At 75 years of age, I fit into the category of elderly men who do not express world-weariness on their faces. I was born cheerful and was happy even before I became a believer.
With all my ailments, I should actually be chanting lamentations. Yet, I rejoice like Job: “I know that my redeemer lives!” (19:25). It is this assurance of salvation that I needed especially as a war reporter.
Back then, I used to stand in trenches next to bloated bodies in order to report everything as an eyewitness. The Lebanon War in 1982 was an experience of bizarre contrasts. On the one hand, the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) forced children into minefields. On the other hand, Falangist leader Bachir Gemayel handed me expensive cigars and cognac at his palace in Beirut. Shortly after my visit, this charismatic leader of the Lebanese Christians fell victim to a PLO bomb attack.
Today, one can get a lot of news on the Internet. But in those days, information from the warfront could...
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