Once an Arafat Man: The True Story of how a PLO Sniper Found a New Life

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Overview

Tass Saada was a PLO sniper and Arafat's chauffeur, a Muslim immersed in anti-Israeli activity. As a young man he came to America, where he started a family, changed his faith, and began reconciliation with Jews. Later on he returned to Qatar to face his family and former boss, Arafat, with stories from his new life in Christ. The encounters are astounding. You'll embrace Saada's engaging story. You'll be enthralled by his conversion and the biblical teaching regarding Arabs and Ishmael. You'll be encouraged by ...

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2008 Hard cover First edition. New in new dust jacket. Signed by author. SIGNED SEcond Printing. Book is in Fine/Unused condition in Fine dustjacket with new mylar protector. ... SIGNED BY AUTHOR on half-title page: "Blessings Pr. 3: 5-6 T. Saada". There is also written a line in arabic script. Read more Show Less

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Once an Arafat Man: The True Story of How a PLO Sniper Found a New Life

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Overview

Tass Saada was a PLO sniper and Arafat's chauffeur, a Muslim immersed in anti-Israeli activity. As a young man he came to America, where he started a family, changed his faith, and began reconciliation with Jews. Later on he returned to Qatar to face his family and former boss, Arafat, with stories from his new life in Christ. The encounters are astounding. You'll embrace Saada's engaging story. You'll be enthralled by his conversion and the biblical teaching regarding Arabs and Ishmael. You'll be encouraged by his changed life and the story of hope in reconciliation through Jesus. Don't miss this enlightening true story by Tass Saada, written with Dean Merrill.

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Editorial Reviews

Library Journal

Saada was a trusted assistant to Yasir Arafat in the late 1960s, soon after Fatah was established. His remarkable story is one of youthful violence and frustration; then he moved to the United States at age 23 to study engineering. He married an American woman, had a successful career in the restaurant business, and, in 1993, underwent a conversion to evangelical Christianity. He has written a moving personal story that will especially satisfy readers who believe in the transformative possibilities of America and the power of faith to alter lives. Saada's experience depicts well the unfortunate situation of the Palestinian diaspora in Arab countries and the circumstances culminating in the Jordanian-Palestinian violence of "Black September" 1970. Clearly, Saada intends to focus on the many circumstances that transformed his attitudes and activity after experiencing a miraculous religious conversion, culminating in his work in the West Bank and Gaza and his creation of "Hope Kindergarten" in the Gaza Strip. Perhaps the best part of his account is his reconciliation with Israelis and his role as a peacemaker. One's reaction to his proposals will likely depend on how one reacts to his life experiences as a whole. Recommended for large public libraries.
—Zachary T. Irwin

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781414323619
  • Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers
  • Publication date: 10/1/2008
  • Pages: 256
  • Product dimensions: 6.30 (w) x 9.10 (h) x 1.00 (d)

Read an Excerpt

ONCE AN ARAFAT MAN
 THE TRUE STORY OF HOW A PLO SNIPER FOUND A NEW LIFE
By TASS SAADA DEAN MERRILL
TYNDALE HOUSE PUBLISHERS, INC.
Copyright © 2008
Taysir Abu Saada
All right reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4143-2361-9


Chapter One THE SECOND BATTLE OF JERICHO

THE MORNING SUN FELT WARM ON MY BACK as I crouched behind a large pile of shrubbery I had scraped together, overlooking the Jordan River valley. Jericho, perhaps the world's oldest city, lay across the river in the distance. Here on the east side, my comrades and I had spent the night in a chilly cave along this range of hills. Now we were up early and excited about the surprise we would deliver to the advancing IDF (Israel Defense Forces) troops. My sleek, high-powered Simonov rifle with its telescopic sight lay beside me on the ground as I gazed down upon the quiet town of al-Karameh.

The dirt roads that meandered among the humble, mud-brick homes with flat roofs were empty on this morning of March 21, 1968. Most of the roughly fourteen thousand residents had left-not because of the warning pamphlets the Israeli planes had dropped the day before, but because we had told them what we planned to do. Now the town was eerily silent. No donkeys brayed in their pens; not an infant whimpered for its mother. Nobody could see our seven thousand or so Fatah fighters hidden behind stone walls or under tarpaulins, amid date trees and olive groves-a reception committee waiting to roll out a blood red carpet for the invaders.

