And then she thought of Caleb. A dear friend now that they had been through so much tragedy together. Their initial discussions about the biblical basis for Zionism now seemed academic in the light of the tragedy it caused. No matter his theology, he could not recognize the hand of God in killing and expelling people who happened to be different, because they were “other.” This was not compatible with the God either of them trusted.
And Caleb was a follower of Jesus as she had been from childhood. The young American showed both compassion and wisdom, standing by and with her in the troubling tragedies. She loved to be with him and even laugh together in the midst of sorrow. She had left so abruptly yesterday. She hoped he understood her need to return, to inform Judith and the family, and to be of whatever comfort and help she could. But would he ever call the number she had given him?
***
As she was dishing up some yoghurt to go with the naan and fruit for breakfast, the telephone rang. Sabria picked it up to hear Liana calling from Qatamon.
After the customary greetings, Liana inquired about Judith and her family who had not appeared downstairs as yet. Sabria related the story of her trip to Haifa and return to inform the family of the awful news.
“That is so criminal,” Liana exclaimed. “I will talk to Judith later when she is up. I feel so badly for her.”
“How about you, Liana?” asked Sabria. They were so close in age that she almost never referred to Liana as ‘Aunt.’ Are you and your family all right? I’ve heard about trouble in Jerusalem as well.”
“I haven’t wanted to worry the greater family so haven’t told much of our tragedy here.” She began to tell Sabria about the murder of their Bedouin friend yesterday. Liana expressed her dismay. So many Arab families had left Qatamon despite the pleas of the Arab leadership to remain. Snipers were increasing, uncontrolled, both Arab and Jewish. “We miss being able to go out safely and shop, although we do. There are many times empty vegetable and fruit stalls so we have to look for food.”
“Trouble seems to be escalating, Liana. I have been in Haifa and south from here along the coast. I’ve seen so many families leaving their village homes with only what they can carry or haul in a cart. Is it that bad for you there in Jerusalem?”
“Not quite. At least not yet. We have no plans to leave. I don’t know where we’d go. Maybe to Valerie’s place for a bit.”
“Who is Valerie?”
“She is a very special friend. A Jewish lady with amazing hospitality, taking in Arab families who have been suddenly forced from their homes. She is a dear. Along with our Muslim friend, Noor, who is so calm and wise. We get together frequently to talk and decide what we can do to help, if anything.”
“That’s wonderful! A Jewish lady of compassion, a Muslim woman of wisdom, and you, a sensitive and caring Christian. I’d love to meet with all of you. I am in the process of documenting the events as I encounter them. But I want to do more to help. Maybe I should come up to Jerusalem to meet with you all.”
“We’d love to have you here with us, Sabria. I’m already thinking of taking you to one of our get-togethers. I’m sure you’d learn a lot from both of my friends. They are older than me, and much wiser.”
Sabria chuckled. “I’ve always thought of you as my young but wise aunt. But yes, I’d love to come.”
“Plan on staying at our home. When can you come?”
“Thank you. Very soon. I want to talk to the rest of the family first, particularly Judith, in case she needs me for anything.”
Chapter 21
April 1948
The early morning in the kitchen at the small table always provided some of the best times Sabria ever had with her father. A typical farmer, his day began early. By six his Arabic coffee aroma filled the room. Khalid, lean and dark tan from years of working in the sun often opened up and shared his heart with his oldest child. Hava would usually appear later to start breakfast. Her mother liked to sleep a bit longer along with the children. So if Sabria wanted time alone with him, she would get up and come down in her robe before anyone else appeared.
Khalid spun around hearing Sabria’s soft slippers and enclosed his daughter in a big hug. “It’s so good to have you home again.”
Sabria felt a joy she could never verbalize in his arms. Perhaps it came from being held closely as a baby and small child. “I love being home again,” she said finally, walking to the metal coffee container with the long handle. “The smell of your coffee I can never forget.”
