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I Was a Foreigner
in My Own Homeland — Egypt
By MRS SIMONE NEMON
The past decades have pro
duced personal sagas of per
sonal experience fiction
writers could not even have
imagined before the Nazis
began their nefarious evil,
starting a chain reaction of
such fishionable nature the
sequella and the concluding
chapter are not yet
recorded. The accompanying
article is a case in point. . .
Written for The Jewish Com
munity Bulletin San Francisco,
Calif.
“The Secret Plot to Ransom
a Spy” made front page recent
ly. It was the story of “master
spy” Elie Cohen, hanged in
Damascus a short time ago for
spying for Israel. I could not
hold back my tears as I read
that article, and can talk about
it only in a broken voice.
Though I did not know Elie, I
am overwhelmed with grief
and compassion by the cir
cumstances of his death.
I, too, was born in Alexan
dria, Egypt, and grew up there,
loving “my country.” One day
I was suddenly called a “dirty
Jew” and then realized I was
not only a foreigner in my own
homeland but a scapegoat for
the corruption, depravity, per
versity and decay within the
government. I understood the
writing on the wall and feared
Egyptian Jewry might suffer
the same fate as that of Polish,
German and Nazi - occupied
Europe’s Jewry.
It had not been so long ago,
though in Egypt, which had
not participated in World War
II, we had only been smug and
distant spectators.
Now Egypt was becoming a
haven for Nazi army men who
not only received asylum, but
instant citizenship and high po
sitions as military advisors and
instructors, whereas Jews
whose great-grandfathers were
born in Egypt had been denied
citizenship and were fired from
their jobs without notice, and
with no other explanation than
“Sorry we cannot keep you on,
because you are Jewish. We
have our orders from the gov
ernment authorities.” Even
foreign companies like Shell
acted so. This happened to my
brother who at the time was
an engineer working for a
large Belgian firm.
Sixteen years ago, before
the situation turned desperate.
I left on my own free will, but
with regret, the home I loved.
My fear was greater than my
love. Elie Cohen was different;
his love must have exceeded
his fear. Many patriotic Egyp
tian Jews remained, waiting
for the anti-Semitic wave to
blow over. Even at such time
of crisis Egypt was Their Coun
try, Arabic their language, and
the Arabs their brothers.
My Uncle Elie Dahan has
been the victim of such a mir
age. He wore a fez, smoked a
cigar and had the corpulence
of Farouk for whom he was
often mistaken. Poor Uncle
Elie! He made a fortune in the
scrap metal business and never
diverted any funds out of
Egypt. He invested heavily in
apartment buildings. He was
very well liked. Aside from
donating generously to philan
thropic organizations he gave
charity directly. He supported
several needy families, and on
Friday evenings there was al
ways a crowd outside his ware
house for a free hot meal. The
last time I saw him, we had a
little argument because I had
tried to persuade my cousin
Daniel, his only son, to leave
Egypt. A few years later the
government sequestered the
business. My uncle had to man
age it under surveillance, and
he was only allowed a small
monthly allowance, not enough
to live on. My aunt had to sell
Persian carpets and personal
belongings at ridiculously low
prices for housekeeping money.
In 1956 after the Suez coup,
there was a sudden mass ex
pulsion of Jews from Egypt.
They were given 24 hours no
tice or imprisoned and forced
to sign papers relinquishing
their assets and lifelong sav
ings before being herded to a
ship. Out of approximately
60,000 Jews once in Egypt, to
day only about 10,000 remain.
For the older people who were
expatriated, robbed by the Gov
ernment of their life harvest,
at the barren period of their
lives, it was like a trip to the
slaughter house. Proud people,
philanthropists who had so
much contributed to education
and welfare in Egypt, were
to end in the bread line. Uncle
Elie had a heart attack and
died in Alexandria shortly
after, at the age of 50. Aunt
Vicky was left managing, with
tied hands, a huge business.
Here is how the Egyptians
terminated it. One day she re
ceived an order to evacuate the
main warehouse within 48
hours because the city needed
to build a road through it—
supposedly. They were paying
her a price determined by
them and that was not the
worst part! If any goods were
left on the premises after the
fixed time she would be sued
The situation was very danger
ous for dumped in the ware
houses were old ships and sub
marines almost impossible to
dispose of. On the other hand
she did not have the money
for the fine.
When I saw her after she
had left Egypt, penniless, she
told me she had been lucky to
have been able to pull herself
out of that spot, and come out
even.
Elie Cohen was one of those
Jews who remained in Egypt
as long as it was possible.
Wasn’t he the one betrayed,
denied of all rights in his
country of birth?
The tombs of my grandpar
ents and deceased loved ones,
as well as the tombs aban
doned by the stateless, scat
tered survivors of Egyptian
Jewry, not only have no flow
ers but are profaned. Elie
Cohen, “master spy,” died
avenging them, in risking his
life to help protect Israel, his
fellow Jews with wounds still
raw from Auschwitz ami Nas
ser’s lashes. Though he per
formed his mission u ith utmost
savoir faire he cannot be tag
ged a “master spy' on his first
and last such mission. Elie Co
hen had grit The body which
was barbarirnlh hung before
a blood-thir.vv crowd may have
provided cheap entertainment
to those who appreciate that
kind of spectacle. It was the
bod\ of a hero, murdered by a
kangaroo court.
The Southern Israelite
53