Uprooting the Olive Tree

by Lloyd Philip Johnson

  “He’s okay. But he’s been shunted aside for promotion ever since he signed the letter about never firing on civilians.”

  “Good for him.” Najid pumped his fist. “An Israeli soldier with guts. Isn’t that right, Ashley? That’s how you Americans put it?”

  “Yeah. We do, and Chaim is a courageous pilot. I hope we can see him soon.”

  “He’s banished to the Negev to train with troops. Gets home every other weekend.”

  “And what are you up to these days, Ariel?”

  “For one thing, I keep in touch with Sami by e-mail.”

  “I’m still amazed that you two enemies have become such buddies.”

  Ariel smiled, leaned back, and put his right leg over the arm of his chair. “He’s my brother in heart, Ashley. Ever read of Jonathan and David?”

  “I have. But what are you up to now that you’re out of the IDF?”

  “I’m a student again, Hebrew University of Jerusalem.”

  “What are you studying?” Najid asked.

  “I’m heading for a combined degree in law and social work.”

  “Unusual combination, isn’t it? What’s the idea?”

  “Some of the stuff I did as a soldier in the so-called defense force was illegal, it was cruel, sometimes heartless to kids who dared to shout at us or throw a stone. I don’t even want to talk about it. I still dream of the things we did in Hebron.”

  “So how does your program fit into your thinking?” Najid asked.

  “I’ve learned from our time together both in the hospital and in America that justice and forgiveness and reconciliation are goals I want to promote for the rest of my life. And this program will prepare me to help.”

  “That’s exactly what we want to do too, Ariel. In fact, that’s why we have come back to the Holy Land. Our hearts are here with those who are suffering, including some Israelis who fear that all Palestinians are terrorists. We want to be here for people of all backgrounds and try to help resolve conflict—all the stuff that happens to make life miserable for them.”

  “Well I do too and so does my girlfriend.”

  “Ah-ha! So now we learn of a new interest,” Ashley said with a half-smile. “Tell us about her. Who is she? What’s she like?”

  “Later. It’s time for dinner,” Ariel said with a grin as he stood up to usher her and Najid to the table.

  CHAPTER 5

  Over the usual ten salad dishes and cold drinks in the elegant Friedman dining room, the conversation ranged from events in the greater Middle East, principally Syria and Iraq, to local rising tension as the pressure of the Israeli occupation increased. Kidnappings and killings of young people in the West Bank, the breakdown of peace talks, and the shifting winds of political power in Israel. All agreed that the two-state solution, once heralded, now seemed impossible with so little of Palestine left to the local residents.

  The lamb curry platter came with its delicious smell of meat, rice, and spices. “This is what I have been remembering in my daydreams,” Ashley added as she received her full plate from Yaron.

  Shiran, her smiling face framed by her attractive gray hair, asked about the wedding. “It’s too bad your family couldn’t be there, Najid.”

  “But they were, Mrs. Friedman. Some of Ashley’s family friends raised the money to buy their tickets to America.”

  “That’s wonderful! Something they and you will never forget.”

  “To have them there became a dream come true for both of us,” Ashley replied. “But what’s new for you. Your home and the gardens and field around it are an idyllic site for a pleasant retirement, even if the nation around you is seething with unrest.”

  “Yes, it is peaceful here,” Shiran admitted. She glanced at her husband. An awkward silence ensued.

  Ashley blushed looking around. “Did I say the wrong thing? I didn’t mean to imply that trouble exists everywhere in Israel.”

  “No, no, it’s not that,” Shiran responded. “It’s just that—” she seemed to be at a loss for words and bit her lip, fighting tears.

  “What she means is that we are struggling right now with a decision about what to do and whether we should move to another place,” Yaron said.

  “Because you’re retired and don’t need such a large house?” Ashley asked.

  “No, it’s not that.” Shiran shook her head. “It’s what we talked about when you were here before, you and I, Ashley. It’s the same Palestinian family, now the grandchildren of the people who actually built this house and farm. We think they want it back. And it’s really their land and home. Even though we’ve been here for many years.”

