 |
 |
|
|
Back |
 |
Next |
| Five years after the 1967 war in Sinai, I returned with colleagues to have a look at the battlefield. The wind had blown away the sand, revealing a macabre memento of the war. The hand of an Egyptian soldier who had found his grave in the dunes. Next to it was his helmet. His forefinger was pointing to heaven as though in admonition. No More War. But Sadat had arrived ten years too late for him. |
|
14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 VIEW THE INDEX PAGE |
Religious Passion | The Immigrants Buy original prints in the Portfolio Room |
| Contents | Editorials | The Platypus | Links | Copyright |
| Portfolios | Camera Corner | War Stories | Dirck's Gallery | Comments |
| Issue Archives | Columns | Forums | Mailing List | E-mail The DJ |