Uprooting the Olive Tree

by Lloyd Philip Johnson

  “I’m sure he heard them just like we did, Ashley. But he’s been told to hide if anything happens, so I think he’ll go with some of his friends to one of their houses and wait for the curfew to end. It seems so unfair to terrorize children. It’s bad enough for us as adults. But to live under military occupation year after year is no fun.”

  “I can’t imagine what it must be like, living here. We are so free in America and never have to worry about foreign soldiers threatening us with death or imprisonment if we dare come out into the street.”

  Najid shook his head. “Except for my brief stay in jail after the bombing, I have never felt so free as in Seattle. But here it’s different. And most people in the US have no idea of the fear and restrictions we live under all the time.”

  Fatima looked at her watch. “It’s been over two hours now. The curfew may last all night. They often do.”

  “We will pray for Ali during the night,” Najid said. “Remember he is not alone nor are his friends. Do you recall Psalm 23?”

  “Oh, yes, I do. I grab onto that—and my parents do too. We read it together just last night, about God walking with us through the valley.”

  ***

  Ali and his football buddies whispered as soldiers patrolled the streets and alleys. Ali wanted to be brave but also longed to be home with his family. He wondered what his new friend Najid would do. Would he take the risk of throwing stones at the army guys? Even though they called themselves defense forces they were really on offense. Ali knew the difference from playing football. On offense you attack the other team. What are the soldiers doing threatening the homes of ordinary people? Going after kids? Ali tightened his lips and patted the stones in his pocket.

  “Time to go,” one of the boys whispered. In the darkness they slipped quietly down the dark street toward soldiers standing guard near their Jeep. A few more steps and they would be within fifteen meters of the soldiers. Ali found himself on the left side of the group as they spread out across the road. He could hear the enemy talking in Hebrew, facing the other direction. One of the boys threw a stone, and then several followed with a volley of small rocks. Ali reached for his pocket when a bright light from the soldiers blinded him. Then a flash of cameras, two explosions, and soldiers shouted and ran toward them with their rifles drawn. Ali panicked, heard the boys yell, “Run,” and they all scattered up the street toward their hideout, and then in various directions. Ali sprinted like he never had in football, ducking between houses. Explosions were followed by the crack of tear gas canisters flying overhead. Alone, Ali began to cough as he ran, zigzagging between houses. His eyes burned and filled with tears, but he continued to run. He knew the neighborhood and thought that maybe he had escaped the soldiers. He stopped to catch his breath. And to think. He would be brave and not cry. All the stones were still in his pocket. He’d better get rid of them now.

  He needed to get back home. Ali’s parents and Fatima would be worried. No point in going back toward his friends’ houses now with the IDF looking for them. So he crept softly along a narrow lane he knew, skirting the area he had left. Then turning back toward the line of soldiers, in the silence of the night around him, he found another group standing guard around their Jeep. He continued parallel to the line of soldiers until he found a space of about forty meters between the groups. Hiding behind a parked car, Ali, in the darkness away from a streetlight, suddenly streaked across the street, making a crunch on the gravel at the side of the pavement. A soldier called out in Arabic, “Stop,” and fired into the darkness. Ali ran at top speed again ducking behind houses and into other driveways. Dogs barked, but no other sounds indicated the soldier followed him. He finally stopped, panting, and began to walk toward home.

  ***

  Najid sat in the dark with Saleh in the front room talking softly, while Fatima and Jamilah prepared to serve the dinner they had postponed. The women worked with a small candle for light, behind the closed kitchen door. They gave Ashley the job of setting the small kitchen table rather than risking light at the larger one used for guests but exposed at the front of the house. The atmosphere was very subdued. Everyone moved quietly and said little.

  Ashley carried soft drinks to the men when they heard a shout outside and simultaneously repeated cracks of a rifle and shattered glass.

  “Down everyone,” Saleh yelled.

  A window shattered and Najid felt a searing pain in the left side of his neck and instinctively reached up to grab it, feeling warm blood under his hand as he dove for the floor. He put pressure on the area to stop the bleeding. He could feel his heart racing and assumed that his trachea had survived, along with the carotid artery to his brain. He remained quiet on the floor, pressing on his neck wondering about his internal jugular vein.

  “Is everyone okay?” Saleh asked quietly.

  Ashley placed her drinks down on the table as Fatima and Jamilah came out of the kitchen with the candle. She saw Najid on the floor with his hand on his neck, covered with blood. She gave a muffled scream with her hand over her mouth. Rushing to him, she dropped to her knees. “Oh, Darling! What have they done to you? Can you talk?” She noticed his breathing seemed okay and checked the pulse at his wrist. Strong and fast. “Let me see your neck. Is your hand injured?”

  “No,” Najid spoke calmly. “My hand’s okay. I just didn’t want to get blood all over. So I need to keep the pressure on until the bleeding stops.”

