshal dispatched investigators and reliefworkers. Rescue crews found the bodies of civilian victimsspread all around, strewn in the sand next to their scatteredbelongings. There were thousands of survivors from theattack. Many lost their homes and were seriously injured.Buildings were flattened, and debris was spread everywhere.Nothing was spared—not homes, barns, or animals.

Many days had passed since the devastating attack onthe Euphrates. The Bedouin man still waited, his injuries yetto be fully treated. Initially, those injuries were horrifying: afractured skull, sheared-off limbs, compound fractures, andinternal bleeding. The doctors had worked frantically withlimited medication. Nevertheless, his most severe injury couldnot be seen. He carried his pain within his heart. Virtuallyeveryone had lost a loved one in the attack. Hastily fashionedcemeteries overflowed with new graves.

During the attack, the blood had raced swiftly throughNajar's veins as he carried a young, lifeless girl in his arms. Thethought of being left alone in the world devastated him. Theearthly hopes and dreams that he had once carried now fadedfor him. A flash of memory went through his mind: the thin,hungry face of his young girl as a little child, trying to fill herlamp with kerosene on a dark night on the Sinai Mountain. Asigh echoed through his mind.

"Oh, little girl, tell me what your life with your father writeson your face. Speak to me of the glory of your heart. Let ussing the song of remembrance."

The Bedouin's eyes wandered over the dewy haze drapingthe vast field of a new harvest. Slowly, the lids became heavyas feelings of love and loss lulled him into the oblivion ofsleep.

Najar Ali embraced death with his own arms. His onlydaughter, merely fourteen years old, died pressed against hischest, dust and blood covering her garments. The young girlwas laid to eternal rest down the mountain slope. Wind tookthe mountains in its clutches, but the lonely grave remained,etched with words proclaiming the glory of God. By midday,the desert sun burned the body. By midnight, the moonlighttried to soothe the soul. Inside the grave, the silent beautyplayed with angels, blessed with eternal peace where timeand space no longer misted her view. The deadly bombs, theexplosions, and the fires waged by ruthless man could nothurt or disturb her anymore.

* * *

A crisp breeze drifted across, but it was warm for a Februaryevening, and one would almost have thought autumn hadcome. Mrs. Carolyn Autry had just finished her dinner whenthe shadow of her only son, Richard, darkened the door ofher house.

Richard knocked. "Mom."

"Yes?" Carolyn replied from inside.

Carolyn entertained the thought of not opening the door,not discussing her son's intentions again, but as there was nosense in ignoring him, she rose and opened it. Richard walkedin and flung himself down on the couch. A pale distress hadalready appeared on Carolyn's face.

Richard said quietly, "I want to talk to you, Mom."

"It seems like the time for talking is over. You ignored meby enlisting in the Marines."

"Yes, but I had a good reason."

She sighed, resigned. "Well, tell what it is."

"I intend to fight in the war in Iraq. I need to do my dutyby serving my country, don't I?"

Before his mother could answer, Richard drew a foldedletter from his pocket.

"What's that?" she asked.

"It's an appointment letter from the Marines."

"Has it already advanced this far? Oh no, son. No, you willnot join the Marines," she protested weakly.

"Why?"

"Don't ask what I don't wish to tell you," she beggedand flashed her appeal to him from her upturned face andshadowed eyes.

The words seemed to astonish and disturb Richard. "I'mmore serious than you think."

"What a blind, young thing you are." She was irritated.

"I need to." He gave a sigh of discontent.

"It's a shame that we parents raise our children in suchdangerous ignorance. You want to get involved in war becausethe...