Uprooting the Olive Tree

by Lloyd Philip Johnson

  ***

  After the game, Saleh sat down with his cool lemon drink in the living room of their Bethlehem home to share his day with Jamilah and learn of hers. It had become a nice ritual he looked forward to, and particularly now that Ali was back home.

  “You look like you have been running,” his wife chuckled.

  “You’re right.” Saleh sighed. “I tried to play football with the three of them out there, but they outran me on every play.”

  “You mean Fatima did too? She never plays football.”

  “She does now. Sami must have talked her into it, or maybe Ali.”

  Jamilah gave a knowing smile. “Girls do that sometimes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You really don’t know?”

  “I guess not. What are you thinking?”

  “They do things out of the ordinary to please another. Have you noticed how she and Sami look at each other?”

  “Not particularly. But now that you mention it, they spent a lot of time together planning their game. You think there is something going on between them?”

  Jamilah laughed and winked. “This is not something new, Saleh. Do you remember when we were young and met each other at your parent’s home?”

  “Yeah. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

  “Well, what do you think is happening now?”

  Saleh nodded. “I didn’t realize they were anything but casual friends. But now that you mention it, they did seem to enjoy each other in Haifa, even washing dishes.”

  “Did you notice Fatima after leaving Sami at the bus station?”

  “No, I didn’t notice anything unusual.”

  “Men are dense. Your gender doesn’t see people and their feelings.”

  “Okay, let’s suppose you are right, that Sami and Fatima are growing to like each other in that way.”

  “Call it like it is, Saleh. They are falling in love.”

  “But we didn’t until after we were married.”

  “But we hardly knew each other before then.” Jamilah stared off into space. “We had no chance to get to care about each other. But now, young people are different. They get together when they are away from home at the university.”

  “But we don’t encourage what the West calls dating.”

  “No, but young people do it anyway when they get away at school. They don’t want to live like we did and marry a stranger.”

  “But Fatima and Sami haven’t been dating, have they?” Saleh frowned.

  “No, but Sami helped us in Haifa to find a place to live and ate meals with us. He shared what he is learning with us, and even washed dishes. So we had a lot of time to get to know Sami. And so did Fatima. She had met him before when he was here with Ashley and Najid.”

  Saleh nodded. “So we provided the opportunity for them to get to know each other, and now they are beginning to love each other. I do like him, and obviously Ali does. So what do you think is going to happen between them?”

  “Be realistic, Saleh. These relationships at their age draw people together, powerfully. They may want to spend the rest of their lives together.”

  “Even if we didn’t arrange this, we still have to give our permission. They can’t go off and get married without their parents’ consent, can they?”

  “We hope not. I don’t think either Fatima or Sami would do that,” Jamilah replied. “He should at least ask us. But maybe they’re not at that stage yet. They need to be sure they are right for each other.”

  “So we would have to decide whether we can give our only daughter to Sami?”

  “I think so. I suppose his parents would as well.” Jamilah sighed. “They’re Christians and they are nice people. I enjoyed meeting them in Haifa. They don’t seem to have any problems relating to Muslims like us.”

  “I felt the same way, Jamilah. But that casual relationship is not the same as marrying. What would they feel about Sami marrying a Muslim girl?”

  “You have to remember that she follows Jesus even though she maintains her Muslim identity and culture. Sami grew up with Jewish and Muslim kids at school and seems to have no problem with friends from other groups.”

  “So you are saying that Sami’s parents would agree with his marrying Fatima?”

  “Of course I don’t know that, Saleh, but I saw them enjoying Fatima when they visited in Haifa.”

  “It’s true that Muslims and Christians get along well in Israel and Palestine. There is no problem here like in other Arab lands where sometimes Christians are persecuted or killed and their churches burned by radical Muslims. Look at what has happened in Iraq,” Saleh said.

  “We are all suffering together from the Israeli occupation. I think that draws us together.”

  “True, but even before the 1948 Nakba, we Muslims lived peacefully with Christians and Jews for centuries.”

  “Agreed,” Jamilah replied, “but how does this affect our views about Sami and Fatima?”

  “I’ll have to think this through. We are not really practicing Muslims. We don’t attend the mosque or pray five times a day, or go on the Haj. We do give to the poor. But we were born Muslim, and that is our identity. We can’t get away from that. And Fatima was also born Muslim, she has a Muslim name, wears her hijab, and occasionally prays in a mosque with other women.”

  “And she says she is not a cultural Christian. But she follows Jesus. She wears her hijab and most of our friends assume she is Muslim. But then she’ll graduate from the Bible College and has lots of Christian friends, so you can’t really put her exclusively in either category.”

  “She thinks that religious labels sometimes have nothing to do with real faith in Allah,” Saleh said. “She says that holds for both groups.”

  “But Sami is part of the ancient Melkite Church, has a Christian name, and is clearly part of the Christian community,” Jamilah said.

  “Is he a practicing Christian?” Saleh asked.

  “I think so.”

  “So would Fatima’s Islamic identity get lost? Would we lose her to his greater family and friends?” Saleh asked.

