Cry of Hope, page 18
“Mac, you take over. I can’t get anything out of these two. They’re from some other country, a small one, maybe another planet. Me and them are just not on the same page.” With that she turned on her spike heels and walked away.
Sami turned to Ariel, speaking in Hebrew. “I think we made her angry.” But then he grinned and remarked, “Did you notice how she dressed?
“Pretty hard to miss. Is that the way American women do at night?”
“I don’t know, but I’ve seen some American DVDs at college like that.”
“Okay you guys.” The man seemed angry to Sami. “I don’t have all night to stand here while you go on in some foreign language.”
“I can understand that,” Sami said.
“Then we’ll talk in English,” Ariel commented.
“That’ll help. Now what’ll it be?”
“What will what be?” Ariel had a quizzical expression on his face.
“You guys are crazy. I can see why Honeybear got upset with you.”
“That’s her name? Honeybear? I like that name,” Sami commented. “Do you have her phone number? I’d like to give her a call and apologize for our communication problem.”
Sami heard laughter. The only other patrons a couple of tables away covered their mouths with their hands. One guy remarked out loud, “Honeybear’s colleague doesn’t seem to be doing any better with those guys.”
The bartender scowled. “You don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell to get anywhere with her. Now why don’t you just get up and leave.” With that he grabbed Sami’s arm and ushered him out the door, with Ariel following.
Sami stopped on the sidewalk. “I guess we said the wrong thing. I didn’t mean to insult them.” He shrugged and turned to his friend.
Ariel reverted to Hebrew. “We don’t belong in there, Sami. We don’t seem to understand enough American yet. They sure don’t talk like our English teacher from UK.”
CHAPTER 46
LANE ENRIGHT ARRIVED in the Oklahoma City hotel lobby promptly at seven thirty and rang Henry Langston’s room. The older man appeared casually dressed and looking rested. The two shook hands and strolled into the dining room for breakfast.
After a bit of getting acquainted over coffee, Lane began. “I am amazed at your imagination and vision to take this unusual group of young people from Israel, all from such different backgrounds, and bring them to the United States to tell their stories. These personal accounts of their experiences pull no punches. What they did to each other. You’d think they’d be fighting to the death as enemies.”
“That’s what intrigued me when I heard them at a forum in Jerusalem. The whole thing originated with them. They have a motivation for peace and reconciliation that I couldn’t pass up. What reaction did you have to their presentation?”
“I sat there amazed. I, like most Americans, have never been exposed to the actual people of the Middle East, or heard them tell of their lives and the conflicts there. We never hear the painful details except when Hamas attacks Israel. Their ordinary lives are generally unknown to us. The trouble began long ago, as I understand it.”
“Right, Lane. We tried to stay away from the bigger picture last night. But yes, it goes back to 1900 when Herzl and the early Zionists wrote of ‘a people without a land for a land without a people.’ In the eyes of many Israelis, the Palestinians didn’t exist. For some, they still don’t, thinking they’re Arabs from other countries instead of the historic people of the land.”
“Henry, I’m beginning to realize we Americans are so insular, so one-sided. We seem to support the unfairness that perpetuates the conflict.”
“That is true.”
“That’s why it’s so important for our people to understand, because that will eventually change our own policies, and the situation on the ground in the Middle East. But there is another major sticking point that you didn’t mention.”
“What’s that?”
“The one Betty and I argued about until midnight.”
“I’m sorry to hear about that. What’s the issue?”
“It’s Christian Zionism. Betty and I accepted that even though we didn’t know it by that term. Our church is strong in its position that Israel today represents the fulfillment of the promises to Abraham four thousand years ago, and that the current state of Israel has the right to the whole land from the Mediterranean to the Jordan River. We ignore the Palestinians, see them as terrorists, and support whatever Israel needs to do to defend its territorial expansion.”
Henry smiled, and sipped his coffee. “Zionism, the worldwide movement of Jewish people to the Holy Land, began and still is a secular movement. It had nothing to do with religion historically, nor is the Israeli government religious now. Unfortunately, religion got mixed up with their politics.” He stopped as their waitress brought breakfast and poured more coffee before continuing.
“I haven’t wanted to get into the religious issues because they separate people.” He leaned forward. “Lane, if you believe the Bible teaches that one ethnic group has the right to oppress another and cleanse the land of them, then it somehow becomes okay. It’s the fundamentalist elements of all three religious groups that cause the problem: Jews, Muslims, and Christians.
“I never thought of it like that.” Lane stopped, nodding. “Makes sense. The radical Jewish guy who killed Rabin. Muslim Jihadists. Christians like the Crusaders of old who wanted all Palestinian Muslims evicted or killed, the land cleansed.”
Langston reached for a piece of toast and a packet of jelly. “But we can all agree on the value of love and forgiveness and reconciliation with justice— in the abstract. So if we can educate Americans to think in those terms for Israel and Palestine, maybe it will eventually translate into justice in our US policy for the Holy Land. What we believe really does affect what we do as a country and how we perpetuate the conflict in the Holy Land.”
