Uprooting the Olive Tree

by Lloyd Philip Johnson

  “We have your letter here explaining that you refuse to obey orders to carry out the programs of your unit. The court needs to know why you wrote this, and whether it represents your current position now that you have spent a week in confinement.”

  “This has been in my mind and heart for a long time, sir. The letter does reflect my refusal to terrorize civilians in their homes, arrest children, and demolish houses. I have done these things. I am ashamed of what I’ve done. I cannot continue to obey commands that require me to be cruel to civilian families and that violate my conscience. I have not been able to sleep at night until I landed in jail and no longer had to participate in these acts.”

  “You have had a good military record until now. Do you understand that your action will put this in jeopardy? That you may incur further time in prison and a dishonorable discharge from your reserve assignment in the IDF? And that this will follow you all your life, likely affecting your future employment?”

  The defense lawyer rose. “I object to threatening the defendant.”

  The colonel nodded to the prosecutor. “Objection sustained.”

  “All right then,” the IDF lawyer continued. “Let me refer to the current statements of our government leaders. Our prime minister calls the IDF the most moral army in the world and that it carries out its mission to safeguard our security.

  “One of our generals speaking for the Israeli Defense Force wrote that there is no place for refusal in the IDF, and that any attempt to do so is entering a political position not appropriate for a soldier.

  “Finally, Your Honor, our defense minister stated that this kind of letter supports the false de-legitimization of our government and the IDF. It’s a political not a moral issue. Our soldiers are doing sacred work that saves many lives. He goes on to say that they deserve our gratitude. He will not tolerate such political abuse, and will see to it that soldiers who sign such letters will be treated as criminals.”

  Gilad raised his eyebrows as the head judge looked at him. “If you have something further to say in your defense, now is the time.”

  The defense counsel nodded his approval for Gilad to speak. “That is the view from the top, sir. It doesn’t represent reality on the ground. What my group and I have done is beyond your imagination. We probably killed a six-year-old girl and bulldozed the houses of innocent families. Even one house by mistake. You can deny such crimes if you want, but I know I did them. I will live to regret these actions to my dying day. I will gladly pay any penalty you want to give me. That is all I have to say.” He sat down.

  “Does the defense counsel want to add to the defendant’s statement?”

  “No, sir, I have nothing to add to the defendants compelling defense of his position.”

  The room remained quiet. Finally the colonel spoke. “The court will be in recess until next week when we will announce our decision for potential sentencing. In the meantime, the defendant will return to the brig.” He banged his gavel while saying, “The court is adjourned.”

  Gilad looked at his lawyer. “Thank you, sir, for your help at one point.”

  “I didn’t do much. You made your position very clear, and it was powerful.” He shook hands with Gilad who then saluted as he walked away.

  The guard grasped Gilad’s arm and led him back to prison.

  CHAPTER 64

  Uri chatted with his colleagues at his end of the large table in the elegant cabinet room in Jerusalem lined with dark wood paneling and the portraits of former leaders, beginning with Ben Gurion. The current prime minister and his defense minister seemed deep in discussion until the gavel sounded. They discussed operations in Gaza and several ministers asked questions about its progress. They wondered why the rockets from the militants continued despite the pounding and devastation wreaked on the small enclave by the air force and the rockets. The images flying around the world on the Internet and in newspapers showing bodies of children, buildings being blown up, and women weeping brought more condemnation of Israel from the rest of the world. Israel could no longer hide what appeared to be a massacre of hundreds of civilians, despite the denials and assertions that every civilian casualty would be investigated.

  As though reading Uri’s thoughts, the prime minister looked at him. “Remember, we use rockets to protect our children. They use children to protect their rockets.” He paused and smiled. “That’s a phrase I think I’ll repeat in the media interviews. I like it.”

  “What about the four boys killed playing football on the beach in Gaza?” a colleague asked. “It hit the press worldwide. How are you going to explain that?”

  “We will say that was a mistake and we are investigating.”

  “It looks like the tunnels still are operational and the rockets continue despite our bombardment from land, sea and air,” another minister said. “What are we going to do?”

  The prime minister turned to his defense colleague.

  “The IDF is ready and poised at the border. They just await the order to move in ground troops with artillery and tanks. That will be given tonight pending our decision now. We will spare no people standing in our way to rout out the underground ordinance or rockets hidden in schools or even U.N. buildings. We may lose some soldiers, but there is no victory with air power alone. We want to wipe out Hamas once and for all.” He rose and hurried out of the room.

  Uri sighed, deep in thought. Another escalation in a useless war that will leave hundreds of civilians dead, homes and businesses destroyed, along with mosques and churches and international relief buildings. And will solve nothing. He could not bring himself to vote for the ground war in Gaza.

  The prime minister, after much heated discussion, called for a vote. It was nine to six, with Uri dissenting in the minority group, against the escalation with ground troops. He surmised the defense minister had left to alert the IDF of the impending vote, returning in time to insure the ground offensive would begin.

  The prime minister fixed his gaze on Uri. “I have an announcement to make. I am accepting the resignation from the cabinet of Uri Katsman, Minister of Internal Affairs. The deputy minister will take his place until we decide on a permanent replacement.”

