Uprooting the Olive Tree

by Lloyd Philip Johnson

  “No, Jamal. I have nothing to do with those decisions. They’re made by the military court system.”

  “We understand that. But now the general in charge has ruled that Palestinian lawyers cannot file an appeal—it must be an Israeli lawyer, and the appeal must be heard in the Supreme Court.”

  Najid looked at Uri, stroking his chin silently. Soon he spoke quietly, “Let’s take one step at a time and first get the family down to Haifa.”

  ***

  Fatima and her parents listened to Najid on her cell phone.

  “It’s true. The minister will have your permit ready to pick up by ten in the morning. I don’t have classes until afternoon, so I’ll bring it to you. Then you can bus to Haifa.”

  “We’ll have to make reservations at some hotel,” Saleh replied.

  “No, unless you want to. Sami has found an empty apartment in his building where you can stay for much less cost.”

  “Wonderful. I don’t know how we can thank you enough, Najid. We’re so happy to get to see our son again.”

  Najid smiled at Ashley who had been listening to the conversation. He gave her a hug and a long kiss. “This must be why we’re here.”

  ***

  Except for the guard bringing his food tray, Ali had not seen anyone for a long time. He didn’t know how long. It must have been several days. He sat in his cell alone, with nothing to do or read. He tried to imagine his friends, each one’s face. Then every student in his class at school. He decided to do mental exercises of arithmetic in his head when suddenly his door opened. The guard grasped his arm and led him to a lounge where other boys his age were talking. Two played ping-pong. The boy he had met outside approached him.

  “Did you finally sign the papers?”

  “No. I don’t know what’s going on.”

  “Well, I hope you can stay here. Our cells are just beyond that door,” he said, pointing to a green door at the side of the large room.

  Ali looked, puzzled at the reason for the move. He hadn’t confessed and they had never asked him again. He talked with some other boys, exchanging stories about their arrests. Finally, several guards approached and the boys filed out to their cells. A new guard pushed Ali into a large cell with two other boys. It had a mirror and what looked like thicker mattresses on the three metal beds. The ceiling light was not so bright.

  The other two boys spoke in Arabic to each other about the newcomer and then greeted him. Ali smiled. “You don’t know how nice it is to get out of that lonely cell.”

  “Oh yes we do,” one answered. “We were there too—until we signed.”

  “But I didn’t confess to anything. I didn’t even throw a stone like they said.”

  “You didn’t? Then why did they let you out to come here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  CHAPTER 47

  The day had finally come. Almas had learned how to dress Faisal’s wound. It was clean and “granulating in” as the doctors explained. He could go home now by ambulance, with his leg still in the external fixator. As soon as the injury to the soft tissues had healed, he would be placed in a cast by the doctors in the Jenin hospital, and eventually begin crutch walking with gradual weight bearing. They would keep in touch with Jamal by phone to learn the status of the farm.

  Almas and Faisal did not know that destruction of their trees had begun. Jamal had not told them. Nor did any of them realize that the Caterpillar bulldozer had broken down shortly after he and Sami had left. There it sat immobile waiting for a critical part from the company in the United States.

  ***

  “It’s good to be home again,” Faisal remarked. He looked up. “Thank you, God, for my being alive and healing. And thank you, Almas, for your loving care.” He had come to accept there was little they could do to keep the orchard. It seemed inevitable that they would lose their land as so many of their countrymen had, to a takeover that the world didn’t seem to understand or care about. Faisal knew they had no recourse, not even an effective way to speak to a power so great and so oppressive. One that called itself a democracy and yet didn’t acknowledge to the world what it did to rob a helpless people of their homes and lands. All the rules seemed stacked against them, even not being allowed to have their Palestinian lawyer appeal their case to the Supreme Court in Jerusalem.

  As Almas prepared a late lunch, Faisal listened for the sound of the machines across the wall. No sounds. He wondered what was happening. Had they completed the new road from the settlement? When were they going to uproot his beloved olive and fruit trees? Or had they already done it? Jamal had gone to the farm but had been strangely silent about what the bulldozer soldiers had done. “Almas, do you know what is happening behind the wall? Jamal never said anything.”