“That’s exactly what I want to talk to you about. The application of what we believe—in the corridors of government.”
“So what is your ‘unusual’ request?”
“I head up the Oklahoma City home office of Senator John Randolph. We grew up together. He’s a bit older. But we are close friends. As you know, the House of Representatives recently passed a resolution in support of current Israeli policies by an overwhelming margin. Their Prime Minister spoke before a joint session of congress and received twenty standing ovations. You probably know what he said about the current situation. I do know that when my boss goes to Israel with his colleagues, they visit only the Israeli government and its officials. They avoid the West Bank and have little contact with the Palestinians. I doubt if they have ever heard anything like we learned last night.”
“So what are you suggesting?”
“That you take your team to Washington and let these young people present their stories to the Committee on Foreign Relations of the United States Senate.”
Langston laughed. “You have to be joking. We haven’t been invited.”
“Maybe I could arrange that.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not. I have been asked by the senator to provide him with talking points for the committee’s upcoming consideration of continuing aid to Israel. They are going to be discussing the Middle East situation in two weeks. I’m not sure of the agenda, but my boss has influence with the committee chair and could probably include testimony from your team if the chairman agrees.”
“Would he? My impression is that most of the senators scramble to show voters their singular devotion to the Israeli government and its policies. I am not aware of any of the Jewish—or Palestinian— groups for peace being allowed to testify.”
“But this group is special—a unique opportunity for the senators to hear the young people tell their stories, tragedy leading to peace and reconciliation. Jews and Palestinians, Christians and Muslims all learning to forgive each other. Something different. I think with the right presentation to my boss it could be done. Would you be willing to take your team to Washington to testify, to tell their stories?”
“I’d have to look at our schedule of presentations around the country. We planned a couple of days at the end for the team to rest and go sight-seeing. All but Najid have not been to America. On the other hand, they’d probably be thrilled to be able to share their experiences with the senators. Let me check with them, and with our schedule.”
“So you’d be okay with my contacting Senator Randolph?”
“Yes, as I think about it, go ahead and chat with him. We probably could fit it in at the end of our time in New York, during the third week from now.
CHAPTER 47
FRANK WELLS SIPPED his coffee after pouring Najid’s tea. At eight a.m. they sat at the Wells’ kitchen table with the Oklahoma sun streaming through the window. The ladies wouldn’t be up for another half-hour, and Frank began to love this young man coming into his family. The son he never had. Najid seemed to have such depth, a great deal of compassion for people of different backgrounds, probably from his growing up with Jewish and Muslim kids. He had become quite American in speech and behavior, not as reticent and timid as he had been last year, but perhaps that came with adjusting to a different and fast-paced culture.
Frank pressed him to explain the demonstrations, the history of the Qalandia checkpoint and tried to learn what both sides were feeling when Sami and Ariel fell. Particularly why these demonstrations continue so long after the displacement of people in 1948.
“It’s been over sixty years.”
“Because the occupation of the West Bank continues,” Najid began, “with new settlements. It keeps expanding there. Pretty soon there will be nothing left for Palestinians to claim if nothing or no one stops the Israeli government. Why not negotiate a peace based on what the nations of the world had agreed to in the many UN resolutions? Israel should return all the land it took by force in 1967, as it already has in the Sinai and Gaza. But it doesn’t do it. It keeps chewing up Palestinian territory in the West Bank until, as Sharon predicted, there will be nothing left to form a country.”
“So that’s the reason for the demonstrations?”
“Yes, basically, but it also has to do with the wall of separation that divides Palestinians from each other, even from their own farms and orchards. The daily insults of soldiers mistreating the people of the West Bank as they attempt to travel through the wall from one village to another, the many checkpoints. The highways reserved for Israelis only. Evictions from homes and lands. Water being taken for settlements, leaving twenty percent for the Palestinian people on their own land.”
“So give me a sense of how many people are affected and how much land are we talking about?
“Think of all of Israel/Palestine like one of your average size states. It’s actually the size of New Jersey. You can drive from one end to the other in four or five hours, and in two hours from the Jordan River to the sea—if you’re an Israeli.”
“And how many people?”
“About two and a half million Palestinians in the West Bank. Another nearly two million in Gaza. That strip of land is tiny, about the size of the city of Seattle. The West Bank is now down to about thirteen percent of the total land, with the settlements and exclusive roads and the wall fragmenting it.”
“But there are also Arabs in Israel?”
“Yes. About one and a third million.”
“And Jewish people?
“Over five million in Israel, and another half million in West Bank settlements.”
“So it looks like the population of Jews and Arabs is about equal overall.”
“Right.”
“And Palestinians have less than fifteen percent of the land?”
“Correct. The U.N. partition in 1947 gave forty-four percent of the land to Arabs even though Arabs represented sixty-five percent of the total population of Palestine. So with the military occupation, we have gone from forty-four to less than fifteen percent of the land,”
Frank sat staring at Najid as he sipped his coffee. “We’ve never realized what’s been happening there.”
