Uprooting the Olive Tree

by Lloyd Philip Johnson

  Ashley smiled and shrugged. “We tried to stop our guest from going out, but he did, and then his wife. They are Israelis, high up in the government. He was in the hospital recently. I hope he will be all right. The soldier butted him with his rifle. Then Carmella went out screaming. We have a saying in English, that ‘hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.’ Or maybe like a woman whose husband she loves is struck down.”

  “I don’t know what she said, but I couldn’t believe that the soldiers all disappeared, and the settlers behind them. It saved our home, Ashley.”

  “I hope they don’t come back. Somehow knowing who they offended tonight, and injured, I doubt they will.”

  The young man grasped Ashley’s hand in two of his. “Please tell Najid how much we appreciate all you and your friends have done tonight.” He placed his hand over his heart and left.

  ***

  Najid recalled sitting in the ER visiting Sami on their arrival from America one year ago. This time with Carmella, recalling the events of the evening.

  “I can’t believe what I did, charging out there like a bull elephant screaming at the top of my lungs.”

  Najid looked at her, not more than his mother’s short stature, and smiled. “What you said worked. Knowing who they injured, I doubt they’ll be back.”

  Just then a young physician approached. “Mr. Katsman we think should be fine. He hit his head when he fell, so we’ll just keep him here overnight to be sure. You can visit with him. Then I suggest you go home and come back in the morning. We have your telephone number and will call if we have any concerns tonight.”

  CHAPTER 69

  The next morning the sun shone in the blue Bethlehem sky with the peace of the quiet morning. Sami walked with Fatima to college, their bliss suddenly shattered by an Israeli fighter jet streaking at low altitude over the city with a full-throated roar.

  “Do they do that often?” he asked.

  “They do, Sami. I guess it’s just to show they are here and in charge. Particularly right now. You’ll have to be careful. You know we at the college are very close to Aida Camp, and that has been the site of Israelis going into the camp to arrest young men after midnight. So they throw stones to protest and get the soldiers to leave. But the soldiers continue to take kids out of bed just like they took Ali. Every night.”

  “So students react by throwing stones, and then the soldiers fight back with tear gas and rubber-coated bullets.”

  “Right. They also infiltrate the camp and use tear gas shot directly into houses. That’s dangerous for people’s health. You may see kids at the wall near the Bethlehem Bible College. So be careful, Sami. You’ve been injured once in a protest demonstration.”

  ***

  Sami left Fatima at the Bethlehem Bible College and decided to explore the area until lunch with her. Being in the West Bank and particularly with Bethlehem so close to Jerusalem, the conflict seemed to sharpen there. By contrast he thought his small town in northern Israel seemed quiet.

  Sami strolled north toward the wall, up the Hebron Road. He walked into the Intercontinental Hotel strangely empty of people in the attractive lobby with its central lounge with tables. He heard shots outside, and then a loud explosion. The sound bombs didn’t injure people, but the shooting disturbed him. He walked outside carefully, looking toward the tall guard tower projecting high above the nine meter wall just one hundred meters away. At its base, a group of soldiers, rifles drawn, had just shot into a small group of pre-adolescent boys who apparently had thrown some stones at the soldiers.

  One boy lay bleeding on the sidewalk across the street. Sami sprinted to the other side and knelt down beside the boy who moaned and held on to his upper left thigh. Blood spurted from around his hand. Sami jerked his hand away, tore open his pants through the bullet hole and saw bright red blood pulsating from the small wound. He recognized arterial bleeding and clamped his hand directly over the site pressing down with force. Shouting to a shopkeeper standing in his doorway, “Call an ambulance,” he then looked at the boy’s face twisted in pain.

  Sami held pressure until the ambulance arrived and an attendant took over. The wound was too high for an effective tourniquet, but the transfer to the attendant’s dressing and hand pressure seemed to work as they loaded the boy onto a stretcher and drove off, siren screaming.

  Sami’s shirt was blood stained. The shopkeeper motioned Sami to come inside. “Asalam alekum, you saved that boy’s life. Here take a shirt from the table, whatever you want. It’s your reward.”

  Sami nodded as he stripped off his bloody shirt, washed up at a sink in back, and picked out a new one—green, white, red, and black, the colors of the Palestinian flag. “Shukran,” he said as he shook hands with his benefactor after donning the patriotic covering. He hurried out to talk to the soldiers. But they had disappeared into the guard tower.

  CHAPTER 70

  After a walking tour down Manger Street with few people out shopping, Sami returned to the college in time to see Fatima coming with their lunches. They sat down at a small table in the narrow front courtyard, below the street level on the Hebron Road and out of sight of the sidewalk above.

  “I like your shirt. I don’t remember it from this morning. How did your walking tour go, Sami? I heard a sound bomb. We hear them almost every day from Aida Camp. I hope you stayed away from trouble.”

  Sami shrugged. “I did, mostly. But soldiers shot a young boy. I don’t want to bring up painful memories for you, so let’s not talk about it. I want to talk about you—maybe us, Fatima. We don’t get to be alone very much except in the dish—”

  A friend of Fatima’s came by with a greeting. “I just wanted to stop by to meet your friend, Fatima.”

