by Ibtisam Azem
The hall was infused with zeal. Those elected by the people applauded the elected prime minister. The crowd was confident of everything and anything, “like triumphant lions.”
Badriyya added a comment: “Had this law been passed in Honolulu, the world would have been outraged, but because it is the state of cancer, no one says a word until another holocaust takes place. And then we’ll officially be the new Jews!”
Ariel looked at the comments and their time codes, especially the last one by Badriyya. It was posted at eleven the day before. He felt a lump in his throat. He used to get upset upon hearing his Arab friends’ complaints and would waiver between understanding and disapproval.
27
Ariel
The Calm before the Storm?
Tel Aviv—Ariel Levy
9:15 p.m. Jerusalem
No news or war experienced by this city in the past has ever created this kind of calm. I was born and raised in Tel Aviv. I have lived here my entire life (except for three years in New York to study and work). Tel Aviv is our only fortress in the world, and we safeguard it the way we safeguard our bodies. The bodies that were hunted by Nazi Europe. Yet, our desire to live and the way we held on to it triumphed over their desire to murder us. This is our fortress, and despite having one of the strongest armies in the world, fear has not left it.
I have written a lot about Tel Aviv and have lived through many wars. I was personally affected as well; my father was killed when his chopper exploded because of a technical malfunction during the war in Lebanon. I have known fear and have lived through strange days during which we believed, even if briefly during wars, that we only had two options: life or death. As if we were reliving the fear of Masada once again. “Masada Will Not Fall Again” was and still is the slogan that sums up the general mood here. Considering how foggy things are today, this slogan is on people’s minds more than ever. Everyone is on high alert. I experienced this personally before, during the two intifadas, the war in southern Lebanon, Saddam’s scud-missile attack, and the wars with Hizballah and Hamas. Let alone the bus explosions. But today is different.
The city that never rests, as its denizens like to say, rested for the first time in its history. Less than an hour ago, I made a second call to a source close to the leadership of the IDF, who occupies a prominent position. A. Y. confirmed that the initial survey of all cameras in public spaces showed no irregular movement on streets. There are no congregations of Arabs, or preparations to stage demonstrations. Nor are there traces of escape attempts from prisons. The circumstances of the “disappearance” (if this is the correct term for the situation) are still not clear. This is a source of extreme embarrassment for the government and security forces in the country. Do they not know what is happening?
Initial official statements do not indicate any embarrassment, but we will see the extent of repercussions in the next few days. These events, as more than one source said to me, could lead to resignations of senior officials in the security apparatus. But we have to wait and not rush.
A state of maximum emergency was declared in the country. Leaves for government officials and the army have been suspended, and reserves have been recalled. An initial examination of hundreds of thousands of e-mails and text messages that were sent to or from Arabs in the country hasn’t produced any leads as to the truth of what has taken place as of yet.
It might be speculation and not concrete knowledge to say that, regardless of the identity of the party behind it, something did happen and it was planned, but might have gone out of control. The admin of a very popular Facebook page here wrote her last post just before midnight saying, “We will not stay silent after today, and you will see.” The author, Badriyya, is a resident of Jaffa. She posts regularly about events in her hometown and writes stories about the lives and concerns of her people. Badriyya’s anger was palpable in her choice of words after the “Security Belt” law (aka “Precaution Law”) was passed. The law stipulates that any Israeli Arab who refuses to acknowledge the independence and Jewishness of the state, or commemorates what Palestinians call “nakba” instead of independence, shall be detained. Such persons, according to the law, will be placed in a security zone the government has set up in the south until their fate is decided.
Can we extrapolate from the writings on the wall? When right-wing extremists wrote hateful remarks and issued death threats against Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin, God bless his soul, no one took their threats seriously. The threats, this time around, were written on a virtual wall. Social media sites have helped cause major changes in the Arab world and ushered the Arab Spring, which has turned into bloody winter. Didn’t those people act after we all thought they were in eternal slumber?
What does it mean when some write, “We will not be silent anymore?” Does that mean that Palestinians will use force to realize their demands? Have they all united and planned something and outsmarted security forces? Were they able to penetrate the security barrier so easily? Or is it the exact opposite, and they all fell prey to a brilliant plan, designed by someone else, to get rid of them?
The minister of defense, possibly accompanied by the prime minister, will hold a special press conference at eleven, tomorrow morning, to appraise Israelis and the rest of the world of the latest developments. He will undoubtedly be joined by security and intelligence officials. An extensive search is underway to get to the bottom of the disappearance of Palestinians from the land of Israel. We are a few hours away from revealing the truth everyone is dying to know.
At any rate, whether Palestinians will reappear or not, what is certain is that their disappearance twenty hours ago (since the first official recorded instance was at 3 a.m.) will change things irrevocably in this country.
Ariel relaxed in his chair and took a sip of his wine after sniffing it. He checked the news again to make sure there was nothing new before sending the article. Alex was back behind the bar and smiled when she saw him consumed by his music and writing. He smiled back without saying anything. He read the article twice, fixed a few typos, and then sent it to the shift editor in New York.