“Right. So I think you can understand that oppressed people under an occupying force, will resist. It has happened through history; De Gaulle in France during WWII fought the occupying Germans. So we fight back at times. Now nonviolently for the last ten years.”
Frank looked at his future son-in-law, amazed at his perspective and ability to communicate it in a language foreign to him. He poured more tea into Najid’s cup.
The young man sipped slowly and then continued. “We mostly have peaceful demonstrations. Kids throw rocks against tanks and then are taken to prison or shot. But the stones mean only we are angry, we are frustrated. They usually have no effect on soldiers with machine guns or tanks. Sami and others promote nonviolent demonstrations and that is the position of the government in the West Bank.” Najid sat back and gazed out the window.
Frank sat silently. He could see the wisdom of Sami to insist on the model of Martin Luther King. What can an army do against people marching quietly or singing? Finally he spoke. “Let’s have breakfast, and then I’ll teach you how to play handball.”
***
They still had most of the morning left after the men had gone to the gym. Ashley and Dorothy sat at the same table in the kitchen, over coffee and toast. Ashley worried what her mother thought about her being so upset at the end of the meeting last night.
“Okay, Ashley. Out with it. Stuff went on in Seattle and Israel that you’ve never told us. Then something happened last night to upset you. What’s happening? Are you and Najid having trouble?”
“No Mom. We’re very much in love. It’s just so much other stuff. I couldn’t tell you all this over the phone or by e-mail. Besides, I didn’t want to worry you.” Ashley wondered how much she should share with her parents. They of course did know about the bombing and a bit about the kidnapping, and finding the bomber. But she hadn’t shared about being stalked, both in Israel and apparently now in Seattle and last night.
“We’re your parents, and we want to know so we can know how to pray for you. So fill me in on things I don’t understand at this point—before we talk about the wedding.”
Ashley decided to tell everything her mom wanted to know. She explained her fear of the stalker. She answered all of the questions Dorothy had until she seemed satisfied, understanding now why Ashley appeared frightened the previous evening.
“You poor dear. Should we notify the police?”
“Probably not at this point. I have no evidence, and I’m not positive that the guy I saw last night was the same man who stared at me through the window in Seattle. They did look alike. If anything, I might call Gordon Appleby, an FBI agent in Seattle who became a good friend of ours. If anyone can help find and identify this guy, it would be Gordon. He would realize I’m not some panicky female freaked out over a guy who is after her.”
“Good idea, Ashley. So will you call him?”
“Yeah. I will.”
Dorothy got up to get more coffee. “So what about the wedding? We postponed the August plans. How about sometime in September? It’s mid-June now, so three months should give us time.” They compressed the wedding plans into one afternoon. Ashley felt apologetic that she and her mother had so little time to discuss all the details. But at least the mid-September date worked, with the church facilities available and prior pre-marital counseling. The University of Washington always began classes at the end of the month. Dorothy agreed to send announcements.
Ashley wanted a smallish wedding, and had contacted a couple of her friends to be bridesmaids. “But what about a best man for Najid?”
“Could Sami stay after your travels in the US?
“I don’t know, Mom. I’ll talk to Najid about it. Wouldn’t it be great if his parents could come also? But that’s impossible for them.”
“Yes, I wish they could too.”
CHAPTER 48
PASTOR PETER SIMPSON sat behind his desk after welcoming Betty Enright to his office. She needed to talk. She noticed the fragrance of the roses next to her chair, and the Bible close to a box of tissues. The memory of last night boiled in her soul, all night long. She felt ready to explode. She called that morning at nine for an appointment as soon as possible, and at eleven am she could finally get to the Pastor—what to do about Lane’s questioning their support of Israel. She respected Pastor Pete for his wisdom, and just enough gray hair to make her feel comfortable. She’d always placed him about ten years younger than herself.
“What brings you here today, Betty?”
“It’s Lane. He’s changing. I’m worried he’s going off the deep end. We went to a Middle East discussion last night at the University. Both Israeli and Palestinian young people spoke, as well as Ashley Wells and Najid, and an older gentleman who runs the Peace and Justice Foundation. They don’t believe in supporting Israel as we do. Well, they didn’t come right out and say that.”
“So what did they present?”
“They told stories of their own troubles and experiences with forgiveness and reconciliation That’s their solution for the problems over there. I tried to question Ashley about it, and Lane dragged me away. I guess he didn’t want me to get excited. But, you know, these people are saying things I’ve never heard, and Lane seems to be going along with it. I mean, we know what the Bible teaches. But Lane has been studying it, and is now questioning everything we have always believed about Israel. He got started on this by Frank Wells, who has changed his views on Palestinian terrorists ever since his daughter took up with one.”
“I understand, Betty. I’ve talked with Frank and Dorothy Wells because Ashley has asked me to marry them, as her pastor. I’ve not met Najid yet, but will very shortly. I understand he is a Christian from an ancient church in the Holy Land, the Melkites.”