  “You’re right. He didn’t. Probably wanted to spare us the truth. Let’s not think about it. There’s nothing we can do.” She brought out some pita bread and hummus along with the stuffed cooked cucumbers she had prepared for Faisal’s homecoming, one of his favorite dishes.

  ***

  Jamal called Najid. “Did you get the permit?”

  “Yeah. I took it over to Saleh and he with Jamilah and Fatima are on the bus heading to Haifa.”

  “That will be wonderful, to let Ali know that he is not alone. I wish Uri Katsman could do something to get him released. He didn’t rule out that possibility even though Internal Affairs doesn’t control what happens to prisoners. It’s up to local commanders of the IDF and military courts. Or of course, for appeals, the Supreme Court where I’m not welcome, as you know—but Katsman is. He’s basically an Israeli lawyer. If we could persuade him to represent us at the Supreme Court we could appeal Ali’s imprisonment.”

  “Right. Same with Faisal. He’s also subject to the military courts, and only an Israeli lawyer in the Supreme Court can appeal the decision to take over Palestinian land. Could we ask Uri Katsman to represent both cases to the Supreme Court? Why not? He says he wants to reward Ashley and me for what we did. So why not ask him? In the worst instance, he can just say no.”

  Najid waited for a reply. He could almost hear the wheels turning in Jamal’s head while waiting for his reply.

  “Ah, I guess there is no harm in asking. But it would have to be quick. They already started uprooting the trees as Sami probably told you.”

  “Yeah, but if we can save some of the trees, it would be worth it.”

  “Okay, I’ll get all the records in order and write a brief so Katsman can be well prepared if he chooses to help us. There is no other way. Faisal would still have to pay court fees, but I imagine he wouldn’t charge us if he really wants to help. I’m determined to help also, pro bono.”

  “Thank you, Jamal. So it’s up to Ashley and me to ask him for further help for both Ali and Faisal?”

  “You have more clout with him than I do.”

  CHAPTER 48

  Asalam alekum,” Najid greeted whoever was calling. He reached for his cell phone from the bed and tried to wake up in the darkness. Midnight. He had just fallen asleep when he heard a hushed voice.

  “Shalom. This is Gilad,” he continued in Hebrew. “You remember you said we could get together again and talk.”

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  “Do you have any friends that have been through stuff like I’m doing?”

  “You mean violence?”

  “Yeah. You know, doing bad things to people who don’t deserve it.”

  “I do. Also have you come across a group called Breaking the Silence?”

  “I know about those guys. My commander thinks they’re traitors for telling things that we do as soldiers. Most of them are out of the IDF now. I’m afraid to contact them until I get out. Then I’ll probably join them to tell my stories so the world knows what we’re doing.”

  “I do have a friend that regrets the violence he did.”

  “Could I talk with him sometime?”

  “I’ll ask Ashley whether we could arrange something here in our apart
ment. I think it would be safe for you. And you can trust this guy. Maybe one more as well. I’ll get back to you when we might be able to put everyone together. Saturday evening okay with you?”

  “Usually, yes. We normally have it off and I don’t go to synagogue that day.”

  ***

  Ashley, with some coaching from her neighbor, put on a dinner of curry-rice and hallal lamb, which seemed to please everyone. She had worried about that since Mustafa probably needed hallal meat. But then she didn’t remember whether he observed that Muslim restriction when they traveled together in the US. For Chaim and Gavriella and also Ariel, they didn’t require kosher food and she assumed the same for Gilad since he said he wasn’t an observant Jew.

  The conversation over dinner began with learning about each other, and then gradually focused on Gilad and the ongoing dilemma he faced. He spoke in Hebrew so Najid kept Ashley up to speed, while Mustafa had by this time become fluent in his new language.