  Uri didn’t realize he had resigned. But perhaps that was for the best. His perspective had changed and he could no longer support the position of his party and the coalition government. He rose, thanked the prime minister and his colleagues for their years of friendship and strode out the door.

  ***

  “Carmella,” he called as he opened the door to their penthouse condo in Male Adumim, “I need a stiff drink.” He was so glad to be home.

  “Was it that bad?”

  “Well, I resigned from the Cabinet.”

  “What? You are no longer minister of interior?”

  “You’re looking at a former minister.”

  “Why did you resign? You could be a voice for reason in Likud and in the government.”

  “Actually I was resigned, Carmella. The prime minister accepted my resignation when I hadn’t even submitted it.”

  “Why? Just because you are having some doubts about our policies and voted the wrong way?”

  “That’s part of it. He didn’t like my representing Palestinians in the Supreme Court. He felt I am disloyal to the Zionist ideal of taking their land and making it uncomfortable for Palestinians to stay in Judea and Samaria by our polices of intimidation.”

  “So you were not a loyal coalition member?”

  “Right. And then when I voted against sending ground troops into Gaza, that was too much for him.”

  “But you’re still a member of the Knesset aren’t you?”

  “Yes. I don’t think he can do anything about that. He is a member too. We’re both appointed by the party from the last election.”

  “So how do want your gin and tonic, single or double?”

  “Double!” He sat down in his recliner and put his feet up. “But you know, Carmella, it’s actually a relief to be out of the
re.”

  She brought drinks for both of them and sat on the sofa shaking her head and smiling. “I’m relieved too, Uri. How can you back something you no longer believe in?”

  “I do believe in our country and its right to live in peace—even though we have made mistakes. But carrying those on year after year, we can’t seem to understand that peace will never come until we allow the territories to be free.”

  Carmella reached for her glass. “I’m worried for us as a nation, as a people. You hear the talk around our bridge table. It didn’t used to bother me, how we ridicule and demean all Palestinians. I did it too. We hate them even though we’ve never met one to talk to. So they are second-class citizens here, and worse in the territories. So then when they resist non-violently, we have to defend ourselves against the terrorists.”

  “That’s why we call our army the Israeli Defense Force and every operation defensive.” Uri paused. “But more than that, what is this doing to us? Personally, on the inside? I didn’t realize my own attitude until Najid and Ashley appeared miraculously. This hate of Arabs we are teaching to our children will destroy us. We will become a nation of monsters with no soul, no compassion. Hitler did horrible things to us out of his hate. The Nazis did it. Why do we turn now against the Palestinians? They’re not responsible for the Holocaust. Hitler did it and he didn’t survive. Now that we have turned into persecutors, will we?”

  CHAPTER 65

  Ashley appreciated Shiran and Yaron Friedman’s invitation to dinner to meet their son Ariel’s girlfriend at their elegant home in West Jerusalem. The former IDF soldier now a university student had maintained his close friendship with Sami, but also with Ashley, Najid, and Mustafa after their adventures in America.

  As they sat down around the table laden with silver service, Shiran whispered to Ashley that the Palestinian owner of their home had no designs on it now and had just come to show his wife the house of his childhood. They had now become friends with another family of Palestinians.

  “I’m so glad for you,” Ashley said. “Suddenly you’re meeting all these terrorists.”

  Shiran laughed. “I’m glad you brought one. Sami and Ariel keep in touch by e-mail and seem to have a special bond.”

  Ariel introduced his girlfriend. She had finished her time in the IDF putting in her two years as a reservist on active duty. Miriam’s light-brown hair suggested her European background, and as Ashley found out, she identified herself as an Ashkenazi Jewess with family origins in France. Soon Shiran’s kitchen helper brought out the salads, and everyone began eating.

  “So were you born here?” Ashley inquired. “You probably speak French? Your English is very good.”

  “Thank you,” Miriam said in English. “I do speak French. My grandparents came here just after the holocaust in 1947, so Ariel and I have that heritage in common. As Sabras we both grew up here speaking Hebrew and learned English in school. And both of us spent our time in the IDF—we girls get off with two years, and I didn’t have to carry a gun.” She winked at Ariel.

  “She got off easy. Sitting behind a desk. Never got her hands dirty,” he remarked.

  Miriam laughed. “Didn’t get hit in the head with a rock, either.”

  “Ariel told us he had a friend. Where did you two meet?” Najid asked.

  “At Hebrew University right here in Jerusalem. We started talking over coffee one day and he learned I am an observant Jew. My family and I are orthodox, so I dragged him off to synagogue one Saturday. He still won’t wear a yarmulke. So we do have our differences about Judaism, but I love him anyway.”

  Ariel grinned and quietly elbowed Sami who sat next to him.

  “Now I know, Ariel, why you don’t e-mail me very often.”

  “You weren’t nearly as much fun as Miriam,” Ariel said.

  “Okay, but seriously, I want to know how your families handle the differences between you two, one being observant and Yaron and Shiran here not religious Jews.”

