Uprooting the Olive Tree

by Lloyd Philip Johnson

Gilad looked at his three soldiers who stood staring blankly at the little family. He gave a quick nod and they hurried out of the house into the dark street. Gilad couldn’t speak and felt sick. He turned away from his soldiers and retched.

  CHAPTER 30

  Captain Chaim Friedman and his wife, Gavriella, sat on the veranda sipping tea with his Uncle Yaron and Aunt Shiran in the peace of their comfortable home in West Jerusalem. Chaim loved the quiet and the fresh smell of new-mown hay in the surrounding fields. He needed counsel for the biggest career decision of his life. He explained in detail the story of the general’s warning.

  “It comes down to whether I recant or stick to my conviction about defending my country but refusing to fire on civilians and get dishonorably discharged. The general says our enemies are using the letter we signed as a weapon against Israel.”

  Yaron nodded, hand on his chin, staring out over the rolling hills beyond with their autumn-brown pasturelands and green olive trees. “Gavriella, what are your thoughts?”

  “It’s Chaim’s decision. We can survive either way, although it may be more difficult if he is left without a job and needs to scramble to find something that at least will support the family. Our two children will still need shoes.”

  She paused for several moments. “But what is the right thing to do? Obedience to our country no matter if we disagree with its policies in fighting the Palestinians? Or is there a higher principle here? The wrong of killing the innocent and the defenseless, even children in the pursuit of victory? Chaim did that in Operation Cast Lead.”

  Shiran took in a deep breath. “Life is full of choices between what seems comfortable to us, and yet disturbs us with the nagging sense of not being the right thing to do. We are not observant Jews as you know, but I do remember the charge in the Torah, Leviticus I think, about loving our neighbor. It’s something the Christians talk about also because Jesus emphasized it. We now face the dilemma of whether to give up this comfortable home to its real owners from so many years ago. The Palestinian family fled the fighting in 1948, leaving full teacups on the table. Our soldiers, the Jewish militias of that time, never allowed them to return. My family and I have lived here comfortably ever since. Our gift was their loss. Our triumph their Nakba.”

  “What have you decided to do?” Chaim asked.

  “We are going to meet with the grandchild of the original family,” Yaron replied. “He’s a Palestinian Christian living in Israel, and we have met him. We think he is going to ask us to give up this house. He’s not said so. But he and his family are the rightful owners. We understand that and need to make some kind of agreement, whether compensation for their loss or moving out. You realize we did not pay for this house.”

  “Yes, I know. And I raised my hand to defend my country and obey my commanders. You face losing your home, and I am staring at losing my career, all for a greater principle of doing the right thing. At least is seems like that, harder to do, but the right choice. It would mean a big change for both our families.”

  Shiran shrugged, raising both hands and her eyebrows in questioning. “If we think it’s the right thing to do, would we be happy continuing on our present course of comfort, trying to squelch the nagging thoughts of eventual regret? It’s like Zionism itself. Will we live to regret pushing out the Palestinians from their lands? What will it do to our own soul?”

  The conversation then turned to Shiran’s health as she looked so pale and thin. She quickly rose to put a stop to all that. “Anyone for more tea or a beer?”

  ***

  Farther north in Israel at Haifa University, Sami sat in his room, a shambles with unmade bunk bed and scattered papers and books, trying to study. But he kept wondering what was happening to Fatima and her family, including little Ali now in prison. He had no idea that the interrogation center was just a few kilometers from the university. Najid had not told his brother of the newlyweds coming to support Ali during his trial. Sami had only heard of Ali’s plight but never met him. Then Sami’s mind flitted to Faisal and Almas, facing the loss of their farm. He wondered whether they had contacted a lawyer to fight the demolition order.

  Daydreaming, he saw Fatima in his mind’s eye, a bright and beautiful young lady with sparkling dark eyes and long, flowing black hair carefully but not completely hidden under her hijab. He had to admit that he hated to get out of the car in Haifa as Najid had driven away. He tried to remember their conversation, mostly serious about Ali. But then at the end she teased him and laughing gave him her cell phone number and e-mail address. She even said someday she’d talk to him about why she wears a hijab.