28
Rothschild Boulevard
She was standing at the intersection of Rothschild and Allenby, right where Ariel left her. After he disappeared in the distance on his way to Chez George, she went back to humming a tune thinking it would ward off a fear masked with boredom. A car slowed down and its passengers lowered their windows and started pointing and gesturing lewdly while laughing.
“Dfokim. Crazy sons of bitches,” she muttered with a smile.
She tried to ignore them, hoping they would give up, but they didn’t. They yelled at her to get in, promising to pay whatever she asked for. It didn’t feel right and they wouldn’t leave. One of them got out and wanted to take her by the hand to force her into the car. He went back and left the door open. Their speech was slurred and he reeked of alcohol. Dana’s heart was pounding and Khamis al-Hazin was somewhere where he couldn’t hear this scared heart.
She wore a fake smile as she approached the car, toyed with the driver’s hair, kissed his check, and took his hand and put it on her breast.
“You go ahead to Nahlat Benyamin, across from Allenby. I’ll be there in five. I just need to fix myself up.”
They drove away laughing and cheering. As soon as they got far enough, she took off her high heels, and ran in the opposite direction to Chez George’s.
They called her Dana, after the young Moroccan who had a sex change and became a woman and called herself Dana International. She was just Dana. With no family name, or sex change.
She doesn’t know where she got her dark skin color from. Both her parents were blond. Khamis al-Hazin told her that she might be one of the stolen Yemenite children. Why didn’t she have any photos of her pregnant mother? She doesn’t look anything like her parents. But she didn’t like Khamis’s theory. It was one of those Arab myths as far as she was concerned. She looks like her maternal grandmother, whom she n
ever saw because she died right before her birth. Assuming that all Arabs are dark, or all Europeans are blond, is silly anyway.
Passersby stop and gaze at her legs. They cannot tell for sure if she is a man or a woman. They stare at her pomegranate breasts and the bulge under her tight leather skirt (that’s what she always wore).
Khamis used to tease her by asking if she put something to inflate her penis and make it bulge, or if she had one to start with. She would dare him to touch what’s between her thighs to make sure. He would smile and his wide eyes would soften, but he wouldn’t say anything.
“A shy pimp? When they hear you cursing, they wouldn’t believe you are so tender!” Dana said laughing. Khamis al-Hazin didn’t know much about Dana, except that she lived in a studio apartment on Bin Zion and that she didn’t host customers. She took him to her place once when he was sick and made him tea until it stopped raining. He saw the photographs of her parents she had on the wall. She told him then that her mother had died of a heart attack. Her father was old and she couldn’t take care of him because she was still too young. Khamis doesn’t know how she ended up in this profession. Nor does he know why he agreed to be her pimp. He knows that money was one primary reason. Plus, working at night didn’t conflict with his work hours at the bakery in Jaffa.
They chatted about politics sometimes and about how expensive things were in Jaffa, where he lives. He talked about his father’s orchards, which were in limbo at Israeli courts. He didn’t want to sell them, and the government refused to lift the liens on the land, which was saddled with mounds of taxes. Khamis thought it was strange that the government didn’t expropriate the land. It had raped the entire country and wasn’t in need of a lawful way to take things away. He would accentuate the verb “raped” whenever he spoke about the government, or anything or person he called “they.” “They” always stood for the powerful ones whose faces we never see, but we do experience the consequences of their actions. He sent his children to the best schools in Jaffa because he wanted them to finish college, but he rarely saw them.
He was known to everyone as “Khamis al-Hazin.” Every Thursday morning, he would call the Arabic section of the Voice of Israel to request Fayruz’s song, “One Day We’ll Return.” The first time he called, the presenter asked him what his name was. He said “Khamis” (Thursday). “Which Thursday?” she asked. “Al-Hazin” (The Sad One) he said. It wasn’t clear whether this was an attribute, or his actual family name.
Khamis al-Hazin became even more famous than the presenter. But he rejected the messages that were sent to the station from listeners all over the Arab world, who wanted to correspond with him. He refused to accept messages that tried to commiserate. When the presenter repeated the same question: Why did he request “One Day We’ll Return” when he was already in Jaffa? He used to say it’s because he loved it, and longed for something he didn’t quite know. Moreover, it was the only song that made him cry. One of the listeners wrote saying they were tired of listening to this song, and that he had to choose another one and stop listening to maudlin songs. Khamis was silent when the presenter said that, then he said:
“Alright, but if this one song is too much for them, they can turn down the volume when it’s on. I still want to request it today and dedicate it to all our people, wherever they may be. In Syria, Lebanon, Palestine, and even in Jordan. Oh, for God’s sake, let’s not get into politics now. Just play ‘One Day We’ll Return’ and I dedicate it to all the people of Jaffa, anywhere in the world.”
A lie brought Khamis and Dana together. Were it not for that lie, they would’ve passed by each other like two parallel lines without ever intersecting. Khamis was seated at the bus stop near the intersection of Rothschild and Allenby. Winter had overstayed that year. Dana stood at the bus stop wrapped in her long gray coat, to escape the rain. A suspicious-looking man whose eyes were bloodshot approached her. He was looking sideways, as if running away from someone. He asked her if she’d seen the prostitutes who usually stand on the sidewalk. She said that she hadn’t and didn’t know what he was talking about.