They settled down across the table from each other sipping the strong coffee. Sabria had learned she enjoyed it with less than the usual two teaspoons of sugar.
The conversation quickly turned to last night and Judith. “What is ahead for her, Father?”
“She has no choice but to stay here for awhile at least. There is nothing to go back to. We have room for her and the children and they can enjoy their cousins even though they are older. Judith can confide in your mother as they have in the past. This is the time for a sister to come forward. So it can be a good healing time for Judith.”
“It there anything I can do to help?” Sabria asked as she sipped her coffee.
“You have already done a great deal, at some risk to yourself to go to Haifa and the area of the city that has been largely destroyed. We worried about you.”
“We needed to know, Father. But I’m wondering whether I should stay here in Tantura. I talked with Liana on the phone last night about her sister and family, so she knows.”
“I hope she can come here to spend some time with Judith. She’ll have to bring her children as her husband teaches at the University every day.”
Sabria nodded. “Something else came up during our conversation and I ended up getting invited to visit her and a couple of her close friends, one Muslim and interestingly, a Jewish lady who takes in Arabs who have just been expelled from their homes. What do you think?”
Khalid stirred his coffee and sipped a bit. He would often be quiet while thinking, so his daughter waited in silence. Finally he spoke. “We Palestinian Arabs are in an uncertain time and there is danger for all of us. We have no defense so are at the mercy of the Zionists. I have heard there is trouble in Jerusalem in general, and Qatamon in particular. But there is trouble here on the coast also as you well know. We have no hold upon tomorrow, and have to trust God to help us navigate treacherous waters.”
He stopped talking again for a few moments while Sabria waited, tearing off a piece of bread. “I know your interest in documenting this period in our history and in helping where you can. As I think about it, there is no reason not to go. You could be of help to Liana and the family along with being close to the action. Would you be safe there? I don’t know. But I would say ‘go.’ Be wise about where you visit, use good judgment when to leave, and come back to us again. We love to have you here.” And then he added with a smile, “bring that young man so we can meet him.”
***
Sabria sat on the bus heading toward Jenin, the most northern city in the Arab allotted territory. It had been a quick decision to take the longer route to Jerusalem. Going down the coastal plain to Tel Aviv would have been faster, but the Zionist forces seemed determined to destroy villages, producing chaos on the roads. Then there would be the route up to Jerusalem from Tel Aviv with snipers of both sides and traffic delays.
So the tortuous dirt roads with multiple buses through Jenin and Nablus had seemed best. It would take almost 24 hours heading south to get to Ramallah on the outskirts of Jerusalem. But now on the first day of April, the fields were green, grass covered the hills, and leaves and blossoms displayed their beauty on the fruit trees. The olive ones adorned the hillsides, some terraced in the ancient way with low stone walls.
Heading east they passed occasional walled compounds of Jewish immigrants in isolated settlements of Galilee, scattered around Nazareth and mixed with the still-existent Arab villages. Sabria wondered how long these Arabic rural enclaves would last. T
hey had found themselves partitioned into what would become the Jewish land, the area that the UN had partitioned to the Jewish immigrants. Once a few kilometers from Jenin, they would continue south in the territory allotted to the Arabs, but to be controlled by the king of Transjordan.
Sabria put her head back, trying to sleep on the bouncing bus. Several farmers entered at Jenin, one with a cage of chickens that he stowed on a rear seat still available. Her thoughts raced recalling the whirlwind of events of the past days. She had much to write about, but not now. She needed some peace and rest before whatever lay ahead for her in Jerusalem.
