Promised Land

by Robert Whitlow

  Over the past few months, Hana’s optimism about Ben, Laura, and Sadie forming a new family unit had increased. In particular, Laura was making a consistent effort to connect with Sadie. They’d been cooking together often. Caring for the sick girl was another step.

  “I really hope Sadie feels better soon.”

  “She’ll bounce back. Things like this never keep her down for long. I’m going to let her wear her dress when we go out to dinner at a fancy restaurant. She made me promise to take a selfie with you tonight so she can see what you’re wearing.”

  “She’s almost grown up.”

  “I know, but let’s not rush it.”

  “I agree. See you later.”

  Hana paused in her preparation when she felt the flutter of the baby moving within her. She and Ben might joke about keeping Sadie a little girl, but Hana wanted her unborn child to grow quickly so she could meet him or her.

  Arriving at the hotel, she showed the attendant a pass that allowed her to park in the VIP area. Another vehicle pulled in next to her. It was Mr. Lowenstein.

  “Where’s Mrs. Lowenstein?” Hana asked when they exited their vehicles.

  “She’s coming with friends,” the senior partner answered. “How do you feel?”

  “Pregnant and nervous.”

  “You look beautiful, and I’m looking forward to seeing you shine. Let me walk you to the speakers’ room.”

  Daud had already shown Hana where to go and how to get there, but she was grateful for Mr. Lowenstein’s company. On the way, they encountered several people the senior partner knew, and it was gratifying to hear the kind things he said about her when he introduced her to them. They reached the green room.

  “Looks like you’re the first one here,” Mr. Lowenstein said. “Would you like me to wait with you?”

  “No, that’s not necessary. You have other responsibilities. I’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll be sitting to the left of the stage if at any point you need an encouraging face to focus on.”

  “Thanks.”

  Mr. Lowenstein left. Glad to be alone, Hana seized the opportunity of solitude to offer up some final prayers.

  * * *

  Standing in front of the stage that the speakers would occupy in a few hours, Daud finished his presentation to the hotel employees and extra workers brought in from the staffing agency. The assistant manager wasn’t there. The staff had a surprising number of questions, which showed Daud they were taking their jobs seriously and didn’t want there to be any problems.

  Daud spent the next two hours finalizing procedures with the security personnel who would be checking the attendees as they arrived. He then returned to the kitchen and found the former pastry chef personally overseeing preparation of the desserts.

  “Mr. Hasan, I’m very busy,” the assistant manager said.

  “And I’ll let you go about your business in a moment.” Daud reached into his coat pocket and took out a couple of sheets of paper. “There were two new hotel workers I had a question about. Both of them are in food service and you hired them. Can you tell me more about them?”

  The manager quickly scanned the sheets of paper.

  “Yes, I know them. Fahed’s older brother worked for me a couple of years ago and sent him over to apply for a job. If he’s anything like his brother, he’s going to be an excellent worker. Based on his work history, Khalil is overqualified as a server but wanted a job here so he can be near the rehabilitation center where his father is recovering from a stroke. Even after the short time he’s been here, I have him marked for a promotion.”

  “Did you check the references for both of them?”

  “Of course. There’s Fahed now.”

  A slightly overweight young man wearing glasses was pushing a cart containing pitchers of water toward the ballroom. Daud started to walk rapidly toward him but was interrupted when his walkie-talkie squawked.

  “Mr. Hasan, we need you at the entrance, please.”

  Daud left the kitchen and went to the security checkpoint. The line was already beginning to lengthen. The man in charge approached Daud.

  “We’ve had more people meet the criteria for extra questioning than we anticipated. Can we abbreviate it or only pull aside every third person?”

  As the man spoke, Daud saw a familiar face being ushered into a cubicle. He quickly stepped over to the area. It was Ben Neumann.

  “There’s no need to question him,” Daud said to the woman who was escorting him. “I know him.”

  Ben saw him and smiled. They shook hands.

  “Where’s Sadie?” Daud asked.

  “Sick. Why was I marked for special treatment?”

