Nakba

by Lloyd Philip Johnson

  “What is that?”

  “You should know that.” He paused, looked at Sabria, brow furrowed and eyes squinting. He reached for his coffee. “It’s the elite force of the Hagana under Menachim Begin. We blew up the King David Hotel last year, killed 91 British troops and injured many others.” He shrugged and smiled. “I think the British got the message.”

  Sabria blinked and stared wide-eyed at this soldier who calmly related the terrorist event that resulted in the slaughter of so many of his former comrades. She had noticed that Haifa was teeming with British soldiers who seemed to have nothing to do. “What message?”

  “We made it clear. They got it, ‘get out.’”

  “Didn’t they try to be fair to both sides, Jews and Arabs?”

  “That’s the problem. They occupied the country for decades, fought both us and the Arabs since 1936. But then they began to turn away our immigrants from Europe who had suffered persecution for decades, ending in the Holocaust. They didn’t want any more of us here. Too much fighting with the bloody Arabs.”

  “So now they’re leaving for good?” Sabria asked.

  “Haven’t you seen all of them milling around Haifa waiting to get on the ship to take them home? We think all one hundred thousand will soon go home.”

  “Of course, I’ve been aware of them. Do you think they’ll be investigating the explosion that happened last night?”

  “Which one?”

  “The destroyed home in the Arab area at the base of Mt. Carmel.”

  “Oh that. No, its nothing.” Eldad laughed, shaking his head. “Some of our guys have started rolling barrels of explosives down the hill into the Arab areas. They are pouring old oil down the streets and igniting it. Sometimes they use snipers when people come out into the street to put out the fires. It’s working. The British do nothing to stop us.” He paused to sip his coffee and then cocked his head. “ You probably don’t know that thousands of wealthy Arabs are leaving Haifa. We’ll eventually have this a Jewish-only city.”

  Sabria sat stunned, remained quiet, mouth agape, and watched Eldad silently as he took another bite of his roll. While he chewed and drank his coffee, she struggled to put this new information together. She felt nauseated and began to tremble inside, pushing away her unfinished tea. Thoughts tumbled around in her mind as she began to understand that last night’s brutal attack was part of a greater plan to rid the city of its Arab population. How could anyone with an education and any sense of right and wrong stoop to such cruelty against a helpless civilian population? She suddenly realized he was looking at her with his brow furrowed.

  “You didn’t know this?”

  “A . . . Ah . . . I guess . . . I didn’t realize the extent of this operation.”

  “Why not? This is part of the Zionist dream, to ‘de-Arabize’ the city,” he said, holding up two fingers of each hand. “We have to make these trash people get out. Transfer them elsewhere. We don’t care where they go. Just leave.”

  “I . . . I don’t . . . I can’t understand why we shouldn’t live together peacefully with them as we have for centuries. What’s wrong with that?”

  “They procreate like rabbits. There is no way we can have our Jewish democracy with the majority of people native Palestinians. We’ve had the dream for decades since Herzl fifty years ago, a true Jewish homeland where we can live securely and freely without another Holocaust. You know that. ‘A people without a land for a land without a people.’ They have to go.” He looked up at several girls going by with their trays.

  Sabria felt her pulse speed up. Is this conversation real? She must change the subject. “Are you observant?”

  “No. I don’t hold to this God stuff despite my name.” Eldad wrinkled his nose. “Real Judaism is against our Zionist goals. You must know that. Some rabbis are against the whole idea, wanting to wait for their Messiah who will lead them to take the land. But we will succeed. No more weak persecuted Jews of the centuries gone by.” He punched the air with his fist. “We are the new Jews who will have our own land of Israel. We already outnumber the Arabs in Haifa as of this year-end.”

  Sabria took a deep breath, looked at her watch and quickly excused herself as she rose to leave. She felt about ready to throw up.

