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Nasser, Gamal Abdel (1924-1970)
Mennonite Weekly Review obituary: 1970 Oct 1 p. 1, 3
Birth date: 1924
text of obituary:
Nasser's Death Leaves Big Void In Arab World
The sudden death last Monday evening of Egypt's President Gamal Abdel Nasser, main figure in the still-faltering peace negotiations with Israel, left a big void in the strife-torn Arab world and raised apprehension about further deterioration of the Middle East crisis.
Nasser, 56, and apparently in good health, was reported to have suffered a massive heart attack after having gone to the Cairo airport for farewell ceremonies at the close of the Arab summit conference, hastily called to help settle the Jordanian civil war.
Diplomats with long experience in Middle Eastern affair said the full impact of Nasser's death was extremely difficult to assess but would have a great effect on Egypt's relations with both Russia and Israel Soviet. Premier Aleksei Kosygin announced that he would attend the funeral in Cairo on Thursday.
President Nixon, who had completed a two-day state visit in Italy and was spending the night on a U. S aircraft carrier in the Mediterranean, sent a message of America's sympathy to the Egyptian people. Appointed to represent the U. S. at the Nasser funeral was Secretary of State William P. Rogers.
Mennonite Weekly Review obituary: 1970 Oct 22 p. 1
text of obituary:
MCC Vice-Chairman Reports from Jerusalem
Tumultuous Mourning for Arab Leader
JERUSALEM — "Nasser beloved of God" . . . "Nasser beloved of God" . . . We heard this chant this morning as thousands of school children, village men and women and townspeople marched down Nablus Road past the MCC center toward the Old City of Jerusalem.
Today, Oct. 1, is the third day that all shops and schools have been closed on the West Bank. The news of President Nasser's death came as a terrible shock to Arabs living in Israel — a shock comparable in our experience at the news of the assassination on President Kennedy in November 1963.
Many Palestinians feel President Nasser of Egypt was the only true friend they had. Few feel the same affection for King Hussein. The occupation troops of the conqueror Israel are not considered their friends. They view Nasser as the only leader they could trust. Now he is gone and they are alone.
THIS TRAGEDY follows immediately the tragedy of ten days of civil war in Jordan. Few Palestinians here know whether their friends and relatives survived the house-to-house fighting in Amman. People on the West Bank have been glued to their transistor radios, hungry for any scrap of information about the war across the Jordan.
Nasser has tried to bring an end to that war of brother against brother. And now he is gone.
The MCC center in East Jerusalem is in the sector of the city held by Jordan before June 1967. Above the center is Ammunition Hill, the scene of fighting in 1948 and again in 1967. The MCC center lies on the border which once diveded Arab Jordan from Jewish Israel. The stone house bears the pock marks of shell and bullet. Across the street is the Ambassador Hotel, commandeered by the Israeli government to serve as military government headquarters for the occupation of Arab territories in the North.
THE STREET in front of the MCC center leads north to Bethel Shiloh, Samaria, Galilee and beyond to Damascus. Along this way Mary and Joseph walked. Jesus also walked this way.
Today hundreds of Palestinians walked this road — some silently, some chanting. They marched six, eight, ten abreast, row on row. Some bore palm branches, others floral wreaths, many banners written in Arabic, many large photographs and paintings of Nasser. One group carried a coffin covered with flowers and palm branches.
We followed the mourners to the Damascus Gate and mingled with the crowds watching the marchers, now walking slowly and silently. High on the walls of Old Jerusalem hundreds of people watched. Waiting and also watching at the Damascus Gate and Herod's Gate were Israeli soldiers in battle dress, each holding a stubby automatic rifle poised as a grim reminder that this is an occupied land.
THE MOURNERS moved slowly down Sultan Suleiman Road past Solomon's Quarries, to Herod's Gate. Down the street and beyond the Kidron Valley, one could see the Mount of Olives and the Garden of Gethsemane. At the foot of Saladin Street, near the Garden Tomb, the mourners stopped and waited. All was orderly, somber, quiet, well directed.