  “You’re a young male who’s here alone.”

  “The young part makes me happy, but I wish I wasn’t alone. I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to support Hana.”

  “Thanks.”

  Ben moved forward. Daud turned to the man overseeing the checkpoint. “I’d rather shorten the questioning time than not identify people who pose a greater security risk. I’ll stay here for a while and step in as necessary.”

  Over the next forty-five minutes, Daud personally dealt with eight irate men, one of whom began to curse him in Arabic and quit only when Daud spoke sharply to him in the same language. Another man complained under his breath in Hebrew and looked up in surprise when Daud answered. The program in the ballroom was already underway when Daud was finally able to pry himself away as the last stragglers were processed.

  * * *

  Because of her nerves, Hana didn’t trust herself to eat anything. She would be the fourth of five people to speak. The woman serving as moderator of the event was an elegant Jewish lady in her forties who managed the Atlanta office of a New York investment bank. After welcoming the guests and recognizing the organizing committee, including Mr. Lowenstein, she asked how many people were surprised by the level of scrutiny at the security checkpoints. Virtually everyone in the room raised their hand. She then gave an explanation comparing what they’d experienced to everyday life in Israel and the West Bank where security posts existed at everything from bus stations to malls to restaurants.

  “We are gathered tonight in recognition of the serious situation in the small strip of land between the Jordan River and the Mediterranean Sea and to hear from people who have differing ideas about those problems and the impact religious faith plays in the issues and possible solutions. There are note cards on the tables if you want to jot down a question for one of the speakers. We’ll have time for that sort of interaction later in the evening.”

  The first speaker was a Muslim teacher currently working at a prep school in New England. He was as smooth as he’d been in the YouTube videos Hana had watched in preparation for the event. The second person was a Jewish woman from New York who had worked for five years in Israel for an NGO dedicated to bringing reconciliation to Jews and Arabs via dialogue for adults and sports camps for teenagers. Hana had heard about the group and viewed the woman as an ally for the evening. The third speaker was an Arab man who still lived in Hebron where he served in the municipal government. He adopted a more militant tone than the schoolteacher and quoted extensively from the Old and New Testaments about justice, righteousness, mercy, and how the presence of the State of Israel violated those tenets for the Palestinian people. He concluded with selected sections from the Qur’an that espoused similar sentiments. To someone with little knowledge of the region or how beliefs played out on the ground, it was a compelling presentation. But the only logical conclusion to his words was that Israel had no right to exist. The final speaker would be an Israeli Jew who’d grown up in a religious settlement in the West Bank and ardently believed in the biblical promise of a homeland similar in size to what appeared in the back of most Bibles.

  Hana stepped forward. Bright lights made it difficult to see the audience. Mr. Lowenstein was washed out in the glare, but when she looked down she saw Ben Neumann and the empty seat beside him. Even thoug
h Sadie was absent, Hana could imagine the encouragement the little girl would want to communicate to her.

  “My name is Hana Abboud Hasan,” she began. “My family has lived in the Nazareth area for over four hundred years. I’m a Christian Arab who is thankful that I grew up in the State of Israel. Here’s why.”

  * * *

  Daud stood to the side of the ballroom listening to Hana’s presentation. She was relaxed yet passionate, humble yet confident. A smile of satisfaction and appreciation creased his lips. Whether a person agreed with his wife or not, no one could question her credibility or the integrity of her heart. The second in command of security at the entrance of the venue came up to him.

  “We have a situation that needs your attention.”

  Daud hesitated. He wanted to listen to Hana.

  “Sir,” the man continued.

  “Okay, okay.”

  Daud and the man circled back through a long hallway to the entrance area for the ballroom. Two of the workers were standing in front of a middle-aged Arab man who was gesturing to them.

  “What’s the problem?” Daud asked.

  “Are you in charge?” the Arab man asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I bought a ticket for the event, and they won’t let me enter.”

  “He had this stuck down his pants,” one of the security guards replied, handing Daud a folded-up piece of nylon fabric.

  Daud immediately recognized what it was—a Palestinian flag.

