The Legacy of Solomon

by John Francis Kinsella

RAMAT AVIV CAMPUS OF TEL-AVIV University is just a ten minute taxi ride from the Sheraton across the Yarkon River, that is if the traffic was not too snarled up, the concierge told him; it was not however the case since as was usual the Tel-Aviv traffic was in dense gridlock. Thirty minutes passed before the taxi pulled off the Haifa Road onto Einstein Boulevard and the campus, dropping him in front of the Nahum Goldmann Museum of the Jewish Diaspora, where he had fixed a meeting with Professor Ariel Lehmann, of the Department of Jewish Studies specialised in history and archaeology of the biblical period.

  The building was a massive, imposing structure of modern design. Ennis was shown to a lift that took him to the second floor where Lehmann was waiting for him. He was a well built man with greying blond hair who greeted him with an open friendly smile.

  ‘Boker tov, welcome to Tel-Aviv University,’ he said pointing the way to his office that was situated in the south-east wing of building behind the museum. His office window overlooked the pleasant green space of the campus and its palm trees.

  ‘Nice to meet a famous American novelist, unfortunately I haven’t had the opportunity to read your books,’ Lehmann said smiling apologetically.

  ‘Irish.’

  ‘Oh I’m sorry.’

  O’Connelly waved his hand.

  ‘It’s no problem, in fact I spend my time between Paris and San Francisco.’

  ‘Wonderful.’

  ‘Professor,’

  ‘Call me Ariel, we have no formalities in Israel.’

  ‘Ariel, thank you meeting me at such short notice, as I mentioned to you over the phone, I am working on a new historical novel that needs some research work. It covers the period when the Romans destroyed the Temple of Jerusalem. I have read Josephus, but unfortunately it is not clear where the Temple stood, so it was a logical step to speak with specialists on the subject.’

  There was a long pause. Lehmann was atypical of many academics, he spoke quickly.

  ‘John, that question has been studied for almost two thousand years, and there are almost that many replies to the questioned. The answer I regret to say is that we don’t know, though there are some very brilliant colleagues working on the subject.’

  ‘I see.’ He paused. ‘I have seen on the Internet that some people believe that the underground cisterns could be a pointer.’

  ‘Ah, you have done some serious work. Perhaps there is an answer there, but as you may know it is difficult to investigate that question archaeologically speaking as we Jews have not access to the Haram.’

  ‘So you think there is some possible evidence there.’

  ‘Almost certainly.’

  There was a long silence as O’Connelly let him consider his affirmation.

  ‘A few years ago one of our Ph.D. students worked on the subject, Assad Areyda, a brilliant young man, 26 years old, from a good Druze family, his father was a businessman in Daliyat el-Carmel.’

  ‘A Druze!’ exclaimed O’Connelly in surprise at the mention of Areyda’s name.

  ‘Yes,’ he said kindly, as though talking to a slow student, but missing the reason for O’Connelly’s surprise. ‘We also have Christian, Moslem, Druze, and Bedouin students. The Arabs are only a small percentage, the Druze less than one percent. You may think there’s a question of not accepting them, but it’s an economic problem, many of our Arabs are unfortunately very poor.

  ‘I see,’ said O’Connelly not interest by a lesson in Israeli sociology.

  ‘The entry conditions to the university require fluent Hebrew, the tuition fees are high, more then eleven thousand shekels for an undergraduate.’

  ‘Could I meet him?

  Lehmann paused, his head bowed in thought, then after an interminable moment looked up sadly: ‘Regretfully he was killed on army service.’

  O’Connelly looked taken aback.

  ‘Yes, the Druze serve in the Israeli Defence Forces.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Did he work on the cisterns?’

  ‘If I remember rightly the hydraulic system was the main theme of his thesis. Most interesting. I went over some of his work, which was investigating the underground water storage cisterns. A pity.’

  ‘What happened to his work?’

  ‘Well that’s a bit of a mystery. He was an army reservist, like all of us, when he was called up for his annual service, he must have taken most of his work with him. But what happened after I don’t know, we checked it out with his family without any success, they knew little about his work. His father was a businessman and little disappointed by his son’s interest in archaeology.’

  ‘Did Assad work with anyone else here?’

  ‘He was a serious minded young man, but fairly independent, at least it appeared like that, you know Jews and Arabs do not socialise outside of the University. He mostly worked alone. His great advantage was that he had access to the Haram, even though he was a Druze, and he quite naturally spoke Arabic.’