She laughed once the man disappeared in the rain. Khamis asked her in a hesitant voice why she did. She said the man looked suspicious and, not having a pimp to protect her, she didn’t want to take a chance. He smiled as he bit his cigarette to suck some smoke, and asked her why she was pimpless. The last one was a drug addict and ended up in prison. She wanted someone to protect her and not force her to do things she didn’t want to do.
Dana offered him 10 percent of what she makes. She didn’t know why she offered a stranger this job, and he didn’t know why he accepted right away. But it was a done deal. Perhaps his strong build and the scar on his face gave the false impression that he was seasoned in the business. But that scar was a trace from childhood mischievousness and he had nothing to do with the city’s underworld. His heart was softer than a butterfly’s wing. But hearts are invisible. He protected Dana these past three years. The biggest challenge he faced was a shouting match. And it was solved peacefully because fate helped him. When his curses came out loud and clear in a Jaffan dialect familiar to local ears, cars came from every direction, as if they had been waiting. It seemed as if Khamis had men who protected him everywhere. This story spread and it was sufficient to give him peace of mind.
The national pastime for young Palestinian men was showing off and driving their cars at an elephant’s speed in Jaffa’s streets. Sometimes they used to go to the other side: to the White City. They were passing by when they heard someone shouting in Arabic. Rushing to the spot, they found Khamis screaming at a customer who had refused to pay Dana. The young men surrounded him and he and all those who had gathered around were scared. Something about Jaffans scares the denizens of Tel Aviv.
The young men would pass by every once in a while and would greet Khamis, who’d become a landmark for them. Seeing him standing there made them feel at home in that spot, which they frequented from time to time.
“Ahlan wa sahlan, dear. Ahlan brother. Ahlayn nawwara.”
Khamis greeted back those who passed by, be they Jaffans or not, as he stood on the sidewalk in Tel Aviv, guarding Dana.
29
Chez George’s
The restaurant’s security guard stood like a fortified wall as soon as he saw her heading toward him. She had lifted her skirt to be able to run. As soon as she reached the restaurant she put it back down and stood.
Dana used to indicate her displeasure at the guards searching her bag by shutting it abruptly. She never believed that these measures were useful or effective. But this time she restrained herself and didn’t rebuke the guard as she used to. She didn’t protest or utter a word and just went in quickly. Her head swayed when she heard Edith Piaf’s voice. She glimpsed Ariel at the bar so she headed there armed with a smile. He smiled back and motioned to her to join him.
“What are you doing here?”
“Working. You?”
“Taking a break from work.”
“Looks like it was a quick job?”
“A bunch of losers were stalking me and I didn’t want to go with them. It looked like they were wasted or high. They tried to force me into their car. I thought of calling the police, but what would they say had I told them I was a prostitute and someone was harassing me? They don’t take that seriously in normal times, so imagine now? By the way, what’s the latest news?”
“The latest news is that there isn’t any news. Let’s talk about something else.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Are you from Tel Aviv?”
“No, Netanya, but I’ve been living here for ten years. Tel Aviv is the city of sins, a whore, but I love it.”
Ariel laughed when he heard that.
“Where is the bartender?”
“Getting ready to close down.”
Alex came back and stood like a bee behind the bar.
“Shalom motik. What happened? Why are you closing when it’s no
t even midnight? Can I get a glass of wine?”
“Laila Tov! Can’t you see the place is almost empty? You can still have a glass of wine, with pleasure. We’re not serving food tonight, except cheese and olives.”
“Black olives and wine. What kind is he having?”
“Zinfandel. Want to try it?”
“If he likes it, then I’m sure I will.”
Alex poured the wine in a glass and turned around to tend to another customer on the other side who’d asked for a drink. She kept talking to him. Ariel looked her way every now and then as he was getting ready to gather his things and put them back in his bag.
“What do you do?”
“I’m a journalist. A correspondent for an American newspaper.”
“Do you like your job?”
“Most of the time. You?”
Dana laughed when she heard his question.
“No. But I learn to like it every night as I do it. I’ll stop in two years. I’m tired, frankly. I’m tired and we don’t get any younger . . .”
“No, we don’t. But who knows? Maybe we won’t even have the chance to get older. Who knows what tomorrow has in store for us?”
“Ah. What will it have? Everything will be fine. Frankly, after all these years of work and toil I don’t want the world to end tomorrow. I want to live a little longer and enjoy life. Why are you being so serious?”
“You’re right. I don’t know. Lakhayem.”
“Lakhayem motik.”
“And what do you want to do once you retire?”
“I‘ll try to open a small café, but that’ll be difficult in Tel Aviv. I don’t want to go back to Netanya. And if I want to open the type of café I have in mind, no place other than Tel Aviv would be suitable. I have some money saved. Enough to open a Berlin-style café and restaurant. You know? I was there a while ago and they have a lot of new cafés and restaurants that offer simple food, but the décor is funky. Maybe I’ll look for an Arab house that I can fix up and do something similar. We’ll see. I also want to have a steady relationship, to be in love, but my work doesn’t allow that.”