“And where did this fictional me get his masters?”
“Cal Poly.”
David turned to Meira. “California Polytechnic University.” And then he asked Eli, “You said the nickname as if you’d been there.”
“I’ve done my homework, cousin. We tried to find a school where no one would know you as David Rassadim, the Jew, or wonder why they hadn’t met you as Da’oud Rassad, the Arab. Cal Poly has many foreign students, which means this new you could have easily been lost in the throng.”
“Great. It’s a good thing I actually have a degree, but as it wasn’t from MIT, I’m wondering how hard their PhD program will be.”
“You’ll have a tutor if you need one.”
“So, one tutor for Arabic and one for engineering. I rate.”
“First the Arabic. You can’t come out as an Arab-American until you have some familiarity with that language. You’ll need to hide out somewhere while you study.”
David glanced over at Meira. “I recently inherited a lake cottage from an elderly cousin, and the deed is still in her name. I don’t know if you can do anything about transferring it to this new persona.”
“I take it the cottage is relatively remote? Do the neighbors know you?”
“It wasn’t a place for socializing with anyone but family. We visited in the summer, but I’m sure no one in the neighborhood would remember me. After the aunt died, my parents used the place for summer vacations, but they lived in Florida.”
“Then we should be able to make that work.”
Meira sighed. “I can’t get over the fact that this whole idea for using civilians came from a task force my father helped set up.”
“You should call your parents.” Eli glanced at his watch. “Maybe first thing in the morning.”
“Will my father already know about Abreeq and what’s-her-name?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s possible. He knew about the threat to you. He may have asked to be let in on whatever happened. After all, you’re his.”
“It’s hard to believe he’s behind this, that he thinks our entering this program is a good idea. I mean, maybe in the abstract, for someone else, but for me, his own daughter? For David and Tony?”
Eli had the grace to look apologetic. “I’m sure he imagines we can do a better job of protecting you in this kind of mission than we can with you running around under your own name. And certainly better than you can do trying to hide on your own.”
The years had changed them all, hadn’t they? The years and her choices. Not to mention, the choices of madmen.
Sleep eventually overtook David, but Meira’s mind wouldn’t hush. It whispered hard words and conjured images of murder, mayhem, and raging hordes of angry people. She continued to see Abreeq holding a gun, David lying on top of the woman, Abreeq crumbled and his head bashed. The children standing there, staring at the crazy man with the gun.
She’d run from one madman. For the sake of her family, she’d fled Israel and made a home here, and the result had been more than she could have imagined back when she’d said that hasty “I do.”
Now that her comfortable lifestyle was threatened and chaos had knocked at the door in the guise of Palestinian terrorists and Eli’s henchmen, all she wanted was to hold that life close. Running from trouble wasn’t in her nature, or in David’s. And yet to protect their baby, they’d have to run again, in case more of the bomber’s cousins or sisters showed up armed and ready.
The plan Eli had set before them seemed horribly convoluted. And frightening. Were they smart enough to juggle a new identity? And could the powers that be really guarantee the safety of their son? What exactly would they tell him? And when?
Or should they just take Tony and run, figure this mess out and hide on their own. Her thoughts ping-ponged. Do it, don’t do it.
Of course, if Eli’s plans gelled, they could work from within the United States until things settled down in Lebanon. And if that were possible, could she—they—turn this down? It felt as if they’d be repudiating the homeland’s request for help if they said no.
Their people had such a rich and varied history in the land. Many had stood on the front lines, believing in the cause and in HaShem’s eternal promises, trusting that the Almighty would go before them into battle. Aba used to read the Scriptures aloud every Sabbath and many evenings as well. Now, Meira lay in her comfortable bed, listening to her husband’s soft breathing, and thought of the story of Joshua fighting the Amalekites in the valley while Moses, Aaron, and Hur went up the mountain. As long as Moses kept his hands raised in praise, the army of Israel won; when he let them fall in exhaustion, the army lost ground. She always felt a shiver run through her when Aba read of the two men with Moses who stepped forward to help, propping up his arms when he tired.
Friends, brothers, family helped. Helping each other was what the people of HaShem had been taught to do. So were she and David supposed to act as an Aaron and a Hur to help their beloved Israel hold up her hands and win the battle?
She knew better than to ask for guarantees. They didn’t exist. Violence happened. Crazy people carried guns. Cars sped out of control. Life was risky and would remain risky, even if they holed up at the lake cottage for the rest of their lives.
She tossed and turned for hours, begging for peace and clarity. And she remembered her father’s words whispered throughout her childhood. “If you don’t know which way to choose, just wait. Wisdom comes in the waiting.”
21
David
The early afternoon breeze made David itch to get out on the water. He hadn’t taken the Laser out since last summer, and now Meira was grocery shopping, and the kid was sitting on the front porch, staring out at the lake and brooding. It was time for some male bonding on a boat.
He pushed open the screen door. “You up for a sail?”
No answer. David gave it a moment and was finally rewarded with a shrug and a nod.