  ‘The Druze are Muslims then?’ It was less than a question, rather for confirmation.

  ‘Yes, the Druze are not orthodox Muslims, they believe they are Muslims, but not all Muslims accept them as such.’

  ‘Did he have any close friends in the archaeology department? O’Connelly said repeating his question.

  ‘I’d have to check that out it’s already six years ago. All I remember is that he was very excited by his project and became rather secretive, almost as if he had found something interesting. That’s not unusual for students you know, especially for many archaeologists and researchers who live in the dream of a great discovery.’

  ‘Like your colleague Finkelstein,’ O’Connelly added.

  ‘That’s more controversial, publicity seeking.’

  O’Connelly thought he detected a little envy in Lehmann’s remark.

  It was clear that not much more evidence was forthcoming and O’Connelly thanked him for his help.

  ‘Well, John, I hope I have been of help. If there’s anything you need for your book I’ll be pleased to help you. Drop by again when you have time.’

  ‘Perhaps you could try to check the name of Assad’s friends?’

  ‘I’ll do that.’

  ‘Oh…one last point have you heard of a French archaeologist…Isaac de Lussac?

  ‘De Lussac, French! No…Isaac that’s a common name here, but Lussac doesn’t ring a bell.’

  O’Connelly left a little disappointed, he was not to sure that Lehmann would pursue his request.

  Back at the Sheraton O’Connelly decided to check-out who the Druze were. Internet told him that the Druze community in Israel was about one hundred thousand strong in Israel and about one million in the world. The religion is officially recognized as a distinct religious group with its own specific laws and spiritual leadership; though they are Arabs and speak Arabic many refuse to identify themselves with the Arabs. However, they consider themselves separate from the rest of the Arab community and serve in the Israel Defence Forces and the Border Police.

  The Druze religion does not accept converts from other religions and in theory all of today’s population descends directly from the original 10th-century founders. The canon of the religion is the secret of its leaders and certain initiates with its religious books only open to such on the basis of the traditions passed down from generation to another. Its secrets are guarded not only from outsiders but also from the ‘ignorant’ co-religionists or Juhals, who represent the majority of the Druze and must accept the faith on trust. It is without ceremonies or rituals and its faithful are forbidden to eat pork, smoke, or drink alcohol.

  The Druze religion was an interpretation of the three great monotheistic religions, revering the prophets from all three religions, and all those who believe in one God, including Akhenaton, Socrates, Plato and Aristotle, and Alexander the Great, to this is added a belief in reincarnation.

  The Israeli Druze community is afforded special minority privileges, with its own courts. Its members speak Arabic; however, t
hey dissociate themselves from the Muslim community and serve in the Israeli Defence Forces. Many hold high level political, military and administrative positions in the country.

  Most of the Druze towns and villages in Israel were populated exclusively by Druze, though today a minority of Christians Arabs and Muslims had moved in. Daliyat el-Carmel is situated on Mount Carmel to the south-east of Haifa.

  He looked at his watch and decided that a visit to Daliyat el-Carmel would not be a waste of time it was at the most a couple of hours drive away even allowing for traffic and called the hotel concierge to order a car to drive him there.

  It was a couple of hours up through the winding hills to the village. His driver was an Israeli Arab and talkative. O’Connelly had little difficulty in promting him to talk of life.

  ‘You know what they call us?’ he asked O’Connelly. ‘They call us a cancer inside of Israel. And what do you want to do with a cancer? Cut it out!’

  ‘Most of us Arab Israelis live in run-down neighbourhoods look at our flats graffiti everywhere, paint peeling of the walls no cleaning or maintenance services.’

  ‘At school we are taught history from a Jewish point of view, the Jews are heroes, the Arabs bad. Well I’m sorry to say those Arabs were our grandfathers. We Arabs cannot feel at home here in this Jewish state, in a land which is always ours, never, never in history even in the ancient kingdoms of Israel were all people Jews!’

  ‘We want a country for representative of all of its citizens, not a religious state that favours only the Jews. That is not democratic.’

  ‘You are right. In France we have a similar dilemma, take the French Jewish intellectual Finkielkraut, he is against communitarism, as post-nationalism breaks a society down into factors, and for Jews in France this is certainly not good. The only viable future in France, is a multicultural society, Jews are weak simply because the power of anti-Jewish groups would be greater.’

  ‘It’s the same here for us Arabs.’