  “Oh, Rebecca, this is Sami from Haifa University. We haven’t had much time to chat together.”

  Sami rose and smiled, wondering whether Rebecca would take the hint.

  “I understand,” she said with a wink toward Fatima, and strolled away.

  “You were talking about being in the dishpan, Sami. Maybe I could find one for you?”

  “Right. We can pretend we’re still standing at the sink. Talking. Do you remember what happened after we closed the kitchen door?”

  “Well, yes.” Fatima looked down, blushing. “You said that you wanted to hold me.”

  “Yes, and you invited me to do it by closing the door.”

  “I couldn’t help it, Sami. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

  “Well, I’m glad for that. Because you are one of a kind, Fatima. We have so much in common, and you are breaking out of the rigid box of religion that can trap people.”

  “Jesus brought freedom from the box the religious leaders of Jerusalem occupied. He told them if they knew the truth of who he was, they would be made free.”

  “And you are free, Fatima. You can share your experiences with family and friends of any or no religion.”

  “And with you, Sami. I want to share with you. I love to be together every minute we can.”

  “I do too. I’ve started to dream about you, but we always run up against something or someone so we can never be alone together.”

  Fatima laughed. “I had one like that two nights ago. You led me by the hand through some kind of field when there was a big explosion, and then I woke up. I couldn’t get back to sleep to find out what happened after that.”

  “I think our dreams are telling us something … maybe that we love each other.” Sami looked quickly around, grabbed Fatima’s hand and kissed it.

  “Oh, Sami! Right here in public!” She laughed. “I never know what to expect with you. But I love you, despite your surprises, or maybe because of them.”

  Sami gazed at her with the intense urge to gather her into his arms and never let her go. After several moments of fighting his instincts, he told himself, Calm down. Collect more rational thoughts. “So what do you think we can do? I’m going back to Haifa this afternoon and I’ll try to study international law tonight but I ma
y not be able to concentrate on it.”

  “We can talk by e-mail and cell phone.”

  “Every day?”

  “Sure, Sami.”

  “But what about the longer term, Fatima? Our families. We don’t have the problem that our parents are going to pick out a mate for us. But we do have families that care about us. We need to have their approval of our relationship now and in the future.”

  “So what do you think we should do?”

  “I can talk to my family. They have met you and realize what a beautiful girl you are, inside and out. I don’t think they would object to our seeing each other as young people in love. They will have questions. But it is easier for them than for your parents.”

  “Why, Sami?”

  “Because they have friends in Genger—Muslim, Christian, Druze, and even in the past, several Jewish families. The Israeli ones are all in their own villages now. But the families cooperate, work together, and get along fine. Having you there with wearing your hijab would not be a problem with their Christian friends. They accepted Ashley because of who she is, recognizing that she came out of a Christian Zionist background.”

  “But didn’t her parents have problems with accepting Najid?”

  “Yes, but when they learned to know him, they changed and now he’s part of the family.”

  “Maybe that could happen with my parents too as they get to know you better. But it’s harder for them. If we ever got—” Fatima stopped and her face flushed. After a pause, “I mean that a girl usually moves away to another family, and she would be identified with that new family as well as her own. And if the guy’s of a different religion, it could be a problem for them. They might think their daughter has somehow rejected her roots, her family.”

  “But you wouldn’t be doing that. You haven’t thrown away your Muslim heritage and culture. You have kept it and you would keep it in the future, even in a Christian environment just like you have done here at the Bible College. And your parents know that.”

  “Is that possible without a lot of people misunderstanding?”

  “Yes. Continuing with your Muslim culture are your choices and not a big deal. Just the way you dress or fix your hair. Or if I grew a beard. That’s a personal decision and nobody else’s business. Most of us learn to accept other’s ways. If we don’t, that’s our problem not theirs.”

  “What about other Christians who wouldn’t know about my commitment and think I am a practicing Muslim?”

  “Some people would probably think that until they get to know you. Most wouldn’t care here in Palestine. We get along well with all people—except the settlers and soldiers. Some Muslims in the Middle East hate Christians and persecute them. But here in Palestine, Christians and Muslims have no problems living together. We suffer the occupation together. After all it’s the Israeli government that causes the trouble, not different religions.”

  “And drives us together,” Fatima added, “to help each other live under occupation.”

  “We do help each other. I know a Christian guy who fasts with his Muslim friends during Ramadan, right here in Bethlehem. To be with them with no food or water during daylight hours is not easy in the heat of summer.”

  “So what would you suggest we do, Sami?”

  “We need to talk to your parents so they understand our relationship at this time and …”

  “Ask their permission to continue it?”

  “Right, Fatima. You are their beautiful daughter, their only one, and much loved by them. They must be comfortable with your choices in seeing this guy or life will be miserable for them and you, and me.”

  “You’re right, I could never go against their wishes.”

  “And I could never continue being with you without their approval,” Sami said. “These relationships either grow or stop. They know at our age, it could get serious. So I think we should talk to them soon.”