A trained sniper at seventeen years old, I stood ready to do my job, waiting up on the hill for the opportune moment. I would pick off any IDF machine gunner who dared to stick his head up out of a tank or jeep. A soft breeze moved through the grass. I stared intently at the Allenby Bridge in the distance, the main crossing from the Israeli-controlled West Bank to the Jordanian territory where we sat.

Sure enough, the first vehicles in the convoy now came into view, their camouflage colors making them difficult to detect. This was the same IDF that had so humiliated the Arab armies nine months before in the infamous Six-Day War. We Palestinians had been peppering them ever since with hit-and-run attacks-a grenade here, a three-minute skirmish there. Now they had decided to storm our training camp at al-Karameh in force. They wanted to take out our operation wholesale, and maybe even get our heroic leader "Abu Ammar"-Yasser Arafat-in the process.

They figured most of us guerrilla fighters would have pulled back and away from the showdown, like so many times before. They had no idea that the wily Arafat had switched strategies this time, saying to us, "We will make a stand in this place. We will fight with honor. The whole of the Arab people are watching us. We will crush the myth that the IDF is invincible!"

And they certainly did not expect the newest tactic we would use today for the very first time: suicide bombers. We had gotten volunteers who were willing to make this their final battle for Palestinian justice. They now waited on rooftops in their bulky vests loaded with explosives until the moment came to jump into the streets below.

DEADLY SURPRISE

The growling of the IDF engines grew louder. My heart began to pound. I positioned myself for steady action as I peered through my scope. The enemy convoy reached the edge of the town. I picked out my closest target, trained the weapon on his head, and ever so carefully squeezed the Simonov's trigger.

At nearly the same moment, my comrades below began firing from their hiding places. The firefight exploded all at once. The noise was deafening. At that time, the Israeli infantry had no flak jackets, so we were able to wound or kill them right away. All hell broke loose that morning in al-Karameh.

Of course, we began taking our own casualties, too. Every Fatah fighter knew that would happen. None of us counted on surviving the day. We were fully prepared to die. We might never see the moon again, but we would regain our honor. That was, in fact, the meaning of this town's name, Karameh. It was the Arabic word for "honor" or "dignity."

The street battle raged on at full force while I kept picking off targets from the hillside. Minutes passed, perhaps even a full hour. There was no subtlety to our approach; we were going with every thrust we had to inflict mortal damage on the Jews. Then a massive bomb blast shook the entire valley. Our troops had blown up the Allenby Bridge, cutting off the escape route if the IDF tried to pull back. The Israelis were now trapped on our side of the Jordan-the east side-and would have to fight to the death. Only a miracle of Joshua-at-Jericho-sized proportions would save them now.

A few minutes later, my commander shouted at me with alarm in his voice: "Do you hear that? Helicopter gunships are coming!" I had been too focused on my targets to notice. "Get off this hill!" he ordered. "If you stay here, they'll blow you to bits from the air! Get down into the town with everybody else!"

I scrambled down the hill to join my comrades in the fight. There the conflict grew increasingly close range. There was hardly room to use a weapon. It became a hand-to-hand brawl with fists, knives, and even rocks. We put our karate and judo training to use immediately. The two sides were so intermingled that their helicopter gunners couldn't sort us out. At that point, I was fighting on sheer instinct. There was no time to think or strategize. I simply kept bashing the nearest IDF soldier before he could bash me.

I could tell the enemy was bewildered by our bravery. They had expected us to act more like classic guerrilla fighters, feinting and withdrawing. Instead, here we were in a no-holds-barred fracas. Guys were screaming, blood was splashing, the wounded were moaning, and all of us were jumping over an increasing number of dead bodies to keep up the attack. I glanced down at several cuts on my arm but paid little attention. The kick of adrenaline was too strong for me to worry about injuries.

We Fatah fighters were in fact more agile than the IDF since we carried less gear than they did and could therefore run faster. We also had our bayonets already fixed on our weapons and ready to use while the Israelis were still fumbling to get theirs off their belts and attached. At times they literally ran into our knives.

Whenever they tried to regroup behind one of their tanks, a suicide bomber would leap down from a rooftop with a thunderous explosion of nails and other metal bits. Blood spattered, and body parts flew through the air.

Occasionally throughout the afternoon, there would be a short lull in the fighting while the Israelis barricaded themselves inside a house. We would then quickly set up in the house across the street, from which we would open fire again. We stormed building after building.