  “It goes on and on,” Gilad began. “I find myself in situations where we are intimidating Palestinian families, destroying property, making them wait for long periods at checkpoints for no reason. My commander tells me to do stuff I don’t want to do anymore. Even demolishing houses and firing rubber coated bullets at demonstrators—”

  “That’s what I did to Sami,” Ariel interjected as he turned to his friend.

  “You did? And here you are together. Tell me what happened.”

  Ariel and Sami together told their story of injuries to both in a demonstration, and then forgiveness and reconciliation in the hospital. Sami finished, “Now this crazy Jew is my friend!”

  Ariel laughed and cuffed Sami on the shoulder. “I can’t get him out of my life, and I’m not even supposed to associate with a Palestinian.”

  “So what about violence when it happens and you can’t stop it?” Gilad asked.

  Mustafa had been quiet, listening. “You get away, you leave. You can’t be part of it. That’s all I knew to do in Gaza during Operation Cast Lead. I had watched a guy fire a small rocket and then all hell broke loose and my family died in the process. I couldn’t stay.”

  “What Mustafa didn’t tell you, Gilad, I am the helicopter pilot that vaporized his whole family. Five of them, all innocent.” Chaim glanced at Gavriella who nodded. “I’m one of the signers of that letter to our government that I will never again fire upon or injure civilians. I will defend Israel but not if it means killing ordinary people.”

  Gilad stared first at Chaim, then at Mustafa. “No revenge, Mustafa? As a Muslim? How can you sit here with Jewish Chaim and discuss what happened without attacking him?”

  “We’ve both learned from Ashley and Najid and our own experience that retribution and violence only bring more of the same,” Mustafa said. “Ashley forgave her bomber who nearly killed her and it helped change his life.”

  Gilad looked all around at every face around the table nodding their agreement. Three Jews besides himself, two Christians, one Muslim.

  Chaim broke the quiet. “Fighting back and revenge will never bring peace. You can’t abuse people and expect them to love you or stop resisting what you are doing to them. You create enemies out of people who could be your friends. But you can ask for forgiveness and stop your cruelty to others. Mustafa forgave me. And I may lose my commission as an Israeli officer. But I will never repeat my tragic mistake, whatever the cost to us.” He looked to Gavriella.

  “I’m proud of my husband. He has had a real influence among his fellow officers in the IDF, for peace with justice. We cannot go on as a country doing what we are doing to the Palestinians who have lived here much longer than we have. We have a right to live peacefully here, but so do they. We have a right to defend ourselves. And they do as well. We need more people to stand up and say, ‘This is wrong. We are not going to continue driving others out of this land.’”

  Gilad sat staring at Gavriella. Finally he spoke. “I haven’t known what to do. I considered suicide seriously before talking to Najid. What I have done is enough to put me in prison for life, but the prison I face is in my own heart. Trapped in my own mind for all I have done. I can’t ask forgiveness from all the people I’ve hurt so badly.”

  “No, but you can refuse to participate any more in such activities,” Najid replied. “Refuse and pay a price, as Chaim is finding out. You may have to also. But it will be healing to the real you inside.”

  “And you can forgive yourself,” Ashley commented. “That’s important too. Each of us around this table has done things we regret. But we can ask God’s forgiveness, accept it, and go on to forgive ourselves. Then move on in a new way and not go back.”

  Gilad sighed. “You all have given me hope.” He placed his hand over his heart. “God give you peace, alekum asalam, shalom.”

  CHAPTER 49

  Sami waited on the platform at the bus station in Haifa. Busses were arriving and leaving, people walking and waiting, he listened for arrival information. Constant noise. He kept looking at his watch. At last, the Jerusalem bus stopped and people began getting off to pick up their luggage. He saw Fatima with her parents and rushed forward to help. With his heart thumping in his chest, it was hard to stay calm. So he deliberately slowed to a saunter and tried to appear casual. She looked more beautiful than ever, in a veil-like hijab.

  “Asalam alekum.” He included Fatima’s parents, Saleh and Jamilah, and then shook hands with her father, while having trouble taking his eyes off Fatima. He hailed a cab and sat in the front, turning around to the family in back.