  “You never bought the place as I recall?”

  “Right. My parents were young, no money and needed to find a home. This became empty because the Palestinian family fled the 1948 war with bullets flying. They left full teacups on the table. Then our militias prevented them from returning. They encouraged Jewish families to occupy vacant houses. So we moved in … I grew up here. It’s the only home I’ve ever known.”

  “So what is the right thing to do?” Ariel asked. “By Israeli law, the Palestinian owners have no right of return. We don’t allow Palestinians to return to their homes either in Israel or the occupied territories once they leave. But this family remained in Israel, have Israeli citizenship, and live near Nazareth. Christian Palestinians. And I guess they want this house and land back. We have Israeli law on our side. But since my grandparents never paid them for it, what is the right thing to do? Do we give it back and charge them for improvements? Buy it from them? Or just stay here? They are peaceful, not threatening. They would lose if they took it to Israeli courts. Even when we don’t have documentation of purchase or ownership. We don’t know what papers they have.”

  “And they couldn’t claim their constitutional rights to their own property?” Ashley asked.

  “Correct. Israel has no constitution. There is no appeal to right and wrong. Whatever rules the government passes become undisputed.”

  “So that is our dilemma, Ashley.” Yaron grimaced. “Our Israeli triumph in gaining a recognized nation in 1948 became the Palestinians Nakba—their catastrophe. And now what is our humanitarian response to the sins of our fathers?”

  Everyone sat silent with the question reverberating in Ashley’s mind. The evening ended on a somber note. She could feel the family’s pain. After a bit of small talk, they all said good night and went to bed.

  CHAPTER 6

  At breakfast over coffee, Yaron unfolded a map of Jerusalem and showed Najid a direct way through the city to the Hebron Road, which would take them to Bethlehem. He and Ashley thanked the Friedmans and decided to take their luggage in case of a change in plans. Traffic thinned as they turned south at the Old City near the Jaffa Gate, driving opposite the late commuter traffic. Ashley gazed at the golden-beige stones of the Old City wall, one thousand years old, and its stark beauty a contrast to her harrowing abduction. She smiled at Najid. It looked so peaceful now.

  “So how do you see the day going?”

  “I’d like to check in at Bethlehem University to let them know I’ve arrived and get any information we can about what is going on and where we might consider living.”

  “How about stopping in at the Bethlehem Bible College? I’d like to introduce you to friends there, and particularly Fatima.”

  Najid nodded as he drove past the multi-story apartments of Jerusalem. The city extended several kilometers south almost to the turn-off to the Herodian ruins and the Shepherds Fields. Bethlehem seemed to Ashley like a suburb of Jerusalem, but so different as they approached the twenty-five-foot concrete wall with its guard towers. Three young Israeli soldiers, one a female, manned the first checkpoint. Unsmiling, they scrutinized Najid’s passport and separate visa for at least two minutes. Ashley wondered if he would have a problem. Her heart sped up. What gives them the right to stop Najid from coming into Palestine? To her relief, they handed it back, took her American passport, and quickly retu
rned it. Driving forward they were waved through the Palestinian police checkpoint.

  Bethlehem’s mixture of refugee camps, old buildings, shops, and hotels contrasted with the affluent Jerusalem. Every building capped with black water tanks reminded her of the constant shortage of water throughout Palestine. But it felt so good to be back. Ashley followed Najid through the lovely stone courtyard of Bethlehem University and up the stairs, following directions to the Biology Department offices. Students hurried by or stood in small groups, some of the young women with head coverings, others equally beautiful with their long, dark hair and broad smiles. The chairman, with graying hair, glasses, jacket, and tie, welcomed Najid and Ashley with tea and then a quick tour, answering their questions as they walked. After visiting labs and classrooms, meeting other faculty and staff, they returned to the chairman’s office.

  “You should know that tensions are high in Bethlehem right now. So be careful.”

