“They have no rights to be with their parents or a lawyer?”
“It’s on the books, Fatima, but they pay no attention to their own laws when it comes to Palestinians.”
“I wonder what they did to Ali? He seemed too afraid of the guard to tell us.” Jamilah took a deep breath. “I think he wanted to tell us a lot more, but couldn’t. I wonder if they are abusing him?” She swallowed hard and couldn’t talk.
“We don’t know,” Saleh said, “but I think it is important for Ali’s safety that we are here with him every day. For his own protection.”
“Can you take time off to stay here?” Sami asked.
“I may lose my job since an Israeli owns the business. But I’m not going to leave my son.”
***
That evening Sami brought a board game from his room. Fatima and her mother played it with him, while Saleh read the newspaper he’d picked up.
“So how can the college get along without you for a few days?” Sami asked.
“Not very well. But they let me come anyway,” Fatima replied with a slight wink.
“How about your courses? Will you be able to catch up?”
“There is so much on-line these days, I don’t have to worry about getting behind.” Fatima shrugged. “The only problem is I don’t have a computer. I usually use one at the college.”
“You can use mine, or come over to the university. They have ones you can use in the library.”
“That’s a thought. Maybe my parents could come and read in the library while I study. What do you think, Mama?”
“Might be fun. I’d enjoy reading in the library and seeing the university. Could you give us the grand tour, Sami?”
“For a tour-guide fee.”
“You take credit cards?” Fatima asked.
***
Ashley looked around at the gardens, the water fountains and ponds with swans gracefully swimming, and the green grass with sprinklers shooting water out for six meters. Beyond a fence, she looked down on the swimming pool with several women lounging in the October sun. Uri’s deck, partially shaded with a grape arbor anchored in a planter box, looked over many Palestinian homes in the near distance, all with black water tanks on their roofs. They had just driven by them on their way to Male Adumim. She couldn’t help but contrast the Palestinian water rationing with the fountains and swimming pools of the Israelis in their settlements including this, one of the oldest and largest of the Israeli “communities.” Ashley took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, determined not to say anything about water as Carmella brought out the cold drinks.
Ashley realized that Carmella knew little of what Palestinians face every day. She lived oblivious to the suffering of a whole group of people around their huge settlement, isolated from that reality. But she had a heart for people and seemed open to learn. In fact, she had insisted she wanted to help Ali if she could, whatever it would take. She’d had no idea her countrymen were actually taking children out of their beds at night. News media remained silent. She rarely read any news on her laptop or surfed the web for information. She mostly used it to keep up with her friends on Facebook. She didn’t know any Palestinians except a few in the shops and stores, but never spoke with them beyond the price of an item.
As they sipped lemonade with ice, Carmella gazed out over the Palestinian houses. “You know, we live here behind a wall in a guarded community with everything we want. And I know nothing about what Najid and his people are like, how they live. I don’t understand why there is so much trouble from them. Why we always refer to them as terrorists. Najid is not a terrorist. I know that. He’s such a nice man. But all we hear is how terrible it is on the other side of the wall. It’s dangerous to go there. They are our enemies. They want to take over our country and get rid of us. Like another Holocaust.”
Ashley took a sip of her drink and smiled. “Carmella, I fell in love with one of these terrorists. And I’ve spent time among many of them, two years ago and now in the West Bank including East Jerusalem. They are some of the most generous, hospitable, and kind people I have ever met, including both here and in America. They practice non-violent resistance to a military occupation. There have been no suicide bombings for twelve years.”
“Really? You’re not afraid of the Muslims?”
“No. In Bethlehem at least, Christians and Muslims live together and work seamlessly with each other … when they can find work. But no, I know many of them, peaceful, kind, trying to survive with all the restrictions placed on them. They are just trying to work for a better life like everyone else. They just want freedom.”
“You mean we don’t allow them freedom?”
“They can’t have showers when they’re out of water. They can’t drive on certain roads. Most have never seen the ocean or been to the beach one hour away even though they’re middle-aged. They can’t go there or worship in Jerusalem. They see their homes demolished and lose their land to settlements, like this one, Male Adumim. I think you call them communities.”
“Yes, we do. But they left their homes when they were told to leave by their Mullahs.”
“Not so, Carmella. Pappe, a Jewish historian, has carefully documented what happened. True, they fled the war in 1948. Many were killed, whole villages massacred and yes, 750,000 fled to refugee camps. But the Israeli soldiers never allowed them to return to their homes.”
“But how about since then. We kicked out the Jordanians in 1967. Wasn’t that good?”
“True. But the military never withdrew and let the indigenous people form their own country or nation. It’s called colonialism. We in America fought British domination in 1776. The Israeli government has colonized Palestine, building settlements over so much of the West Bank that it is now fragmented into little pieces. There’s not much left. In fact, we have friends right now whose olive and fruit orchards are being taken over to enlarge a nearby settlement.”