BRAGGING RIGHTS

Somehow, after seven hours of gruesome combat, a ceasefire was called. I still do not know who arranged that or how it was done. The IDF withdrew and headed downriver to find another bridge they could use for returning to the West Bank. The smoke over al-Karameh began to clear. "We won! We won!" we shouted, slapping each other on the back. "We stood up to the Jews and beat them!" We danced around the four IDF tanks we had destroyed, along with three half-tracks, two armored jeeps, and even one airplane.

The symbolism for us was huge. We had done what the regular Arab armies had failed to do three times: in 1948, 1956, and the previous year. We would be featured the next day in the world's headlines. We had shown that we Palestinians were no longer just a pitiful clump of refugees. We were a proud and courageous people who had been robbed of our homeland and were on the march to take it back.

I was especially thrilled to commandeer a Willys Jeep that the Israelis had left behind. A vehicle of my own! I invited some of my comrades to jump in for a quick drive through the town.

As evening approached, we turned our attention to counting our losses. My unit of eight now numbered only three. Across the town, we went about the somber task of gathering and burying the dead. We mourned the fact that these friends were gone forever. It hurt deep within our souls, and we swore we would avenge them.

The longer we worked, the more we realized we had paid a high price on that day. We eventually tallied 128 dead, several dozen wounded, and 150 missing. These numbers, we had to admit, were probably greater than the losses suffered by the IDF.

But it was all worth it, we told ourselves. The Israelis had come from Jericho, looking for a fight, and we had given them far more than they had ever expected. Our cause was now catapulted to a whole new level.

More than anything, we could hold our heads high in the presence of the man in a checkered headdress who had watched the entire battle from a hilltop not far from where I had begun the day. He had seen our bravery, our determination, our sacrifice. The Israelis had wanted desperately to find him that day and kill him, but they had failed. His leadership stood intact. Yasser Arafat was alive and well, and we revered him more than ever.

(Continues...)


Excerpted from ONCE AN ARAFAT MAN by TASS SAADA DEAN MERRILL
Copyright © 2008 by Taysir Abu Saada. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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Table of Contents


Foreword ix Note to the Reader xv Acknowledgments xvii Part 1 How I Learned to Hate Chapter 1 The Second Battle of Jericho 3 Chapter 2 The Making of a Troublemaker 9 Chapter 3 A Cause Worth Fighting For 19 Chapter 4 Growing Up Fast 29 Chapter 5 Young Warrior 39 Chapter 6 Sidelined 51 Chapter 7 Stranger in a Strange Land 65 Chapter 8 Putting Down Roots 77 Chapter 9 A Slow Unraveling 87 Part 2 How I Learned to Love Chapter 10 Surrender 103 Chapter 11 New Day 115 Chapter 12 Farming Lessons 125 Chapter 13 Living on the Edge 139 Chapter 14 Arafat Once More 157 Chapter 15 Showdown at the Airport 171 Chapter 16 Back to the Barricades 185 Chapter 17 Behind the Curtain 195 Part 3 Road Map to Reconciliation Chapter 18 For the Middle East 205 Chapter 19 For Us All 221 Notes 231 About the Authors 233
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Customer Reviews

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Sort by: Showing 1 – 5 of 4 Customer Reviews

  • Posted March 1, 2013

    Very gripping

    Wonderful book about the power of the Holy
    spirit. Intriguing story about one man's journey to faith and beyond. Shows God's love for muslims.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  NoThank you for your feedback.   Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.

  • Anonymous

    Posted March 10, 2010

    I Also Recommend:

    Evidence for the Resurrection
    More Than a Carpenter
    The Unshakable Truth?: How You Can Experience the 12 Essentials of a Relevant Faith
    Son of Hamas: A Gripping Account of Terror, Betrayal, Political Intrigue, and Unthinkable Choices
    Why I Left Jihad: The Root of Terrorism and the Return of Radical Islam

    from terrorist to christian

    "once an arafat man" is an amazing story and very hard to put down. tass saada grew up to be a very violent terrorist in the middle east and was even a plo terrorist and a driver for arafat and filled with hatred and murdered countless civialians until he left the islamic religion and his terrorist organization and found a far more powerful faith christianity. I was really fasinated to see how he was able to leave his hate and violence behind this a fasinating memoir truly one I will never forget. great gift idea for a family member or friend. please share with your church friends and your pastor

    Was this review helpful? Yes  NoThank you for your feedback.   Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.

  • Anonymous

    Posted August 10, 2010

    No text was provided for this review.

  • Anonymous

    Posted January 22, 2010

    No text was provided for this review.

  • Anonymous

    Posted December 31, 2010

    No text was provided for this review.

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