“I’ll fill a thermos, grab a snack,” he said. “You put on your swim trunks. Oh, and get sunscreen.”
They dragged the small Laser down to the water’s edge, rigged it, and pushed off, David at the helm until they were far enough out for the wind not to be worrying itself around trees and headlands. He eyed Tony. “Why don’t you take the tiller?”
“Me?”
“Have you forgotten all I showed you last summer?”
“Hope not.”
“Well, come on then. We’ll have another lesson.”
The wind was steady, if light, and pushed the small boat along at an easy pace. When they needed to tack, Tony called out the appropriate words but then pulled the tiller the wrong way, into a jibe.
David caught the boom before it slammed across the boat. Tony stared at it. “What’d I do wrong?”
“Let’s go back over the how-tos of tacking, shall we? What is coming about and what is a jibe? Why do we want to control what happens?”
“So we don’t tip and capsize.”
“That’s right. Nothing wrong with a good, controlled jibe, but if it happens by accident, especially in a wind, it can do some damage.”
Tony listened and practiced and soon had the technique and the nomenclature learned. “Thanks, Dad,” he said as they tacked toward home.
“They have sailing at this school you’ll be attending.”
“They do?”
“And rowing and all sorts of other sports.”
“I’m sorry I got so mad at you guys. But I still wish you hadn’t lied to me.”
“I know. I wish we hadn’t felt we had to.”
“I mean, I get why you figured you had to protect Mom and me. They were kind of nasty people.”
“Very. But do you also get why we work in Lebanon?”
“I guess so. Because of world peace.” Tony grabbed the sheet and pulled it in when the sail started to luff.
“Well, that’s a rather grandiose way to describe our meager contribution in the battle against madmen,”
David said as Tony played the line until he had the sail where it needed to be. “Good job on sail trim. Soon, you should be able to take the boat out by yourself. What do you think of that?”
Tony grinned, his eyes brightening. “And get really good before I go to the school? Maybe they race. Maybe I could get good enough to win.”
“No reason why not. You have your own boat right here.”
“That’d be cool. And maybe before I go, I’ll grow some. I don’t wanna be the only freshman who looks like a kid.”
David laughed. “You won’t be. It’s happening.”
“It is?”
“Absolutely. I can tell.”
They tacked around the floating platform in the middle of the lake. “I want to swim out to here this summer. You think I can?”
David gauged the distance between their dock and the platform. “We can certainly build up to it. Maybe do it together, a little farther every day. That work for you?”
“I wanted to send Bahir a picture when I made it. Can I still do that?”
“Sure you can. No one said you have to quit writing to him. You’ll just have to figure out how to keep your letters to things you’re doing here or at your new school.”
“Nothing about being a Jew.”
“Right.”
Tony pointed the Laser’s bow straight for the bank, signaling David to raise the centerboard.
“Good landing,” David said when the hull crunched on the sand.
After they lowered the sail and tied it to the boom, Tony said, “I’m going to miss Bahir.”
“I know you will. And maybe one day you’ll see him again.” Although David didn’t know how that could be managed until Tony had fully embraced his heritage. And then how would it work? Tony wouldn’t want to lie.
Which must have been worrying him, because he said, “But I I’ll never be able to tell him the truth about us. He’d never understand.”
“No, and it would put us and our mission in danger.”
Tony ducked his head. “I’m not sure how to be a Jew.” Glancing up, he said, “Can I tell you something?”
“Anything.”
“Knowing I’m one still kinda makes my stomach hurt.”
“I’m sure it does.” And Tony’s admission brought a stabbing pain to the area of David’s heart. “It’s a leap.”
“I mean, I know you guys never said bad things about Jews, because you wouldn’t, would you? You being Jews and all. But some of my friends? They hate Jews.”
David waited.
“So, if they knew about me, they’d hate me.”
They’d reached the front porch. “Sit with me.” David lowered himself to the bottom step and stretched his long legs out on the flagstone walk. He shot up a prayer for wisdom. “Let’s consider that for a moment.”
When he braced his elbows on his knees, Tony did the same. David didn’t smile, although the mimicry pleased him—and made him hope wisdom would shine through his words.
“Are you any different today than you were last week? I mean, other than knowing something new. You’re the same boy, aren’t you?”
Tony nodded, frowning.
“Why would they hate you when they liked you last week?”
“They hate all Jews.”
“Ah, so the prejudice isn’t because of something real, then?”
“They think it’s real.”
“Yes, but is it? Are you a different person because you were born into a Jewish family instead of a Muslim or Christian one? Does your heritage change your inherent worth as an individual?”
“I guess not.” Tony thought for a minute. “So, you’re saying they’re wrong about Jews.”
“Any time someone hates an entire group of people because of who they are, that’s wrong.”
“But they hate Israelis because of what they’ve done. Because they stole the land.”