  Just then Fatima arrived with several gauze dressings and tape. Najid sat up in the candlelight and allowed Ashley to gradually pry away his hand. The bleeding had stopped. She noticed a small one-centimeter hole in the back of his neck on the left side, and a slightly larger tear of his skin several centimeters in front of it.

  “It looks like you’ve been shot. Both an entrance and exit wound. The bullet must have traveled just under your skin from behind without doing any major damage.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Najid said struggling to stand up.

  Fatima escorted him to the bathroom where Najid examined his neck, while Ashley and Fatima washed and dressed the wounds. He sat on the toilet seat. “I’m a bit dizzy.”

  “Let’s get you to bed,” Fatima urged. “We’ll put you in Ali’s room on the couch he reserves for his friends.”

  “I hope I’m one of them.”

  “You’re a hero to him. I could see that in his eyes as you two walked out to play football.”

  “I just pray he’s safe with his other friends.” Najid lay down on his right side.

  Ashley sat by him holding his hand until she could tell he had fallen asleep. She tiptoed out of the room with Fatima and closed the door. The two hugged each other. Najid would be all right. Ashley broke into sobs on her shoulder, tears flowing as her clinical objectivity dissolved. He could have been killed.

  CHAPTER 11

  They gathered around the small kitchen table with a small candle, leaving two empty chairs reserved for Najid and Ali. Jamilah served several plates of salad, Palestinian style, with cucumbers, beets, lettuce, and other dishes, along with humus and pita bread. Ashley shook her head and smiled, knowing that the lamb and rice dish would still be coming along with the cooked cucumbers stuffed with curried rice—the usual Palestinian hospitality requiring hours of preparation by Jamilah. She remembered the care and work that went into their recent wedding rehearsal dinner by Farah, Najid’s mother.

  “Najid may sleep all night after what’s happened,” Ashley predicted.

  Fatima, translating for her parents, reached for the bread. “That would be good. He needs rest. We don’t know whether that was a random shooting as they sometimes do to houses or if they were after some young people.”

  “What about Ali after this time?” Ashley asked. “He must be safe now with friends inside one of their houses.”

  “He hasn’t called us, so we just don’t know.” Fatima translated for her parents.

  Saleh nodded. “Yes, we’re obviously worried until we hear from him.”

>   They ate in silence for several minutes then heard a sound beyond the locked back door. Then a knock. Jamilah flew toward the door. “Who is it?”

  “It’s me, Mama.”

  Jamilah threw open the door, grabbed Ali by the waist, and hugged him tight, his feet dangling in mid-air as she laughed and cried at the same time, twisting back and forth. Then it was Saleh’s turn to kiss his boy, and finally Fatima’s. Ashley waited to give him a big hug as well and finally did. By this time Ali wiped away his own tears, and laughed.

  He then looked puzzled. “Where’s Najid?”

  “He’s sleeping right now,” Fatima continued in Arabic.

  “Oh. I wanted to tell him how we tricked the soldiers!” He gave a little shoulder swagger and grinned. “He’d like that.”

  “You weren’t frightened?”

  “Oh, maybe a little bit. But we let them know they’re not wanted around here.”

  “Well sit down, Ali,” his mother said. “But first wash your hands for dinner. You must be starved.”

  Ali ran into the bathroom and returned, hands still wet. “What’s the blood in the sink and on the towels?”

  “We’ll tell you what happened, Ali. But keep your voice down,” his father instructed. “The soldiers are just outside on the street. We’re keeping the kitchen door closed and the lights down.”

  “You want to hear my story? I’ll go get Najid so he can hear it too.”

  “He needs the rest right now, Ali. Why don’t you just tell us, and you can talk to him later when he’s awake.”

  Ali wasted no more time between bites, telling a slightly enhanced version of the outstanding bravery of the boys as they approached the soldiers. He mentioned that although he had stones in his pocket, he didn’t have a chance to throw one before being lit up by searchlights and cameras. He described the tear gas and sound bombs. “I fooled them, running in the dark across the curfew line as they shot in my direction. Then I casually walked home.”

  “You weren’t scared?” Fatima asked, translating for Ashley.

  “Well, maybe a little bit,” Ali admitted, sitting up as tall as he could in his chair. “So why is Najid asleep? I want to see him.”

  “You eat your dinner, and we’ll tell you why,” Saleh said. He began to tell Ali what had happened. When he finished he looked at Ali just cleaning up the last bite of lamb. “When you’re done, I want you to tiptoe quietly into your room without waking Najid. He needs the rest now, and so do you. So calm down, and have a good sleep.”