  “You can’t take this into ballroom,” Daud said. “No political disturbances are allowed.”

  “I’m not going to disturb anything. I demand admission!”

  Daud turned to the supervisor. “Did you search him?”

  “Yes, he’s clean.”

  Daud knew that even if the man didn’t unfurl his flag and wave it, he was likely to have another tactic to make his point.

  “May I see your ticket?” Daud asked.

  Based on the table number, the man’s seat was toward the middle of the room. He returned the ticket to the man.

  “Do you understand that audience members will not be allowed to speak and have to submit any questions in writing?”

  “And I will not be insulted or lectured by a person like you!”

  The man tore up his ticket and threw the pieces in Daud’s face. One of the younger guards stepped forward, but Daud held out his hand. The man cursed Daud in Arabic with an Iraqi accent.

  “That doesn’t change anything,” Daud replied in the same language. “And without a ticket, you will not be admitted to the event.”

  The man stormed off.

  “What did he say to you?” the supervisor asked Daud.

  “Nothing that I will translate and repeat.”

  “He makes number twelve of those who were offended by our procedures and left,” the supervisor continued. “Eleven men and one woman.”

  “According to the moderator, we made our point,” Daud said.

  “Since we’re done here, can I give the boys a snack?” the man asked.

  “Only in shifts,” Daud answered. “I want most of you to stay in this area in case someone like our friend with the flag causes problems inside the ballroom. Two of you can come with me to the kitchen.”

  Daud led the way to the kitchen. It was a hive of activity because most of the food and drinks would be consumed after the event concluded. The security supervisor and one of the guards picked up a couple of plates and began to load them with hors d’oeuvres. As a predominantly Jewish event, the kitchen had omitted shrimp, scallops, and bacon-inspired offerings, but there were plenty of seasoned meat pastries, spinach tidbits, glazed salmon, and a chicken liver crostini that Daud found delicious. He picked up another crostini to munch on.

  At the other end of the kitchen, Daud saw a server leave the area pushing a cart covered with white linens. To enter the ballroom now would disrupt the program. Daud looked around for the assistant manager, but he wasn’t in sight. No other carts were queued up yet to leave. Daud left the security personnel, who had moved on to a dessert table. Stepping into the long hallway that ran along the wall of the ballroom, he saw the server pushing the cart toward an entrance close to the front. The food tables were at the rear of the cavernous room. Daud started to call out, but the walls were thin, and his voice would possibly be heard inside the ballroom. He started walking rapidly toward the server and the cart. The server pushed the cart into the ballroom and turned away, leaving the cart and disappearing through a door that led back to the kitchen.

  Chapter 40

  Daud slipped into the ballroom. Hana was at the podium, and he paused to listen.

  “My Christian faith wasn’t imported from a distant country thousands of miles away,” she said. “Jesus of Nazareth grew up five kilometers from where my parents live today and spent his entire earthly life between the Jordan and the Mediterranean. The Jewish presence in the land is even more ancient, dating back almost four thousand years to the patriarchs Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. More than any other religions, Judaism and Christianity are native to the land of Israel, and their followers have a right to be nurtured and protected in the place of their origin.”

  The serving cart was completely covered by a white linen tablecloth. Daud lifted a corner of the cloth. Laid out in neat rows were several pitchers of water and empty glasses. He started to turn away when an unpleasant fragrance stopped him. He sniffed again. It smelled similar to road tar. Daud lifted the covering cloth again and the smell became more pronounced. No one wanted to drink water that smelled like runoff from a newly paved roadway. Perhaps that was why the server hadn’t pushed the cart to the rear of the room. Daud leaned over so he could see the lower section of the cart. Positioned in the middle of the lower shelf was a large cardboard box wrapped in tape. He pulled the box to the edge of the cart. Taking out a small pocketknife, he cut the tape and opened the lid. The tar smell confirmed that the box was the source of the odd odor.

  Inside were several blocks of claylike material wrapped in olive-colored plastic film. There were gaps between the blocks and they were surrounded by piles of nails mixed with razor blades. Extending from each end of the blocks were red-colored blasting caps. It was a bomb.