  “Hey wait a minute,” Eldad said, rising to his feet as well. “I didn’t want to talk politics, but learn more about you. Could we meet for dinner tonight? I know the perfect spot and it’s a place I’m sure you’d enjoy?”

  Frightened, all she could manage was a shake of her head and turned quickly to hurry away hoping he wouldn’t follow her.

  Chapter 2

  Sabria couldn’t concentrate on her studies for two days, mechanically plodding to classes, awaiting the weekend to attend her Melkite church. She took comfort in the ancient liturgy that never changed, a church of stability dating back to the first century and the historic gathering of Jews and Arabs in Antioch, Syria. According to Luke, the first group to be called Christians. She felt a sense of peace walking into the quiet sanctuary, harking back eons with the candles and smells of incense.

  As she sat down to breathe a silent prayer, Sabria noticed a young man across the aisle she had never seen before. He was tall and thin, blond, very short hair, wore a pleasant expression and looked around including at her. He must be either from Europe or America. Their eyes met and he nodded. She answered with a brief smile, and then turning away, bowed her head in a prayer that asked God to give her wisdom to understand the escalating horror Eldad described and what she should do.

  The mass began in Arabic. She wondered what the young man understood. He seemed to sense what was being said and done. She realized more powerfully than ever, that Messiah took upon himself the evil and suffering of the world. She smiled and enjoyed the moments of worship, took some deep breaths and relaxed for the first time in several days.

  At the conclusion while greeting friends, Sabria noticed the tall young man talking in English with others. He soon sauntered over to introduce himself.

  “I’m new here, Caleb,” he said, sticking out his hand American style.

  She quickly recognized his American accent and gesture of friendship, and shook his hand briefly. “Welcome. I’m Sabria. You must be visiting from the United States.”

  “How did you know?” he said chuckling with a twinkle in his eye.

  “Because you don’t talk like an Englishman,” she countered, laughing.

  “I know. They say we don’t speak the language properly. Besides I’m from the south, where ‘y’all’ and grits are common and considered country.”

  “Well, I’m from a farm and proud of it.” Sabria said.

  “Then we have something in common,” he chuckled. I’m new at the Technion and looking for friends. You a student there?”

  “Yes, third year now. I’m an education major trying to figure out what to do when I grow up.”

  “I’m wondering about that for me also,” he replied. “Studying physics and international studies. But so much is happening in this land right now, I’m trying to understand it.”

  She shook her head slowly. “Me too. Have you been in Palestine very long?”

  “I did attend Hebrew University in Jerusalem during the spring, and then did summer school and now the fall semester here. I’m on a study-abroad program from my University in Texas.”

  “Wow, as you Americans say. You’ve had lots of academic experiences. You must be very smart by now.” Sabria turned with a nod to acknowledge a classmate.

  Caleb laughed. “The further I go, the less I seem to know. Hey, how about a bit of lunch. I have found a good shawarma place not far from here.”

  Sabria remained quiet while she considered the invitation. Caleb seemed like someone safe and perhaps a person she’d like to know. But he represented America and it didn’t seem to care about Jewish soldiers threatening Palestinians. She didn’t want to hear any more uncomfortable stuff. Her conversation with Eldad still haunted her—but this guy looked di
fferent. He seemed harmless and maybe even fun.

  “Pretty big decision, Sabria?” He smiled.

  She laughed. “I’d enjoy getting to know you. Let’s go.”

  ***

  Walking into the small Arab restaurant with narrow tables along one side and a counter on the other, Sabria enjoyed the familiar smells of lamb cooking on the rotisserie. Caleb seemed comfortable and ordered two lamb shawarmas. The two guys behind the counter worked fast, taking orders and cooking. She smiled watching and enjoying the familiar smells from the only small table available.

  Their Arab wrap filled with meat and vegetables, condiments and topped with a delicious sauce proved very tasty. Sabria looked up after a couple of bites. “You must have been here before.”

  “Yeah, I have. I like to explore the City. Haifa is a wonderful mixture of Jewish and Arab culture, and food.”