  The more he thought about Fatima, the less he could concentrate on Israeli laws. But why the hijab? She must be Muslim. But yet she said she followed Jesus. It didn’t make sense. He had met Muslim guys who knew that Jesus occupied an important place in the Qur’an, greatest prophet along with Mohammed the messenger of God. Mentioned ninety-three times. So maybe she somehow found she could do both Abrahamic faiths. Sami shook his head. He had to get to know her better. He could call or e-mail her. Or maybe take the bus to Bethlehem. But now with Ali in trouble … no, he’d have to wait. Sami sighed and tried to read his lecture notes but couldn’t seem to remember what he had just studied.

  CHAPTER 31

  After falafel and salad in a small nearby restaurant in Haifa, Ashley, Najid, and the lawyer Jamal walked into the courtroom at the interrogation center—bare walls with a high desk for the judge, no windows, and a barrier fence troubled Ashley. They took their seats behind one of the long tables on either side of the room and waited quietly, standing when the judge came through one of the doors dressed in a black robe. She appeared middle-aged with short, dark hair and a severe expression while nodding to everyone to sit down. Ashley blanched when a second door opened and the guard appeared leading little Ali with his orange coveralls and leg chains. She stared wide-eyed. He looked pale and slouched as he followed the guard to a chair, and so small. Ashley fought her tears, not wanting Ali to see her crying. But he didn’t look up, keeping his eyes on the floor.

  Ashley looked around and did not see any soldiers in the courtroom. A court recorder entered and took her seat behind the typing machine. The judge began reading from several papers, an account in Hebrew by the soldiers who arrested Ali. Najid whispered his translation. No witnesses to swear in surprised Ashley. The judge read that Ali had been caught throwing stones at Israeli soldiers in Bethlehem. They arrested him on the spot while the other boys ran away. One of the soldiers had been hit and injured in the leg. The judge stopped reading, looked up, and inquired whether the defendant had a plea.

  Jamal stood. “Your Honor, I represent Ali. He is not guilty of throwing any stone. Not one. In addition, the report of his arrest location is false. He was taken out of his home by soldiers at three the following morning.”

  “Do you have proof of that?”

  “Yes, Your Honor. These two people with me were guests in Ali’s home at the time of his arrest.”

  “Is that true?” The judge nodded to Najid and Ashley.

  “Yes, Your Honor.” Najid stood up and replied in Hebrew. “My wife and I awakened to find soldiers in the house who then took Ali away, at three in the morning.”

  The judge, head down, scanned her papers. In the silence, Najid remained standing.

  “With due respect, Your Honor, can you believe the rest of the soldiers’ report about throwing a stone if they misrepresented the circumstances of Ali’s arrest?”

  “It’s the boy’s word against several adult men. Now yours against their arrest report. They may be wrong about the circumstances of the arrest, as they do many of them. But all of these kids deny ever throwing stones. They do it all the time. We know that. So I choose to believe our soldiers and rule that the defendant is guilty!” She punctuated her ruling with the gavel.

  Ashley realized the verdict before Najid’s translation. She saw Jamal’s shrug and expression that acknowledged the inevitable. She f
elt her face reddening and pulse rising. She leaned over Najid to Jamal.

  “Can’t you do something to get him released?” Najid whispered to Jamal and then back to Ashley as Jamal shook his head.

  “We have to wait for the sentencing.”

  The judge banged her gavel for silence. “Now to the penalty. Since the defendant maintains his innocence, lying about his hostile actions against our soldiers, the court sentences him to the full eighteen days of incarceration prescribed by Israeli law for defendants under age fourteen. This will include the two days he has already served.” Just as she lifted her gavel to conclude the session Jamal leaped to his feet.

  “Your Honor, the defendant’s parents, who were not permitted to be here today, are concerned for their son’s welfare in prison. Can you tell us the conditions of his detention, his cell, other prisoners with him, food, hygiene, exercise, visitation rights for his parents?”