  “What’s going on?” Najid asked. “We’ve heard nothing in America.”

  “Not surprising. Students are demonstrating over Israeli soldiers’ killing of three Palestinian teenagers in a refugee camp up north in the West Bank near Jenin. Several of our students are now in prison as of last night. Israeli soldiers are firing tear gas as we speak into Aida refugee camp near the checkpoint to Jerusalem.”

  Ashley stared wide-eyed at the chairman. “Is it okay to drive around the city?”

  “Yes, right now. But stay away from Aida Camp or other areas where you see soldiers. We’ll see you soon, when you get settled.”

  ***

  The Bethlehem Bible College’s new building, named for its just-retired founder and president of thirty-two years, contained the administrative offices. Attractive murals, pictures, and acknowledgments of donors from around the world added to their welcome by a secretary. After a brief greeting, the young woman reached for the telephone and called Fatima. Ashley would have to postpone her visit to the gift shop since she couldn’t wait to introduce her to Najid.

  A striking young woman with shining long, black hair and laughing dark eyes approached with arms wide in anticipation of a hug. She kissed Ashley on both cheeks, greeting her in perfect English. “My sister! You have come back as I hoped you would. And who is this by your side?”

  “Fatima, this is my husband, Najid.”

  “Asalem alekum. Najid, you have such excellent taste to marry this American.” She spoke in Arabic, keeping her distance and not touching him.

  “Yes, and peace be to you, Fatima,” he replied switching to English. “Ashley told me about you and your family. I have wanted to meet you. Not too many Islamic young ladies in a Bible college.”

  Fatima laughed. “We Muslims can follow Jesus too if we want.”

  “I grew up with many from Islam in Genger, in the Galilee, and still count them as great friends.”

  “Well then, Najid, you must come to my home and meet my family.”

  Najid smiled. “I’d be pleased to meet them. So tell us about yourself and them. What are you doing now? Are you still a student here?

  “Yes, I am a senior, ready to graduate in sociology next spring. But I have a job here also and get to show visitors around the college. It’s part-time. So I work today until about four o’clock. If you could come back then, we could go to my home. My parents would love to see Ashley again and meet you, Najid. And, Ashley, you didn’t meet my little brother Ali. He had to practice with his football team when you were here before.”

  “You have a good memory, Fatima. I have thought about you so often, wondering how you are, and what is going on in your life. Do you have any romantic interests?”

  Fatima blushed. “Maybe, from a distance. But it is probably different from the way you do things in America. I’ll tell you more later. But be careful here in Bethlehem today. Soldiers are all around town with their guns. It’s good to stay away from Aida and the other refugee camps. Also along the wall and just up the street toward the guard tower. Some boys threw stones at the tower last night. Sometimes the soldiers issue a curfew and block all the streets in their hunt for young people.”

  “We’ll be cautious where we go, Fatima,” Najid said. “I’ve been around these soldiers for years. They’re just “kids” themselves, as Americans say, putting in their required three years in the IDF, you know, the defense forces.

  “Defending against what? Their civilian victims?” Nijad quipped. “Those kids can be dangerous with the power of an AK-47 if they have no moral compass. Anyway, we’ll pick you up here around four this afternoon.”

  “You sound so American, Najid.” Fatima laughed. “I’m glad you haven’t forgotten Arabic completely.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Ashley wanted Najid to see the Thursday market, bustling on the day before the Muslim worship of Friday. The colorful sights of people packing the shops and stalls, the cacophony of sounds and the variety of shops brought pleasant memories to her. They parked in Manger Square. Ashley pointed to the Church of the Nativity being the oldest one in the world that is still used.

  “Can you believe, commissioned by Constantine in 327 A.D.?”

  Strolling up narrow Star Street lined with open shops and vendors calling out with smiles and offers of tea to Ashley, they headed toward the center of the market up higher on the hill. Both Mosques and historic churches stood out, occupying the center of Bethlehem.