  Her mother shrugged with her hands up. “That is the big question.”

  “Other than that, do you think Sami would make a good husband for Fatima? Would he fit into our family as a Christian?”

  “I don’t know,” Jamilah said. “I think he would be a faithful husband and a fun one for Fatima. He will probably do well. He is a fine young man, but he’s not one of us.”

  “I’ve forgotten how they got together in the first place.”

  “Remember, Ashley met Fatima two years ago and they became friends and then we met Najid and through him, Sami.”

  “We hear of intermarriage between the two groups now.” Saleh took a sip of his drink and licked his lips, remaining silent while he leaned forward and put down his glass. “I think it comes from the Western ideas of freedom from the traditions of the past. They get these ideas because they reject arranged marriages. Then they lose the tight family relations we enjoy of living close together.”

  “Then how does the Muslim community react, or Sami’s church? Would either group accept them?” Jamilah wondered. “Would they experience discrimination?”

  “And how would they raise their children? Even if Sami and Fatima could somehow bridge the gap, wouldn’t their children have trouble figuring out who they are?”

  Saleh shook his head. “There are too many problems. I don’t see how we can agree to let Fatima marry Sami.”

  “Fortunately, we don’t have to decide since they haven’t asked us. So let’s not worry about something that hasn’t even happened. I’m going to call them in. I don’t want Ali outside when it’s dark.”

  CHAPTER 67

  The air-conditioned room felt good to Chaim. It was another hot day in the Negev desert. He found a seat in the back along with two other chopper pilots. They would be supporting the ground troops invading Gaza, but not himself. He would be in on the general’s briefing but had
no orders to participate.

  Everyone stood as the general walked in accompanied by three field rank officers. Several hundred soldiers quieted, almost all reservists who had been called up to participate in the Gaza operation.

  “You are being sent to defend Israel from the terrorists in Gaza who threaten us with their rockets and tunnels,” the general began. “Our Air Force and Navy along with IDF artillery have leveled many buildings and houses that harbor the terrorists, and killed hundreds, but we have not been able to stop the rockets or obliterate their tunnels. They use children to protect their rockets while we use rockets to protect our children. So do not believe that propaganda that we are killing women and children indiscriminately. You will be protecting Israel by going after the terrorists. They use women and children, so do not spare any of them who are fighting us.”

  The general reached for his water bottle and drank from it. “Remember, we are in control of that tiny strip of land along the sea. We have it surrounded and blockaded by land, sea and air. Nothing or no one gets in or out unless we give permission. So they lash out at us with their rockets. But we have the means to stop their aggression and defend ourselves. You are part of that defense. We don’t accept the criticisms from other countries or the United Nations. We have America on our side, and it will do whatever we need to do to protect the only democracy in the Middle East, our God-given land.”

  The soldiers rose in applause, shouting Israeli slogans including “Never again.”

  Chaim slipped out the door in back. How many of these young soldiers will lose their lives, or do things to women and children they will never be able to forget? Just “mowing the grass” every two years our prime minister calls it.

  ***

  Although Uri and Carmella Katsman lived in East Jerusalem in their large settlement home with its penthouse view at Male Adumim, they had never been in the Silwan neighborhood. Carmella learned it was predominantly Palestinian, a part of East Jerusalem occupying a ridge southeast of the Old City where archeologists found the ancient City of David. She wanted to visit Ashley and Najid there in their new apartment and persuaded Uri to go along. They drove past the Jaffa Gate and south along the wall of the Old City until ascending the hills of Silwan. Large houses occupied the street as they approached the building and found a place to park. A crowd of about one hundred Palestinians had gathered around the entrance, peaceful and chatting, holding signs in Arabic and Hebrew.

  The Israeli couple stopped. Carmella’s eyes widened and her pulse raced. She grabbed Uri’s hand as they turned to walk calmly back to the car. At that moment they spotted Najid who ran toward them.

  “Don’t leave, please. These young people are our friends who have come to protect our neighbors.”

  “Yes, but we’re Israelis. I’m not sure we’re welcome here,” Uri said.

  “Oh, but you are!” The crowd quieted as Najid signaled to them. He raised his voice. “These are my good friends who have helped us greatly. Please welcome them. We’ll be going up to our flat for dinner.”

  The crowd made a path through with smiles, clapping Uri on the back and gesturing for the three to enter the gate. They climbed the stairs up to the third floor where Ashley greeted them in the open doorway of their new home with a hug for both Carmella and Uri.

  “Come in and sit down. You are safe here. In fact as I watched out the window, you were safe out on the street as well. You just didn’t know it.”

  “We didn’t know what was happening until Najid came to our rescue,” Carmella said. “Again.” She looked at Najid and laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t know why we always need you to be our knight on the white horse.”

  “Would you like a glass of wine from Bethlehem?” Najad offered. “It’s from Cremisan winery and we like it.”

  “You mean the place that is now in contention in the Supreme Court?” Uri asked.

  “Yes, it’s still producing wine and we hope it will continue. I’ll bring some out.”