  “How about tonight? If you could postpone your return to the university until tomorrow?”

  “I can, Fatima. Let’s bring it up after dinner.”

  CHAPTER 71

  Sitting around the table after dinner in their home in Bethlehem, Fatima listened to her father and Sami discussing the rising tensions in Bethlehem around the wall and Aida Camp. It seemed related to the escalating massacre of civilians in Gaza, now refugees again, this time internally in Gaza yet with nowhere to go to escape the bombing. And Sami mentioned a boy shot that morning near the wall. He didn’t explain it. So much was happening that made life so difficult for Palestinians. And now in the midst of the tragedies, her own worries about her family accepting Sami as a serious boyfriend seemed trivial. Maybe they shouldn’t bring it up now. Too much going on.

  Sami suddenly cleared his throat just as Ali excused himself and ran off to his room.

  “Fatima and I have something to discuss with you both.”

  Jamilah glanced at her husband who looked intently first at Sami and then Fatima. She folded her arms and sat back in her chair. “Go ahead, Sami.”

  “You both have been so kind and hospitable to me, I want you to know how much I appreciate it. And getting to know you and your family when you came to Haifa, and also here is very special. Ali and I have a good time together.”

  “He wants to have you live with us as his older brother,” Saleh said.

  Sami laughed and seemed to relax.

  “I’d like that, but my education in Haifa calls.” He paused, glancing at Fatima. “I’ll get right to it. I’ve found a special friend in your daughter. You have done a great job raising her. Fatima and I have had a chance to get acquainted. I have never met anyone like her. We have so much in common in our views about life and God. I love to spend time with her and would like to continue our relationship, but only with your full knowledge and approval. I know young people are changing these days, some developing relationships far away from family and without their knowledge or permission. But we would never do that. So we’re asking for your blessing on our relationship so we can continue communicating and seeing each other.”

  Saleh, frowning slightly, looked at his wife. Jamilah bit her lip, suppressing a smile.

  “Fatima, let’s hear what you think,” she said.

  “At first Sami was just a fun guy, like some I have met at the college.” She turned to look at Sami as she spoke. “But I have learned that under the smart remarks lives a serious young man who loves God as I do. We have found ourselves in each other; we think alike in so many ways. I enjoy being with Sami like no one else except you both and Ali. So I will come out and say it, Papa. We love each other.”

  Jamilah watched her husband, waiting for him to speak. He started silently raising his hands and shoulders, then began to smile.

  “I’m a bit dense, but your mother suspected something was going on between you two. And we are all for your happiness, Fatima, and Sami’s too. But we have to consider some obstacles to your relationship. Particularly because these friendships become serious. They can lead to marriage as you are well aware.”

  “But, Papa, we haven’t even talked about it. Sami hasn’t said anything about that. Maybe we are getting ahead of ourselves here.”

  “I know, and I respect that. And also that you are coming to us at this point in your friendship without carrying it on secretly.”

  “We want you to know and will be happy to answer any questions,” Sami said.

  For the next hour the four of them discussed the pros and cons. Jamilah assured the young people they had nothing but great respect and admiration for Sami, and had grown to think of him as almost family. The conversation evolved into a discussion of the different religions and cultures, and the problems that could happen in the future if the relationship progressed to marriage.

  Fatima found it awkward to assume they would someday marry, but realized that her parents were probably realistic in projecting that. Sami would clearly ask her parents’ permission to propose to her just as Najid had done to Ashley’s. But that wa
s not the question at this time, and she thought that discussing marriage was premature. As much as she loved Sami, she knew that falling in love for the first time did not always lead to a permanent relationship.

  As if to answer her thoughts, her mother defended the idea that they needed to think ahead. “Your father and I discussed this because I could see what was happening between you two.” Jamilah chuckled, eyes sparkling, surrounded by her colorful green hijab. “Two people who love each other want to be together. And you both in your twenties are about to graduate from your college or the university. It’s just realistic to assume you will probably be discussing marriage. So that’s why we brought up all these questions. You both have close families and want to maintain that closeness. But we are different. Muslims and Christians get along well here in our country. In our public life we are Palestinians first, before being from a particular kind of family religion. But combining families through marriage—that could be a problem.”

  “As your mother and I discussed, Fatima, how would you be accepted as a family member living in a Christian household in Israel? You would be leaving our Muslim friends here, and of course your Christian ones also.”

  Fatima raised her eyebrows and remained silent.

  “Would you be accepted by the Christian community there, since you maintain your Muslim culture and wear the veil?” Saleh inquired. “Or would the Muslim people accept you knowing you identify as a Christian, become part of a Christian family, and follow Jesus? It’s true, people do intermarry. It has gone on for centuries. But it can cause problems.”

  Jamilah sat up in her chair and took a deep breath. “We would worry, Fatima, that you might experience discrimination or being left out of either community. It could happen, even if you have every intention of being accepted and a part of both groups.”

  Fatima looked at Sami who returned her gaze with a shrug. She interpreted that as meaning “let’s hear your parents out before we say anything.”