  ‘The difference is here you have a growing population and there is weight in numbers.’

  ‘I don’t agree with that, history has shown that a few can and does rule of a majority, taken the recent example in Iraq between the Sunnites and the Shias.’

  ‘In France it’s another problem, anyone who says anything against our immigrant population is considered a racist, though Christianity can be attacked, but a single bad word about Islam results in uproar.’

  ‘Here the immigrants are Jews, but they are criticised for all kinds of reasons, especially the Russians today.’

  ‘But they are Jews, you don’t have Muslim immigrants!’

  ‘The problem is you Europeans simply don't see the complexity of our situation. There are many just reasons for Palestinian complaints against Israel, but the problem is that most people abroad see it as a problem between Jews and Arabs that implies Muslims, but it is a conflict of two nations, we Palestinians and the State of Israel, which has transformed our land into there’s and the occupied territories into a Gruyere of colonies.’

  The Areyda family lived in Daliat el Carmel a short drive to the south east of Haifa. Daliat el Carmel is a small colourful town with narrow winding streets, situated on the Carmel Mountains amongst ancient olive groves and vineyards. O’Connelly found the Areyda’s home on the southern edge of the town situated on the hillside with a splendid view overlooking the coastal plain and the Mediterranean to the west. It was a large, beautiful centuries old stone house of two levels surrounded by a spacious garden filled with orange trees and olives.

  O’Connelly introduced himself to a white haired man of about sixty, wearing a large equally white moustache, he was Assad’s father.

  ‘Ah, an archaeologist! It is strange that so many archaeologists are suddenly interested in my son.’

  O’Connelly was puzzled.

  ‘Yes, you are the third person to visit me in the last few weeks.’

  ‘I was given your name by Professor Ariel Lehmann.’

  ‘Ah, a good man, my son got along with him well. Please come in, you must be thirsty, we can drink something in the garden.’

  He led him around the house into the garden.

  ‘Please sit down,’ he said pointing to a weather worn table. He went into the house and a few moments later a younger man returned with tea and oriental pastries.

  ‘Tell me what you want to know of my son.’

  ‘I believe Assad was doing research on the ancient water distribution system of Jerusalem, more specifically the Temple Mount.’

  ‘Yes, so he told me. He was a good son, I wanted him to go into our business, but instead he is interested in history. In out country history has always been filed with problems.’

  O’Connelly nodded politely and sipped his tea patiently.

  ‘You must understand Mr O’Connelly that ours is a close-knit, conservative society, our religion is more than one-thousand year-old. Today we are Israelis and like my son, hundreds of our soldiers have died fighting for Israel, that’s a lot for our small community. We are not interested in trouble, especially trouble of a religious kind.’

  ‘Religious?’

  ‘Yes, everything is religious in our country. Jews, Muslims, Druze, Christians.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘We represent only less than two percent of the population. Today Daliat El-Carmel is the largest Druze settlement in Israel, unfortunately there are few job opportunities available. Many of our people work in the defence, army and police services.’

  ‘Your family is in business?’

  ‘Yes, we have a lot of visitors to Daliat, tourists mainly. It is good for our family’s restaurants and hotels. We have cultivated the land for centuries, our land…agriculture, olives, oranges. That was our traditional business, my father’s business. Today we are in construction, much of it for the government. My son decided to be an archaeologist, it was his choice.’

  ‘Did he have any special friends from university?’

  ‘At University his friends were mostly Arabs, some Palestinians. There was a girl, an Israeli Arab.’

  ‘She was studying archaeology?’

  ‘No, I’m not sure, Tel-Aviv University, the Sackler Faculty of Medicine.’

  ‘Do you remember her name?’

  ‘Barghut… Aisha, she was from Jaffa…a Sunni.’

  The old man poured more tea and sipped it lost in his thoughts. After a long moment he stood up, a little wearily, signalling the meeting was at an end.

  ‘Well I must be on my way. Thank you for your help,’ said O’Connelly.

  ‘One more thing Mr O’Connelly…,’ he paused not sure whether to pursue his words.

  Yes?

  ‘Be careful, the question of religion in our country can be a dangerous one.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘My son’s work concerned the site of the Jewish Temple, but it is best forgotten, there are people who will stop at nothing to prevent the truth being discovered, whatever it is.’

  ‘The truth?’

  ‘Yes, the truth about the site of the Temple,’ he said turned and leading the way out.

  70

  Aisha Barghut