“They didn’t, but again, that’s a debate for later. I’ll give you some history books, stories of the region. And remember, a large number of Arabs remained in the land and are Israeli citizens. I read recently one Muslim reporter saying he’d rather be a second-class citizen in Israel than a first-class citizen in Cairo, Amman, or Damascus. Do you realize there are Muslims in the Israeli military? In the Israeli parliament?”
“Really? I thought the Jews just wanted Israel for Jews.”
David wasn’t going there. As far as he was concerned, it would have been easier if they had. Not as fair, perhaps, not as tolerant, but a whole lot easier. “It’s important for us all to see people as individuals,” he said, taking the high moral ground. “Some are misguided, and some use that as an excuse for murder and war. The Islamic extremists are the ones your mother and I and our family in Israel are trying to stop.”
“Like the people who tried to kill Mom.”
“Like them. Mom was an innocent, but to them, she had become the enemy. And many of those who call themselves freedom fighters are targeting other innocents like her with their car bombs and their guns.”
“It’s wrong.”
“Very wrong.”
“Can I tell you something else?” Tony asked. “I’m still kinda mad about it all.”
“I know that, too.”
Tony looked sideways at him. “You’re not mad at me?”
“No. I get it. I’d be angry, too, if I were kept in the dark about something as big as this.”
“Okay.” Another pause. “You think there’ll ever be peace? You know, where Bahir and his family can be okay with me not being the same as them?”
Peace? Not in a world where too many considered jihad a legitimate means of conversion and taught adherents to fear and hate those who didn’t bow to their particular god. But among individuals? He was certain Nasri and his wife would accept them as Jews—if he were free to break his silence and speak truth. He told Tony as much.
“Does that mean lies are sometimes okay?” Tony asked. “I mean, do you think your lies don’t count?”
There it was, the Question. David dragged his fingers through his hair and let out a long sigh. “Your mom and I have debated this many times. We know God hates liars. But He also instructed his servants to be cunning against the enemy.”
“Bahir isn’t an enemy.”
“No, he’s not. And yet he and his family are surrounded by those who are. Those who want all of us dead just because we’re Jews. And if we want to stop the men whose goal is to destroy our nation and our people, we must be cunning enough to uncover their plots. As we told you before, we’ve only lied overtly in our name change. For the rest, we’ve merely omitted the truth. And that’s not difficult among the university crowd. Engineering doesn’t lend itself to heavy discussions about faith, which means no one thinks about our silence on the matter of Islam. Because we speak Arabic, live in Lebanon, and observe Muslim prohibitions and holidays, others make assumptions about our belief system. Does that make sense? Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”
“Like Bahir’s uncle says he doesn’t believe in Allah, but he fits in?”
“That’s much the same, except that Bahir’s uncle wants to convert everyone to his unbelief.” David laughed.
Tony’s eyes danced. “He does! He really likes to argue, doesn’t he?”
“I’ve had to bite my tongue at least once during every conversation with the man. But he has a good heart.”
“Bahir’s dad wants peace. He said so.” Tony’s young voice sounded wistful.
“I know,” David said, wishing he could offer hope that it would be so. “He’s a good man.”
“But you don’t tell him the truth.”
Deep waters again. “I’m sorry I can’t.”
“Is it because you don’t want him to have to lie to other people? You know, to cover up your secret?”
David had asked for wisdom, and his son had provided the nugget of truth they could hold to. “That’s it exactly.”
A slouch curved Tony’s back as he reached between his kn
ees to pick up a small rock. David waited as his son processed the information, using the edge of the rock to etch lines on the flagstone.
Eventually, Tony turned his head to look at his father. “I guess I get it. You did the same with me, didn’t you?”
David nodded.
“For the big picture.”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
22
David
That evening, Meira lay at his side, picking at the sheet, obviously fretting. He’d told her about their sail and the words he and Tony had exchanged, but she hadn’t been there. And later, he’d done his best to engage Tony in basketball before they’d all played gin rummy. Too bad she didn’t like basketball. She might be tired enough to sleep if she’d been out there with them.
David leaned over to kiss her nose. “Tony will be okay. We have all summer to help him learn how to be a Jewish boy.”
She sniffled. Swiped at her cheek. “Will he ever completely forgive us?”
“I think he already has, at least as much as he’ll let himself. And when Yaacov and your parents come, they’ll help him discover his roots.”
“Is it time to take him to visit Israel?”
“Maybe. We’ll ask your mother.”
“I’d like to see him with Israeli children, making friends with some of the boy cousins his age. Maybe he could learn to speak Hebrew.”
“It’s going to be confusing for him.”
“Oh, David, should we have said no? For his sake, should we never have involved ourselves in this charade?”
“I don’t know how we would have reinvented ourselves on our own. And at least by doing this, we may have helped foil a few plots.”
She lifted herself on one elbow. “Should we quit now? Stay here with Tony? Just go back to being us?”
He drew his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling for a moment before looking at her. “I don’t think we can quit yet. But I promise you, if our son ever needs us more than Israel does, I will be the first to insist we come home. Nothing is worth more than he—and you—to me.”
From Fire Into Fire Page 11