  “I hope it stays that way.”

  “What do you mean? Do you think it will change?” Caleb asked and then lowered his head to take another bite.

  “It already has begun.” Sabria paused and gazed out into the street where people walked by, some older men in in Arab keffiyehs and some women in hijabs. But younger women stopping to shop wore mostly western dress along with their Jewish friends. A short older man hurried by, so identified by his headgear. Yarmulkes often crowned Jewish men, the usual black skullcap worn on the back of the head that always looked like it would fall off. She often wondered how they held it in place, especially the bald ones. Coming back in her mind to his question she didn’t want to get into a political discussion—certainly not to revisit the disturbing conversation with Eldad about his and others’ intentions.

  “You think the culture is changing?” he asked again. “In what way?”

  “I think it is changing all over the world as a result of World War Two. Such tragedies can’t help but produce major disruptions as even ordinary people are displaced or killed.” Sabria tried to choose her words carefully and emphasize the broad trends of history to avoid talking about the new violence in Haifa.

  “I agree. A devastated Europe. Six million Jews slaughtered in the Holocaust, their families now on the move looking for a place of safety.” He stopped to attack his shawarma. “We in the US have refused to take many of them in. Both before and after the war. Now they are coming here to Palestine to have a homeland for the first time in two thousand years. They just want to have their own land and live in security and peace after all the centuries of suffering. They deserve it. What an exciting time to be here!”

  “I’ve heard America closed its doors to Jewish immigration from Europe.”

  “We did and I don’t know why.” Caleb shrugged his shoulders. Maybe it was part of our isolationist tendencies not wanting to get involved again in Europe after both World Wars. Maybe anti-Semitism.”

  “Are you in favor of their emigration to . . . other countries?” She suddenly regretted asking, realizing this could open a discussion she didn’t wish to pursue.

  “Oh yeah. This is predicted in the Bible as you know. The people of Israel are God’s chosen to come back to this particular land. It belongs to them. Our church in Texas is sending money to Jewish agencies to help poor European emigrants come here. We can’t wait to see what will happen as they settle in this place. Maybe someday they will have their own state.”

  “I don’t understand. You mean Christians in America believe that one tribe of all peoples on the earth are singled out two millennia later to be special. I thought that God loves all people, not just one group.”

  “Yeah, he does.” Caleb nodded. “But these prophecies of the Old Testament about returning to their land still apply to Jewish people today.”

  “Really? So European emigrants can come in and take over the country.”

  “Well . . . not exactly take over.” He furrowed his brow. “But if God has given them this land they have a right to take . . . well . . . some of it.”

  Eldad’s words about ‘de-Arabizing’ Haifa came rushing back in her mind. “Does that mean that the historic residents of the land have to leave?” Sabria asked, frowning.

  “I don’t think so. I’ve learned that Balfour of England, who wrote his declaration in 1917, emphasized that the Jews in getting a homeland, should do nothing to harm the people already there. He was a Christian Zionist. This became British marching orders.”

  Caleb stopped to take another bite of his shawarma. “But on the other hand Theodore Herzl, the pioneer of the Zionist movement from the beginning of this century popularized the slogan, ‘A people without a land for a land without a people.’ Zionism is secular, not religious, and apparently didn’t recognize the Arab population already here. But if you’re one of the Holocaust survivors now, I guess you’d want the land for security, for yourself, and Arabs like you to leave. That’s what I’ve learned so far.”

  “I know,” Sabria replied, gazing intently into his eyes. “We’ve studied that also. But some of the orthodox Jews think it a mistake. They should wait until their Messiah comes. We have lived peacefully with Jews, Bedouin, Druze, other Arabs Muslim or Christian and Westerners for centuries. We still can. But do Americans really think no one lived here? If they know actual history, do they think its right that immigrants come from Europe in large numbers and displace those on their farms and in their homes?”