  The judge, standing to leave, frowned. “I have nothing to do with those details. And as for the defendant’s parents, they will have to arrange for a permit to enter Israel. That is not in my power to influence those decisions of our border police.” With that she walked back through the entry door.

  Ashley felt weak as she stood, light-headed and dizzy. She watched as though unreal, her little friend looking at her with sad eyes as the guard pulled him around and back to prison. She instinctively reached for Najid as she hugged him. “They had it all decided. There was nothing we could do.”

  ***

  Returning to the main entrance of the interrogation center, Ashley led the way to the reception area for visitors. Standing before a desk, Najid asked a young woman in Hebrew if they could see Ali before they had to leave Haifa. The secretary consulted her boss in a back room and returned.

  “Our rules allow family members only, and once per day to visit. Since you are not family and have seen the prisoner already today, we cannot allow you to visit now.” With that she turned to her computer screen.

  Najid shook his head. “We can’t see him now. Even if we waited until tomorrow. Family members only, once a day. This whole thing is trumped up, illegal, and cruel to a little boy. Yet they have rules they must obey.” Najid held up two fingers as quotes. “Is justice less important than rules? It reminds me of Jesus’s remarks about straining at a gnat and swallowing a camel. Or the time he talked to Jewish religious leaders who gave bits of spices to the poor but neglected justice and the love of God.”

  ***

  Najid called Sami, explaining they had gone to court to support Ali and had the rest of the afternoon free after checking in to their hotel. “Do you have time for a visit?”

  “I’ll come to your hotel. I know where it is. Can’t study today for some reason and have no more classes until tomorrow. See you soon.” Sami spoke in English and sounded so American that Najid laughed.

  ***

  Over tea in the comfortable upholstered chairs of the hotel lounge, Jamal explained the court situation to Sami who seemed eager to discuss the practice of detaining children.

  “I understand you are studying some of the Israeli laws, Sami. Tell us what you are learning about arresting children.”

  “First, Israel has all of the twenty-six prisons, interrogation centers, and detention places. Article 76 of the Fourth Geneva Convention says that an occupying power must detain prisoners in the occupied territory. So, it is against international law to lock them up in another country.”

  Najid translated the Arabic conversation to Ashley. “Israel should know that, Sami,” Ashley said. “It seems so cruel to keep parents from visiting their children in prison here in Israel. They can’t even get a permit to come.”

  “Sometimes Palestinian lawyers can’t get in either to defend their clients,” Jamal added.

  Najid smiled at Jamal. “That’s why the family looked for a lawyer already in Israel.”

  “Then there’s the matter of imprisoning young children,” Sami continued. The numbers vary year to year, but of the six-thousand-plus prisoners in any given year, men and women, several hundred are children. And 10 percent of those are under sixteen. These are almost all political prisoners.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Leaving Haifa meant leaving Ali in prison, alone. Ashley couldn’t get him out of her mind, particularly that final pathetic expression as they took him back to his cell from the courtroom.

  The highway led southeast in Galilee, a pleasant drive toward Nesher with Mt. Carmel to their right. Autumn colors filled the fields and surrounding hills. Jamal in the back seat worked to prepare his brief to the Israeli court for an injunction to try to stop the confiscation of the orchard. Ashley sat upfront and Nijad drove.

  She noticed a black, shiny Mercedes passing them, followed closely by a Toyota sedan. She watched the two cars, which seemed to be together, speed up on a straight part of the highway ahead. Suddenly the Mercedes drove off the highway to the right, skidded out of control, struck some rocks, and rolled over several times in a large open field. It came to rest upside down. The Toyota stopped, and a woman jumped out and froze, staring at the Mercedes. Najid came to a screeching halt behind the woman’s car. He and Ashley rushed out and streaked across the field toward the Mercedes. They heard the woman now behind them, screaming for help as they ran. The car rested upside down on its roof.

  Najid reached for the door handle and with effort opened it far enough to cradle the driver in his arms, hanging by the seat belt. He didn’t seem to be conscious or breathing.