***
Training of his company near Tel Aviv had continued since Captain Eldad had led them in the attack of Sa‘sa in mid-February. But training gets old and tiresome. He wanted action. So he was delighted to receive his orders along with the other elite Palmach units, for Operation Nachshon on April first, 1948. He already knew them from the Consultancy meetings. They would begin to cleanse the land from Jerusalem down the mountains toward Tel Aviv. The scattered Arab villages had remained troublesome, with irregulars blocking the road at times and hiding snipers who shot randomly at Jewish traffic, killing and wounding passengers. It would be the first time the various militias including the Stern Gang and the Irgun would work together as a single army under the Hagana banner. Attending the last leaders’ meeting in Ben Gurion’s home in Tel Aviv preparing the orders, Eldad realized this would be the beginning of the real “defense force” they all envisioned.
His company, along with other Palmach units, began the attack on several villages along the road from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem, meeting more resistance from paramilitary Arab forces than anticipated. Eldad’s Palmach unit received orders to attack Qastal Village, a castle-like town placed on the last western peak prior to the final drive up to Jerusalem. In his orders, Eldad read that it was an “enemy base,” which made it easier for his men to attack a village of unsuspecting civilians. He knew that de-humanizing his enemy made it easier for his men to turn villagers into “legitimate targets.” What he didn’t know, the Palestinian’s military hero, Abd al-Qaadir al-Husayni commanded the village. The shelling and one frontal attack failed to break the defense. Eldad increased his fire during the next attempt to storm the target, but the Arab defenders drove him back taking several casualties of his men. As much as Eldad hated to lose, shown by his angry tirade to his soldiers, they would have to regroup and try again later.
***
After the long and tiring bus trip from Haifa, Sabria enjoyed a long sleep in a bed given up by Liana’s oldest child. At eleven years old Alia had become a second mother to the three younger children. Because of the danger to the children, the local school in Qatamon closed. Liana would sometimes venture out to visit during the safer mornings, after her husband left for the University. Alia liked to be in charge.
The next morning, arriving at Valerie’s villa and given a warm welcome, Liana introduced Sabria, who then met two of the Arab women who had lost their homes to the militias. One had lost two children, shot by a sniper as they tried to flee.
“I am so sorry to hear that,” she spoke in Arabic having learned that Valerie spoke it as well. “Murdering innocent children!”
“They are not sure where to go,” Valerie explained. “I’ve heard the UN has plans to develop refugee camps in the Arab area, but they are not ready yet. Both do have relatives in the Galilee and they may go there.”
With both hands on her head Sabria turned back to Valerie. “What a sad story. Two families with nowhere to go. No place to call home. And two children killed. Why?” Sabria paused. “You’d think that women and children would be spared as no threats to the militias.”
Liana and Sabria waited while Valerie brought tea. The Arab refugee women soon excused themselves and disappeared up the stairs.
Looking around, Sabria admired the house. It could be called a villa. “How many bedrooms, Liana?”
“I remember Valerie having six families at one time recently. I think there are that many bedrooms upstairs. And hers is at this level in back.”
Valerie arrived with a tray of tea, cups, and biscuits. “I have heard about you, Sabria, and what you did recently for your Aunt Judith. I am so sad to hear what happened to your family in Haifa.”
“Yes, it’s an ongoing tragedy. It sounds like the same eviction and killing is happening here as well. I so admire you, Valerie, for taking in Arab families who are destitute.”
“You know, Sabria, what is happening in the name of Jewry is not Judaism. I am orthodox and observe the historic religion coming down from Moses. It is shocking to see what my fellow Jews are doing to the local Arabic population. We put them down. We don’t consider them equal to us. We call them dirty and see them as enemies. They resist our coming in like a storm to drive them out. When they do try to stop us, we turn it upside down and call them the aggressors. So we rationalize and see ourselves as victims. We call our attacking militias a “defense force.”
“Did your own family suffer in Europe? Were you victims as well?”
“Yes, going back, we came from Russia in the twenties and fled the pogroms there only to find more persecution in Poland. So we came here many years ago, bought land and fit into the society with peace and friendship. Having been mistreated doesn’t give us the right to abuse others, and certainly not people who had nothing to do with the injustice we faced.”