  “Despite our many churches, many people in the US don’t even know of us, Christian Palestinians in Israel and Palestine.” Najid shrugged. “Even though we’ve been here since the time of Jesus. When Americans ask us when we converted to the Christian faith, we tell them about two thousand years ago.”

  Ashley smiled. “It’s so true. But we really know you guys are all Muslim terrorists. Just like Chicago, all gangsters with guns. But it is sad that so many Palestinian Christians have left. Are they still leaving?”

  “I think so. We’re down to about 2 percent of Palestinians now. So many were driven from their homes or emigrated abroad just to find peace and freedom. Six million, mostly Christians, in many countries of the world, and they are not allowed to return.”

  They ambled through colorful fruit and vegetable stands, vendors calling out their produce to prospective customers. The loud amplified call of the Mullahs from the mosque on the square suddenly drowned out the merchants. But no one seemed to pay attention to the plea to pray. At least not in the market.

  “But getting back to where we want to live, Najid. Are we going to look around here in Bethlehem for an apartment?”

  “Thinking more about it, I’m not sure we should. It would be close for my work at the university and close to your friends. But if we lived here we could not travel freely into Jerusalem, up to Galilee and my family, or even to the ocean one hour away. We would be restricted by many checkpoints and the uncertainty of Israeli permits to travel. I couldn’t fly in through Tel Aviv. Would have to come through Amman, Jordan and the back roads.”

  “You wouldn’t be afraid to live here because of the soldiers all around?” Ashley asked.

  “Not really, although we’d be subject to all the problems of water rationing, power outages, curfews. We don’t know how long this military occupation will last. So far forty-eight years. Freedom may still be years away.”

  Ashley nodded slowly, staring off into space.

  “Would you be disappointed if we didn’t live here?” Nijad asked.

  “Yeah. I think I would. But I can understand why it may not be the best for us. If we lived in Jerusalem, your commute every day would be complicated by lining up to go through the checkpoint, whether you went by car or bus.”

  “It’s true.”

  “There may be times when you couldn’t get to work on time.”

  “Right. But, Ashley, we could live among Palestinians in East Jerusalem and do what we can to help them defend their right to remain in their homes. And we could come and go through the wall to either side, barring complete closure.” />
  “Could I come to Bethlehem anytime I want, and get back?”

  “With your American passport, you would have no trouble—unless Israel gets mad at Uncle Sam.”

  “Okay. Let’s stop for lunch. I know a little place for some great lamb shawarma on Star Street.”

  ***

  After lunch Najid followed the directions from the cook, driving through Beit Jala with its steep hill. He knew this town next to Bethlehem had also been the residence of Christian Palestinians in large numbers. But neither he nor Ashley had seen the large stone houses. Winding up to the top, past shops, the road led on with a valley on their right. Beyond it at the top of the next hill a large community of white buildings stood out in the sunshine, surrounded by a high concrete wall. Across the valley, another large settlement covered the hill, shining white in the sun with its surrounding wall.

  “The settlements are attractive in some ways, Najid.”

  “They are built with lots of money, from America and elsewhere. And that’s okay—except for one thing.”

  “They are built on land stolen from Palestinians,” Ashley said.

  “Right. Even here in Area A that is supposed to be under Palestinian control.”

  Najid steered wide to pass a pedestrian. The young man turned around from his walk along the road and smiled. Remembering his own years walking long distances to school on a hot day, Najid instinctively stopped.

  “Asalam alekum,” he said, greeting Najid as he climbed into the small back seat. Upon seeing Ashley he switched to English. Ashley began plying Rashid with questions after learning that he worked at the Cremisan school just ahead.

  “What’s the story here? We’ve read on the Internet about the threat to Cremisan. It has become a cause for international concern.”

  “Then you know that the Israelis have a plan to build a wall right through this park, which would take the monastery, vineyards, and winery and place them in Greater Jerusalem. They are building roads as part of the master plan to bring two settlements together, including Gilo that you see across the valley. This is the only remaining green space in the whole area of Bethlehem. But it will disappear for us and become an Israeli national park.”