Egyptians don’t call it the Yom Kippur War, they call it the 6th of October. On this day in 1973, the Egyptian Army, supported by the Air Force under the leadership of General Hosni Mubarak, pushed across the Suez Canal and dislodged the Israelis who had been occupying the Sinai Pensinsula, on the other side, since 1967. It was the only time in four Arab-Israeli wars that the Egyptians had the better of the Israelis. Tactically, the crossing was bold and ingenious (dissolving giant defensive sand berms with high-pressure water hoses; erecting pontoon bridges; commandos crossing the canal in exposed rubber dinghies), but the offensive surprise afforded by attacking on the eve of a Jewish holiday didn’t last long. After three days, the Israelis counterattacked. They divided the Egyptian Third Army, recrossed the canal, and came within a hundred kilometers of Cairo. Ceasefire and Camp David followed, with Israel ceding Sinai back, and the Egyptians were able to pretend that they had won the war and overturned decades of Arab humiliation.
This victory named a bridge, the 6th of October over the Nile, and a new Cairene suburb, the 6th of October, and provided the foundation for the Army’s valedictory status in Egypt. Last night, I was out walking amid evening promenaders and Coptic Christians protesting yet another church burning and beating by the military police. (One pulled up his sleeve to reveal a raised red welt from a long baton, laid over a tattoo of St. George slaying the dragon.) Across the street, a couple of hundred riot police and military police were massed. By the river, I saw an old man, who seemed to be mad, railing in the dusk. “Nasser took everything!” he said, “and left us this trash!” He pointed at a heap of flotsam garbage, and then to his chest: “I am a hero of October 6th!”
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