The discussion continued, all three sharing their lives and experiences over the past few years. They tried to put together the Zionist thinking and plans, as Sabria explained what Eldad had divulged. The two hours flew by, ending in an invitation for Sabria to stay in one of Valerie’s empty rooms. “It will enable us to get better acquainted,” Valerie added, “and give Alia back her bed.”
Chapter 22
Sabria learned that just living every day in Qatamon became increasingly difficult during April. The British Army tried to control the streets and arrested anyone they saw carrying a weapon. But rumors flew that what little protection the local population had would be gone in May. So for the high school students, boarding arrangements at the school or nearby kept them off the streets. They moved the graduation from June up to April.
During that first week of April, Sabria learned to move through the town on back roads and through abandoned courtyards to interview people who still lived there, and some families in the process of leaving. With Arab forces in control of the road to Tel Aviv, Jewish families grew short of now-rationed food and fuel. Water from springs outside Jerusalem could no longer be guaranteed and became intermittently available. With Arab attacks on the railroad, trains carrying supplies for the Jewish community became scarce. As feeding her guests became more difficult for Valerie, Sabria asked her how she was coping.
“I don’t know what to do,” Valerie confessed. “This is the first time for many years that I . . . ,” she couldn’t continue as her voice broke.
Sabria nodded and just listened.
“I’m not sure what to do.”
“You had a difficult time in the past as well?”
“Yes, I didn’t mean to bring that up. I never talk about it to anyone. But it sits on my heart like a smoldering ember that never goes out or gets out.”
“Maybe it should ‘get out.’”
“Perhaps so, Sabria. Being around you I’ve realized that wisdom is not confined to greater age.”
“If you want to talk about the past, you have my assurance that anything you say will go no further than this room.”
Valerie took a deep breath. “Please, sit down. They both pulled chairs out from the kitchen table. “The current dilemma out of my control to do anything about it, reminds me of the past when I felt a similar helplessness. I had the usual dreams of finishing my education, getting married, having children and a happy home. Our family had come through the pogroms, and here was a new life bursting with possibilities.” She stopped to compose herself.
“This all exploded.
One night walking back from the grocery store a man grabbed my arm and clapped his hand over my mouth to stifle my scream. Caucasian. He took me behind a building and . . . ” Valerie couldn’t continue as she quietly broke into sobs.
“He raped you?”
The older woman nodded, “Yes. I can’t say the word, even now,” she managed through her tears.
Sabria waited quietly as Valerie reached for a nearby napkin to wipe her eyes. “I managed to hide it until it became obvious that I was pregnant. I couldn’t tell my parents. They assumed I had been with a boyfriend and I didn’t deny them that thought.”
“So what did you do?”
“I couldn’t go through with an abortion. By the time I realized I was pregnant, the baby had grown and I definitely couldn’t do it. I had to quit school and my parents sent me away to Nazareth, to a home for unwed mothers. It was awful, the worst time in my life. I felt dirty, ugly, violated. No man would ever be my husband. It was the end of any happiness for me. It would be a disgrace forever. That’s why I have never told anyone.”
Sabria remained silent, rose and walked around the small kitchen table leaning over to hug Valerie. She left her arm around her while Valerie struggled to speak.
“The baby came, a cute little boy, but I couldn’t even hold him. He reminded me of my tormentor. I couldn’t keep him. I didn’t know if I could love him. That’s how I felt. He needed that love I didn’t think I could give. I have wondered for years whether I did the right thing. I know he is not illegitimate. It’s the father who fits that category.” Valerie’s voice began to shake. “Somewhere there is a young man who probably wonders who his mother is. And I think of him and try to imagine what he is like now.”
Sabria straightened up and walked around to her chair. “Would you ever want to find him?”
“I don’t know. Maybe someday I would. I have decided both ways at various times.”
“Your life has counted a great deal. You have become a much admired woman in Qatamon for your compassion and help to destitute families.”
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