  As Najid disappeared into the kitchen, Carmella said, “You have a nice place here, Ashley. I can see your hand in the décor. Thank you for having us, including the little excitement you provided out there.”

  Ashley smiled as Najid served the wine and settled down in a chair with his.

  “Okay, you probably want to know what that the crowd is all about,” Ashley said. She turned to Najid. “You can explain it better.”

  Najid began, relating the story of the takeover of the Palestinian owner’s apartment on the ground floor in the middle of the night, and how Israeli soldiers and police protected the settlers. “The family had owned this building for ninety years. But while the owners were visiting in Ramallah, people came in, put up bars over the windows, changed the door locks, and moved in.”

  “Israelis?” Uri asked.

  “Yes.”

  The couple had many questions and wondered if the owner had sold the property. Najid had asked that question the day before and learned no, they along with everything they owed had been taken. The property was part of the family. They would never sell it.

  “So what is the gathering in the street now all about?” Carmella asked.

  “Our neighbors on the second floor are threatened with an eviction notice scheduled for tonight,” Ashley explained. She reached for her glass and sipped the wine. “He is the son of the owners and has his own family with three small children. They want to stay in the place he had always lived, so refused to sell. Since there is no help from the soldiers—they protect the intruders—friends of the son have come to block any takeover of their apartment by settlers. That is the purpose of the crowd. They have no weapons. They will probably chant and sing to the settlers and the police, and refuse to move from blocking the gate. It is a peaceful way of saying no, you can’t take someone’s home. So they will try to block any attempt to break in and drive the family out. They are staying there and will not be intimidated by threats of illegal takeover.”

  Carmella’s eyes widened. “What time will they come?”

  “Don’t worry. It won’t be until the early hours after midnight if they come at all. You never know for sure. You’ll be safe, and I will escort you out to your car this evening before the festivities start.”

  Uri laughed at Najd’s choice of words.

  “I’m amazed at having friends like that who will stand there all night to protect one family,” Carmella said.

  CHAPTER 68

  Ashley described herself as a novice cook, but the verdict of the group came out very positive. She tried Maglooba, chicken rice pilaf turned upside down on a platter, a dish she had learned from Jamilah and Fatima, along with her favorite beet salad and pita bread with hummus. The foursome then sat around the table drinking tea, listening to Uri describe his recent experiences in the Supreme Court.

  Suddenly they heard noises below in the street. All jumped, with Uri and Najid racing to the window and the ladies following. The crowd had turned away from the building and started to sing toward a cadre of soldiers and civilians with rifles and batons behind them, mostly in the dark, out of range of the streetlight. Several still in the light wore the yarmulke.

  Najid turned to their guests. “I’m sorry I told you wrong. The soldiers came last time at two in the morning. It looks like there might be trouble. You are safe here and can stay through the night if you want to.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Najid. I’m going to go down and tell the soldiers to leave. They are part of the IDF and have no business here.”

  “Please, sir, don’t do that. Tempers get hot and they have automatic weapons. You could be in danger.”

  “The lieutenant in charge needs to know you can’t just go in someone’s home at night and expel an entire family,” Uri countered as his face turned red. With that he bolted to the door and ran down the stairs.

  Ashley blanched as they watched him dash through the singing Palestinians and up to the commander with Najid close behind. She could see that they spoke angri
ly with gestures toward each other. A soldier standing by raised his rifle butt and stuck Uri in the head. He crumpled to the pavement, falling hard and did not move. Carmella screamed and ran down the stairs and out into the street.

  She ran up to the lieutenant in tears, shouting, “You brutes!” She quickly knelt along with Najid to see her husband was breathing and starting to move and speak. As he returned to consciousness Carmella looked up at the commander, not more than twenty-five years old. “Do you know who you’ve just struck and nearly killed? Do you?” she shouted.

  “I don’t care, lady. We’ll get an ambulance when you quit screaming.”

  Carmella stood nose to nose with the young lieutenant. “Uri Katsman is a Likud member of the Knesset and former minister of internal affairs for the Israeli government. I see your name and will report you tomorrow. In the meantime, you get my husband into an ambulance and then you take your brutal soldiers and get out of here. And that goes for the settlers behind you as well!”

  The young soldier stared at Carmella, speechless. He then turned and gave a command to disperse. He motioned to the settlers in back to leave, and then shouted to them in Hebrew. Carmella stood by Uri, now awake and trying to get up.

  Najid who had been standing behind Carmella, rushed forward to calm his friend and urge him to lie down until the ambulance came. As it drove up, Najid told the lieutenant to leave. The young soldier whirled around on his heel and ran down the street after his soldiers. The settlers had disappeared.

  ***

  Ashley heard a knock on her door. She opened it with the safety chain still in place, to see the relieved face of the owner’s son from the second floor.

  She let him in and they hugged. His eyes shone with tears.

  “We saw everything from our window. You can’t know the terror we felt as we saw the soldiers gather around our friends. My little family, my wife, and kids were all crying. We knew that we would soon be out on the street with no home, just like my parents.”