  “No. But most Americans don’t even know of you people or consider the presence of an Arab population let alone Christians. It’s as if you don’t exist. We just applaud that the ancient prophecies about Israel are beginning to come true.”

  “Is this what you believe?”

  Caleb looked down and took another bite of his shawarma and chewed silently. Then, nodding, “I guess I do. About the predictions. I was raised to think this way in our church. We support the Zionist position although we don’t call it by that name. We believe in the Jews’ right to the land and we contribute to their people. I’ve never questioned it. Never even thought much about it. If you are raised to think a certain way most of us just accept it. I think not only our understanding of the Old Testament writings affects us, but also guilt for not doing more to protect Jewish people, particularly in Europe during the war. You know, the Holocaust.”

  Sabria nodded, eyes averted and remained silent. She couldn’t put together Caleb’s faith and his ideas of justice in taking others’ land. That the ancient prophecies applied today and that because of what happened to Jews in Germany, God intended for Eldad and his fellow soldiers to terrorize Arab people in Palestine until they died or fled. She stared out the window for several moments. How could what Eldad described be ‘Christian?’ She sat back in her chair, sighed and crossed her arms, as she sensed disappointment that a barrier rose between them.

  “Look, Sabria, I think I’ve upset you. That was not my intention. I just wanted to chat and to get to know a new friend. Can we get together again and this time stay away from political and religious issues?”

  “I’d have to think about that. Maybe we’ll bump into each other at church some future Sunday.”

  As she rose to leave, Caleb stood, a pained expression on his face, looking like he was about to say something, and nothing came out.

  Chapter 3

  Adnan sat on the veranda of his spacious home on the coastal plain of Palestine overlooking Tantura with the Mediterranean Sea just beyond. Broad natural rock steps led up to the large home. It had been further enlarged upward to accommodate his son’s family. His Arab village of with its 1,700 inhabitants occupied the coast with its fishing fleet of small boats, houses and shops. The sun shone in the December crisp air of 1947, bathing the citrus orchards, his livelihood for decades. A widower, his hair had turned white, and the wrinkles on his face showed the residue of years of hard work in the sun building his farm. He had been able to provide work for his only son Khalid, now grown with his own family and three children. Then he thought about Sabria, his beloved oldest granddaughter just 25 kilometers away at the Technion
College and Technical Institute in Haifa.

  After his wife died several years ago, he became increasingly involved with his grandchildren. They were growing up too fast, he mused. Life had been good on the plain just east of the village toward the mountains. Mt. Carmel dominated them to the northeast overlooking the Haifa area. It had been the historical site of Elijah’s contest with the prophets of Baal described in the Old Testament. The Bible rested in Adnan’s lap. The close link with his “Ancient of Days” conditioned his thinking and decisions over many years. He surmised that was why people sought his counsel frequently.

  Running footsteps through the orchard of fruit trees interrupted his reverie. A young man appeared, moderate height, muscular, tanned by the sun wearing a broad-brimmed sun hat with a chin cord to keep it in place. He ran up to Adnan, panting from his pace. “Asalam alekum,” he said, removing his hat with a slight bow.

  “Peace to you as well, Jamal. You don’t come around as much as you did last summer for some reason.” He winked at the young man who reddened a bit.

  “Yeah, I guess that’s true. But I wanted to ask . . . ”

  “You must be busy harvesting oranges for your father.” Adnan had a bemused smile.

  “We have been busy. They seem to be ready all at the same time.” Jamal took a deep breath. “I just wanted to know . . . ”

  “How is your family doing? You have three younger siblings. Tell me about them. I want to know what they are doing.” By this time Adnan could hardly suppress a laugh and covered his mouth as if wiping his lips.

  “Well, they’re fine. I really didn’t come to discuss my family.” Jamal seemed pained. “I don’t want to be disrespectful, sir, but I really want to know . . . ”

  Adnan chuckled. “I know why you came. She hasn’t told us when she will be home, but probably before the end of December when the semester ends.”

  “Not before then?”