  “Any trouble using the permit to get through the checkpoint in Bethlehem?” Sami asked in Arabic.

  “None at all,” Saleh replied. “Your brother and Ashley knew the right lawyer.”

  “They saved his life so I guess the permit is their reward.”

  “You have a wonderful family, Sami,” Fatima said.

  “Thank you. I hope you can meet the rest of them some day. Maybe when the wall comes down.”

  “I hope before then,” Fatima said with a twinkle in her eye.

  ***

  The next morning, after a call to the interrogation center, they found they could visit Ali at eleven. With a short walk they entered the facility, and passing through a metal detector, followed a clerk into a visiting room. There they sat and waited. Sami, invited to join them, noticed their tenseness.

  “I wonder if Ali has lost weight. He was always a good eater at home.” Fatima gave a nervous laugh. “But he never liked to eat out away from Mother’s cooking.”

  Jamilah smiled and said nothing. Sami could see her hands shaking on her lap.

  A guard appeared, ushering them into a bare room with a few straight chairs, yellow-painted cinder block walls and a black tile floor. It smelled stale—needed fresh air, Sami thought. Suddenly the door opened and in walked a guard and Ali without shackles on his ankles. He looked pale and thin in his baggy prison clothes. On seeing his family, he rushed into his mother’s arms. Soon both were crying and hugging, twisting around, Ali’s feet were off the ground. Saleh and Fatima repeated the hugs and kisses. Finally, Fatima put Ali down and introduced Sami.

  “You look like Najid,” Ali said with a grin. “He’s a good football player. Are you?”

  “Oh yeah, Ali. I can beat him to the goal every time.”

  Ali laughed. “I even got to kick a ball yesterday. But all they have here is a small court. It’s stupid.”

  “Well, how are you, Ali?” Jamilah asked.

  “I’m okay, Mom. I’ll be glad to get back to your cooking.”

  “Are they taking care of you and being nice?”

  Ali glanced at the guard who nodded. “They’re okay.”

  “Have they charged you with anything?”

  Ali looked at the guard again, who frowned this time. “Not really. Well, sort of. They’ve asked me what I did and I told them.”

  Fatima intervened. “I talked with your friends and they can hardly wait for you to come home. They
want you back as one of their best players.”

  “Tell them I want to be back. I just don’t know how soon.”

  The conversation lasted for a few more minutes. Sami just listened. Finally, the guard stood up from his corner chair and walked toward Ali. Fatima spoke for her family.

  “Ali, we are going to stay here in Haifa for a few days. They said we could visit you every day so we’ll be here and get to see you. Take good care of yourself.” Tears filled her eyes as the guard pushed Ali in front of himself heading for the door to the cells. She couldn’t continue.

  ***

  That evening Fatima and Jamila cooked dinner, a bit turned around as dinner usually meant a daytime meal with a smaller one in the evening. They sat around the small table in the apartment with Sami after having waited for him to finish a late afternoon class.

  “So what was your professor teaching this afternoon?” Saleh inquired of Sami.

  “It’s a class on international law. We’re learning about the international courts, the Geneva Convention for the treatment of prisoners of war—that kind of thing.”

  “What about treatment of child prisoners?”

  Sami nearly exploded. “That is completely outlawed by all the laws of countries around the world! You don’t put little kids in prison. It’s against the laws of every country in the world—except right here. What we saw today. What they are doing to Ali. You can’t do that anywhere else … legally.”

  “What do the professors say about that?” Fatima asked.

  “Most of them admit it is wrong, and that the current government should give up using soldiers to arrest kids. If a child commits a crime, that’s a matter for the police and the juvenile court system. Work with them and their families, counseling, training, confine them in special schools just for kids—to rehabilitate them, but not in prison. Israel does have that system like other civilized countries for their own families in Israel. But they don’t use those laws in the West Bank and Gaza. They just round up these kids in the middle of the night, throw them into their Jeeps, and lock them up in jail. For throwing a stone or for nothing.”