  “Ashley, release the seat belt!” he shouted.

  She found the button and while Najid lifted the body upwards, she could press the seat belt release button and the driver dropped into Najid’s arms. Ashley helped extract him from the belt as the air bags had collapsed. They eased him out of the car, a middle-aged man taller than average, dressed in white shirt and tie with a black jacket. She cradled his head and neck while Najid placed him on the ground. He didn’t breathe. They loosened his tie and ripped open his shirt. Ashley put her ear to his chest.

  “No heart beat!” She immediately began repetitive chest compressions. Najid applied mouth-to-mouth resuscitation for several breaths, and then examined his eyes. Pupils were somewhat dilated. He could find no evidence of head injury or neck instability. No wounds anywhere, no bleeding. Abdomen soft, no sign of fractured extremities. Ashley continued her resuscitation.

  “Call an ambulance!” Najid shouted to the woman who had arrived at the scene, watching with wide eyes and hand over her mouth. She started to run back to her car.

  “My phone is in my purse.”

  Jamal had followed them, walking across the field already talking on his cell phone. “An ambulance from Haifa will be here soon,” he advised Najid on arriving at the site.

  Najid kneeled beside Ashley and took over the chest compressions at about seventy per minute. Ashley felt a faint pulse in the man’s neck.

  “You’re getting a good pulse, Najid, keep it up!” She placed her mouth over the patient’s and inflated his lungs with several breaths.

  “Check his eyes,” Najid shouted.

  Ashley pulled the eyelids open. “Pupils are now contracted. We’re making progress.”

  After another minute she noticed some movement of the man’s legs. “Stop, Najid!” She put her ear back on his chest. “I hear a heartbeat.”

  Najid felt in his neck and at the wrist. “Yeah! He has one!”

  Suddenly their patient inhaled deeply and sighed. He began to roll his head back and forth. His breathing became regular and his eyes opened, looking around bewildered, staring at several people who had gathered around curious and wanting to help.

  He tried to speak. His wife dropped to her knees beside him, face red and crying. She said something softly in Hebrew into his ear. He tried to reply.

  Ashley watched as the man looked at the lady, his eyes wide. He seemed to understand her and began to raise his head as though wanting to sit up. Ashley restrained him. “Please, l
ie down. An ambulance is on its way.” Najid repeated that in Hebrew.

  He put his head back down on the ground as they heard the siren. Soon the van appeared with red flashing lights and drove off the highway and across the field toward them. On arrival three medics jumped out with a portable defibrillator. Quickly noting he was breathing they applied the defibrillator paddles and an oxygen mask. “He’s in sinus rhythm. Don’t shock him!” one of them yelled. They checked his eyes and began to ask questions of his wife kneeling beside him. One measured his blood pressure while another applied electro-cardiogram leads. After a quick readout, they examined him for other injuries.

  One of them asked several questions of the man’s wife who soon gestured toward Najid and Ashley. The medic helped the woman to her feet and they both approached the newlyweds. “I understand that you lifted this gentleman out of the car and that he wasn’t breathing.”

  “Yes, sir,” Najid replied, continuing in English.

  “He had no apparent heartbeat or pulse?”

  “Right. So we started CPR.”

  “How long was it between the crash and your CPR?”

  “Probably no more than two minutes. We saw the car roll and ran across the field to get him out of the car before it burned. What does the cardiogram show?”

  “Just that he is in normal sinus rhythm now. We can’t be sure what happened. He must have had some cardiac event, possibly a heart attack or ventricular fibrillation that caused his apparent cardiac arrest. So he lost consciousness and drove off the road. We need to get him to a hospital in Haifa quickly. But you saved his life with your rapid action.”

  “I can’t thank you enough. I’m his wife, Carmella Katsman. She smiled with her wet eyes. Please, here is his card. And write down your names and phone or e-mail on this one!” She spoke English well, with a British accent Ashley thought. They started to shake hands, and then she grabbed both Ashley and Najid into a hug.