  “I never really thought much about it, Sami. What would you say, Momma?”

  Shiran raised her head, looking at the far wall remaining silent for several moments. “You know that most Israelis are secular as we are, not religious. But I don’t see a problem with young people working these things out among themselves.”

  “My parents like Ariel,” Miriam said. “Even if they would prefer him to be active in Judaism, they don’t object to our relationship. They want me to be happy and they realize that times are changing and we all must adapt to them. Even some of the goals of Zionism, which have become part of our religion we’re having to rethink.”

  “Why do you ask about family differences, Sami?” Ariel asked.

  Ashley saw Sami hesitate and then his face flushed. She had never seen him without a ready answer or some smart remark. She remembered their confidential conversation about Fatima and smiled to herself, wondering what he would reveal.

  “Oh,” Ariel said with a slight smile, “I think Sami has something to tell us.”

  “Well, I … um, just wondered.”

  “I suspect there is some young lady out there,” Ariel said, eyes twinkling and trying not to smile.

  “Sort of … well, yes. I mean, we do care about each other, but our families come from different groups. Like yours. So I wondered whether that made a problem for them. But the answer for you seems to be no, it doesn’t.”

  “Is her family from Mars or some other planet?”

  “No, Ariel.” Sami laughed. Ashley saw him relax at his friend’s question.

  “We are both Palestinians, followers of Jesus, but she comes from a historic Muslim family who are not very religious, and I’m from a Christian one, active in our faith. And now both families know us. But we haven’t talked to them about having a relationship. We’re actually from different places.”

  “Is she in Israel? We could have her here sometime.”

  “No, she’s in Bethlehem. I can visit her, but she can’t come into Israel.”

  “I’d like to meet her,” Miriam said. “But we can’t go to Bethlehem. What’s her name?”

  “Fatima. I wish you could get to know her. She’s graduating from the Bethlehem Bible College and works there part-time.”

  “She sounds unusual, Sami. Like she thinks out of the box. It’s so sad that we are prevented from making friends with your people across the wall. If we could just get together I know that the fear and hate we have would disappear.”

  “Many of us Palestinians feel the same way, Miriam. Fatima and I do, along with her family and mine.”

  CHAPTER 66

  Ali came bursting in the front door, which Jamilah had just unlocked including the new deadbolt. “Is Sami really coming to visit like Fatima said?”

  “Yes, he is. How was school today? Did you enjoy being back?”

  “Yeah, it was fine. But I want to know when Sami is coming.”

  “He is staying with Najid and Ashley for a few days in Jerusalem, but he’s coming to the Bible College this afternoon, and then Fatima will bring him home for the evening.”

  “Will he sleep in my room?”

  “Yes, that’s the only extra bed we have. Just like Najid—” She stopped, not wanting to remind Ali of that horrible night.

  “It’s okay, Mama. I’m over that now, except when I wake up with a bad dream. I don’t like to sleep alone so I’m glad Sami will be in my room. Do you think he’ll play football with me like Najid did?”

  “I don’t know, Ali. We’ll have to see when he and Fatima arrive. Remember you’ve got school again in the morning.”

  “I’m thirsty. Is there water in the refrigerator?”

  “Yes, and Papa is going to bring a few more bottles tonight for drinking and cooking. And some big plastic containers of water. We had no water in the house for two weeks while you were away, and now it’s off again. We have to use just a little at a time, so we’ll help you have a shower in a day or two.”

  “I wonder why the Israelis have so muc
h water, Mama. I saw a picture at school of a big swimming pool in Gilo up there on the hill above Beit Jala.”

  “Because they take most of our water, Ali.”

  “It doesn’t seem fair to not be equal. Our teacher at school makes us share our treats so we all get the same amount.”

  ***

  Ali ran to greet Sami as he walked in the door behind his sister and held his hand up for a high five. Sami did the same.

  “Aren’t you going to give Fatima five?” Sami said.

  Fatima held up her hand and Ali clapped it. She grabbed Ali into a hug. “It’s so good to have you home again.”

  “Hey, can we play football?” Ali said, eyes wide.

  “How about all three of us. Fatima used to play too—right?”

  “Not much but I’ll try,” Fatima said, as her mother approached the front entry.

  “Welcome, Sami,” Jamilah said, wiping her hands on her apron. “I don’t want Ali going back to his friends’ houses at this time of day. Too far away. Why don’t you play in our street out front in the empty parking area.”

  “No playground nearby?” Sami asked.

  “Not even any in Bethlehem,” Fatima added. “None except the small one at one organization near my college. So kids play in the streets.”

  ***

  Saleh smiled watching Ali and Fatima trying to dribble the ball past Sami. He knew Fatima had played football only a few times in her life, and she would have trouble keeping up with Ali and Sami. Sami let Ali score. Saleh, who hadn’t played in years, joined the game to help Ali, and Fatima switched to Sami’s side.

  Saleh soon realized that the years do change things. After a few minutes his body couldn’t keep up with his wishes to run fast. Short of breath, he stopped, hands on his hips. “You continue and have fun. It’s time for me to check in with Mama.”