“You mean by force?”
“Yes. Soldiers guard the bulldozer that is starting to destroy olive trees that are fifty and more years old.”
“Where is this?”
“Zabuda, in the northern part of what you would call Samaria.”
“Have you seen this?”
“I saw the bulldozer and soldier guarding it while they were making a new road right up to the edge of the farm. They let us go into the orchard briefly. But our friends received a demolition order that is to be completed within a month.”
“But you haven’t seen it actually happen.”
“No, but the owner, our friend Faisal, tried to stop the bulldozer by standing in front of it. He wasn’t killed but has a bad compound fracture of his leg.”
“Oh no!” Wide-eyed, Carmella raised her hands to her face. “He was just trying to protect his orchard?”
“Yes,” Ashley replied.
“Have they started destroying the trees?”
“I’m not sure. At least it will be soon.”
“Can’t they stop it? Did they get a lawyer? You can get an injunction to delay it, at least for awhile while they argue this out in court.”
“We did, a Palestinian attorney. But he found out that the demolition order comes from the military court system. He can’t appeal it there. It has to be appealed in the Supreme Court. But Palestinian lawyers aren’t allowed to bring appeals there, so we need an Israeli one.”
“Can’t you hire one for your friend?”
“We don’t have the money to do that. Besides, there is also a court fee in addition. And I don’t think Faisal and Almas can afford that. So right now we are stuck.”
“Uri’s an Israeli lawyer.”
Ashley stopped, not expecting such an abrupt … was it an offer? “Yes, but he’s in the government.”
“All the more reason to stop the bulldozer. Our government shouldn’t be doing this! Do you want me to talk to Uri about this?”
“Well … yes. We need all the help we can get.”
“That settles it. I’ll talk to
him tonight. Let’s go inside and have lunch.”
CHAPTER 50
Uri always enjoyed coming back to the peace of his penthouse condominium after a tumultuous day in government. How Israelis love to argue, he thought. The current coalition cabinet always seem vexed. His Likud government often made the whole world angry, and now even the United States. But they could always count on America to back them—no matter what. Huge amounts of money and arms from the US had made Israel one of the world’s strongest military powers.
But the nagging thorn in their side remained the Palestinians. They simply wouldn’t leave. He knew that it was shear propaganda that the Palestinians were not the indigenous people of the land, that it had been empty before 1948.
Uri felt indebted for his current existence, for his very life, to a Palestinian and his American wife. He had signed the permit for that boy’s family to go to Haifa. That was all he had done. It wasn’t much. The young couple had even suggested he might try to get the little boy released. He’d put that aside saying he had no jurisdiction for that problem. But he did have influence with the military court system. He knew the major general in charge of it. Any appeal would have to go the Supreme Court however, and he realized that the Palestinian lawyer, Jamal, would not be able to file anything there. So there was something he could do to reward the young people. Get their friend’s boy released.
Uri felt good about his decision. He smiled as his wife. Carmella approached with his favorite Italian wine and cheese.
This was the best part of the day, sitting on the deck watching the sun go down over the Mount of Olives with the city beyond it, enjoying his wine and cheese with Carmella.
“How was your day, Uri?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“All right. You don’t have to.” She laughed, imagining the arguments in the cabinet. Fortunately he was back in the ministry office tomorrow.
“What was your day like?”
“I had an interesting time with Ashley.”
“The one who saved my life?”
“Yes.”
“So what did you learn that was so interesting?”
“She told me many things I didn’t know about what’s happening in Judea and Samaria.”
“Like what?”
“Like making farmers lose their land.” She related Ashley’s story of Faisal, in desperation standing in front of a bulldozer that would soon mow down olive trees over fifty years old. And nearly killing him. “I had never heard of our government taking land like that. Is that something we do a lot? Bulldoze people?”
“Well, we don’t usually hear about how these communities are built in the occupied territories, but they obviously need land to build them on. It is our policy to gradually take the land for Israel and we are well along in doing that.”
“So farmers have to lose what they have built up for years?”
“You could put it that way.”
“Do we pay them for it?”
“I don’t think so. We just declare it state land. We have laws that support taking the land if it is needed for various reasons. We believe it all belongs to us anyway, Eretz Israel.”
“Does it, Uri? Is it really ours to take?”
“It depends on your point of view. If you’re Palestinian, then no, it isn’t ours to take. If you believe we have special rights to it because we were chosen by God four thousand years ago to have all this land, then yes. It does belong to us. Exclusively. A lot of American Christians hold this view too for some reason I’ve never figured out. They are our greatest supporters abroad.”
“Well Ashley told me of their friends Faisal and his wife Almas hiring a lawyer, a Palestinian, to try to get an injunction to postpone the demolition of their farm while they prepare a legal case. But he can’t file an appeal to the Supreme Court. He’s not allowed there.”
“What’s his name?”