Today is Rosh Hashanah, the beginning of the Jewish New Year — the year 5731. It is a sacred holiday of the Jews. Among those watching were orthodox Jews, wearing prayer caps, some broad fur hats, and some prayer shawls. Hundreds of Arab Palestinians watched their faces grave. A few tourists were snapping pictures. Eight mounted policemen waited and watched. Several TV camera teams walked up and down looking for shots and stories.
The Arab secretary of the MCC center had advised us not to venture too near the Old City because at times like this mass hostilities could erupt. One thing I could not do was to take pictures. My camera remained in my pocket. Here we were in the presence of tragedy and grief, a deeply moving spiritual experience.
AS THE THRONGS waited for the signal to enter the Old City we proceeded into Old Jerusalem through the Damascus Gate. All shops in the normally teaming [sic] noisy Old City inside the wall were closed, the iron shutters in front of the shops locked shut. Near the gate a man sold Arabic newspapers and posters with Nasser's portrait. We bought several copies.
We walked down the winding streets too narrow for cars under weathered stone archways, past ancient churches, shops and shrines. The silence of the city was broken once by loud Islamic prayers amplified by a public address system.
We headed for the gates of the temple area which enclose the Dome of the Rock and the site of Solomon's Temple. This spot, the setting of Abraham's offered sacrifice of Isaac, is among the most holy places in all Jerusalem. Here a policeman turned us back. Perhaps we did not appear to be true believers of Islam. This may have been too sacred and hour to share with the curious foreigner.
AS WE RETURNED to Damascus Gate, we heard the mounting clamor of crowds approaching. Soon we were engulfed by throngs of mourners pouring down the narrow streets, marching group after group toward the temple area. We retreated into a niche under an archway in the winding Via Dolorosa (Way of Sorrow) — the traditional route of Jesus' last walk from Pilate's Palace to Golgotha.
The marchers swept past us — hundreds, thousands, filling the narrow street from wall to wall. So close were we to the stream that we were jostled and almost brushed along with the current of humanity.
We were fascinated by the faces of the marchers — faces of despair, anger, defiance; eyes red with weeping; faces reflecting an infinite weariness and hopelessness. Some were well-dressed professional men. Some were ragged. Many wore black. Some wore the headdress and the loose garments of shepherds. Many of the women were clothed in the long full embroidered dresses of peasant women.
THE STONE surfaces of the narrow streets reverberated at times with the deafening shouts of chants delivered antiphonally a leader calling out a phrase and the throng shouting the response. The only experience to compare with this mass hysteria might be a crowd at a high school basket ball game which has gone into overtime.
Frankly we had moments of anxiety. Then again there were groups who marched silently by the only sound being the shuffle of feet on the cobblestones and a low murmur of voices.
A man trapped with us in the archway sensed our plight and in a lull between two groups of marchers suggested we slip around the corner and up a stairway into a higher level of the city. But before we reached that stairway another man be an iron gate to a courtyard motioned us to come into his place and sit inside the doorway with the protection of his house and there watch the passing stream.
AFTER AN HOUR the flow of humanity along the Via Dolorosa began to thin. We found our way back to the Damascus Gate and out into the bright autumn sunshine beyond the wall. Some reports state that 10,000 marchers entered the Old City. We thought of the scenes like this which might be seen in every city and town of the Arab world.
I recalled a conversation we had yesterday with an American woman, a third generation Jerusalemite, whose family had served the Arabs of Jerusalem since 1881. She directs a children's hospital on the wall of the Old City just above Solomon's Quarries. She viewed Nasser's death as a tragedy. He had the strength, the respect, and the confidence of the Arab peoples so that he was the only leader, she thought, who could negotiate a peace settlement in the Middle East which would be acceptable to the Arab world. She sensed in recent months a growing moderation in his attitude toward Israel.
FROM THE Damascus Gate we drove along the road which runs parallel to the wall, just outside the Old City. To the west Jewish Jerusalem lay quiet. Here, too, not a shop was open. We saw Jews leaving synagogues following morning worship. Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year is a day of rest, a day of confession, a day of new beginnings.
One prays that as God has used tragedy in times past, He could use this day of tragedy as a day of new beginnings in the Middle East. Then Arab and Jew could be brothers. Then one could go down to the Jordan River without fear. The the occupation soldiers would not lean against the doors of Damascus Gate. A day of mourning, but perhaps a day of new beginnings.