  Daud grabbed the handle of the cart and pushed it out of the ballroom. The walls in the hallway were flimsy and would offer no protection in a significant explosion. In fact, the splintering material would join the nails and razor blades as deadly shards. Sprinting, he pushed the cart across the hallway and toward the kitchen.

  “Get out!” he yelled at the top of his lungs as he burst through the swinging doors. “Bomb!”

  Startled workers looked up and seconds later began to stampede toward the exit doors. Daud continued across the kitchen to a large walk-in cooler. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the assistant manager flee toward the loading dock. Daud reached the cooler and flung open the heavy stainless steel door. Knowing the explosives would be triggered by detonation of the blasting caps and not by physical movement, he lifted the cart into the air and threw it into the cooler on top of boxes of frozen food, then slammed the door shut. There were still a few people in the kitchen. Less than a minute had passed since he’d left the ballroom.

  “Go!” he yelled again to the workers. “Now!”

  Daud sprinted from the kitchen toward the ballroom. Reentering the hallway, he collided with a man wearing a white server outfit. Both of them were knocked off balance by the impact and staggered backward. Daud caught a glimpse of the man’s face. He looked eerily like the assassin sent to Sharm el-Sheikh. The identification pin on the man’s jacket read “Khalil.”

  “You killed my brother!” Khalil shouted. “And today you will die!”

  Khalil glanced upward for a second, then reached beneath his jacket. Daud lunged forward and knocked him to the floor. Landing on top of him, Daud pressed Khalil’s face against the carpet. He could feel something wrapped around Khalil’s chest. An explosive vest. Khalil squirmed and
tried to force his right hand beneath his body. Daud grabbed the hand and with a sharp, powerful jerk twisted Khalil’s wrist so that it snapped. He cried out in pain. Drops of sweat forming on his face, Daud brought both Khalil’s hands together, but he didn’t have anything to secure them.

  At that instant the bomb in the cooler detonated.

  * * *

  Hana had seen Daud out of the corner of her eye standing next to a serving cart. When he suddenly pushed the cart from the room, she stared in his direction for a couple of seconds before continuing. Struggling to regain her train of thought, she stumbled through several sentences. Her next point had to do with contrasting the civil rights guaranteed all citizens in Israel with the laws of the surrounding nations, including the area controlled by the Palestinian Authority.

  A thunderous, deafening boom shook the walls of the ballroom.

  She immediately looked to her left where the sound came from and where Daud had been seconds earlier. Screams and bedlam erupted as everyone realized something horrible was happening. People fled toward the exits. Stunned, Hana looked again at the small door where she’d last seen Daud. Where was he? Where was Daud?

  “Hana!” a voice yelled out.

  She looked down. Ben stood before her with his hand stretched out. The speaker from Hebron ran past Hana and jumped from the platform. Hana grabbed Ben’s hand, and he helped her down to the floor. Still holding her hand, he dragged her toward the exits that were jammed with people.

  “Daud!” she shouted in Ben’s ear.

  “Come on!” Ben kept pulling her forward.

  In a few seconds they were swallowed up in the mob pushing through the exit doors. The doors were wide, and before long they popped out into the broad concourse outside the ballroom. Hana could hear police and fire sirens outside the building. Ben kept pulling her forward.

  “But Daud’s still in there!” she shouted.

  Ben stopped and turned toward her with an anguished look on his face. Hana knew he was thinking about the helplessness he had felt when Gloria lay dying in Hurva Square, Jerusalem. He released her hand. Hana turned back and fought her way through the tide of people fleeing from the ballroom. By the time she reentered the room, it was empty. Fine dust from the nearby explosion floated in the air. Hana kicked off her shoes and ran across the ballroom to the doorway where she’d last seen Daud. Inside the hallway visibility was poor, and she coughed as dust attacked her lungs. Taking several steps, she saw two figures on the floor, one on top of the other. The man on top turned his head so that she could see his profile.