“Jamal, I think Ashley said.”
“I know him. Well-organized. He’s the guy who prepared the permit request to get the family of the little boy to Haifa. All I had to do was approve it.”
“Oh, so you’ve already helped him?”
“Yes, I have. He’s a Palestinian I can work with. The young couple even wondered whether I could get the boy released from prison.”
“What did you say?”
“I told them that was not in my portfolio in Internal Affairs.”
“But you could use your influence.”
“I suppose I could.”
“And you’re an Israeli lawyer, so you’d have access to the Supreme Court.”
“Probably would.”
“And you’ve already worked with Jamal who is well-organized.”
“Well, yes.”
“And he’s been retained by both families, Ali’s and Faisal’s. He knows them and probably has briefs already written for appealing both Ali’s sentence and Faisal’s demolition order.”
“Possibly he does. I’d have to check.”
“And we have wanted to do something significant for Ashley and Najid for saving your life.”
“You sound like a lawyer, grilling me as a witness.”
“It’s just so logical. They need and want help for their friends. You want to do something meaningful for them and you have the ability and standing to do it. Get the little boy released and an injunction to stop the farm destruction at least for a time while they prepare an appeal.”
“You are saying, do it? You mean do both?”
“Exactly.”
“It could get me into trouble.”
“In the cabinet?”
“Yes. But also I could have to answer for it in the Knesset. Some of the hard-liners in the Likud and Home parties would accuse me of being a traitor to the Zionist cause.”
“It’s your decision, Uri.”
CHAPTER 51
Jamilah quickly established housekeeping in the partially furnished apartment Sami had procured for them in his building near the university and not far from the Interrogation Center. It was dusty but looked and smelled less stale after opening the windows and cleaning up. The kitchen had the basics for living.
They took a bus to the seashore since like most of their friends neither Saleh nor Jamilah had ever been allowed to visit the Mediterranean. The days became regular, Fatima with Saleh and herself visiting Ali every morning. He was able to convey that after they’d arrived his treatment had improved. Jamilah became convinced that their presence daily at the visitation room was protecting Ali from mistreatment. He had hinted that it had not been fun earlier, but could not go into details with the guard present who occasionally interrupted their conversation based on his monitoring.
The next afternoon, Fatima needed to study. They followed Sami to the university where he set Fatima up with a computer in the library using his ID and password. Walking back he showed them grocery shops and small restaurants and the place for a quick falafel. On their second full day in Haifa he took them on a tour of the campus.
“Here is my sweat shop.” Sami pointed to a large plain building containing the law school.
“Is it that bad?” Fatima smiled.
“There’s a lot of competition to get into the actual law school. I’m just taking other classes that will help me get admitted.”
Jamilah watched the two young people in animated conversation. She had not seen her daughter laugh since Ali’s arrest.
Jamilah included Sami in their evening meal on the second evening before he went back to his apartment to study. After dinner Sami announced a planned visit of his parents.
“The university encourages parents to visit, so a month ago we planned for them to come from Genger in Galilee this coming weekend. They can stay with me. It will be a chance for them to meet you.”
“Wonderful! Ashley told me about them after her visit two years ago,” Fatima said. “I’ve heard some Sami stories now.” She looked at Sami with the hint of a smile. “I just need to know if they are true.”
Jamilah enjoyed seeing her daughter light up with a twinkle in her eye and the smile that was so characteristic of her before the arrest.
***
Sami had persuaded his parents, Rafiq and Farah, to help him put on a dinner in his apartment. Both families had so much in common. The young people listened as Fatima’s parents described living in Bethlehem with the restrictions of the military occupation clamping down on Saleh’s business he’d worked hard to build after losing his position in Jerusalem during the second intifada of 2002.
Rafiq and then Farah spoke of their expulsion from their homes as children in Galilee, growing up in refugee camps in Jordan and then Lebanon. But since the new nation of Israel needed Palestinian labor, they’d been able to return as farm workers instead of owners. God had been good and taken care of them through the difficulty, and now they enjoyed raising their five children, including one Ali’s age.
“But how is Ali doing?” Farah asked. “Sami told us of his imprisonment here in Haifa.”
“We get to visit him for a few minutes every day,” Jamilah replied. “The guard is always around so we have to talk quietly and fast in case he can understand Arabic. Ali told us his treatment is better since we came, but he doesn’t go into details. He looks pale and has lost some weight. My little boy!” Jamilah stopped and brushed a tear away. “He looks so tired.” Her voice broke. “I want to take him in my arms and run out of there, but the guard stands by the door the whole time.”
“How long will he have to be there?” Rafiq asked.
“We don’t know. He did tell us that they want him to admit to throwing stones at the soldiers during the curfew. But he says he did not and I know he is telling the truth. So he won’t sign a false confession. And he stays in jail.”
“Do you have a lawyer to help?”
Uprooting the Olive Tree Page 18