  Everyone yawned, tired from the events outside and concern for Ali. Fatima said she saw no point in sitting up in the dark kitchen with the door closed. She showed Ashley where she could sleep and Najid also if he awakened. Saleh looked out the broken window at the soldiers patrolling the street. He shook his head.

  ***

  Retiring early, Ashley hoped they’d all get a good night’s sleep despite the terror of the military occupation outside. Ashley slipped into Ali’s room where she found the boy and Nijad snoring lightly. She smiled at Ali, so innocent looking in sleep, but bursting with energy and enthusiasm when awake. She already loved that little guy who seemed a bit small for his age. Ashley kneeled quietly beside Najid’s bed, thanking her heavenly Father for sparing his life. She gazed at him, grateful for a husband of compassion for people, but especially for her. She slipped out to her room after kissing him lightly and was soon asleep, despite the terror on the street outside.

  CHAPTER 12

  Ashley awakened to loud shouts, sat up, and looked at her watch. Three o’clock. She leaped out of bed, throwing on her robe as she heard frightening banging on the door. Saleh appeared and stepped in front of her in the darkness and did not speak. The sound suddenly stopped, only to be followed by a gunshot to the lock and a foot crashing the door inward to the floor. Bright lights illuminated the room from the headlamps of four Israeli soldiers who shouted in Hebrew. One raised the butt of his rifle threatening Saleh who stood his ground and would not let them pass into the bedrooms. The soldier brought the gun down hard on Saleh’s chest, knocking him to the floor.

  Ashley screamed, just as Najid appeared, squinting in the lights and shouting in Hebrew to the soldiers. That seemed to stop them momentarily.

  “What do you think you are doing, striking an older man and in his own home! That is illegal by Israeli law.”

  “Who are you to tell us what to do?” The same soldier ran at Najid, pushing him aside with his rifle and into Ashley, causing both to fall backwards.

  The four soldiers entered the open bedroom door Najid had just left. Ali somehow slept through all the noise. One of them grabbed Ali’s arm, jerking him awake and out of bed. Ali screamed, “Let me go,” in Arabic. He thrashed about, kicking the soldier. The other three entered the bedroom trying to subdue the squirming boy who by this time began to spit on the soldiers. One of them cuffed Ali on the side of his head as he struggled. Jamilah with Fatima appeared in the bedroom doorway, shouting at the soldiers and blocking the bedroom door.

  “Leave him alone! He’s done nothing to hurt you, you brutes! Get out, get out!”

  One soldier answered in Arabic, “He threw stones at us so we are taking him. Now get out of the way.”

  “He didn’t throw any!” Fatima yelled. “You can’t charge him with anything.”

  “We don’t discuss charges.” He looked Fatima up and down, shining his light on her without her hijab. “Maybe I’ll come back for you.”

  Fatima leaped forward, pounding her fists on the soldier holding Ali by the arm. They pushed her back through the door as Jamilah and Ashley joined in to block their exit. They all fought like mother bears. Then Saleh and Najid joined the blockade. Sweeping Ali off his feet and carrying him under one arm, one soldier put his head down, crashing his helmet into the women like an American football lineman. The women fell, along with Saleh. Another intruder suddenly shot his rifle over their heads. Najid stepped in the soldier’s way that had Ali. Speaking calmly in Hebrew he asked, “Gilad, what are you doing here? Give me the boy.”

  The soldier froze momentarily with a squirming Ali still screaming under his arm. He stared at Najid, speechless, mouth dropping open.

  Najid continued, “I know you from Nazareth. Your name means endless joy. Is that what you are up to? Producing endless joy?”

  Gilad passed off Ali to the soldier just behind him. He cursed and yelled wildly. “Najid, this is my job. I just do what I’m told. Now get out of my way!” He doubled his fist and slammed it into Najid’s face, knocking him down.

  “C’mon, lets get out of here. This guy knows me. Don’t shoot him.” With that the soldiers fled outside into the night.

  Ashley bent to help Najid up. They both ran out to see the jeep roar off into the night, carrying Ali away. All five stood in shocked silence, gazing at the disappearing soldiers taking Ali.

  Jamilah screamed, “My son, my son, where are they taking you? Little Ali … please, God, take care of him!” She sobbed as Saleh held her close.

  Ashley put her arm around a weeping Fatima as they stood silently. She prayed quietly that God would be with Ali every moment and surround him with mercy. Her own tears flowed as she turned to hug Najid. “You knew that soldier.”

  “We both went to the same school one year, in Nazareth. I didn’t know him well. But Gilad seemed shocked to see me here. He said he was just doing what he was ordered to do. I suspect he has pangs of guilt for taking Ali. Or is his conscience so hardened, I don’t know? How do these soldiers look in the mirror every morning? What is this doing to them on the inside?”

  “Where will they take him?”

  “Probably to a prison in Israel, where Ali’s parents will not be allowed to visit.”

  “How awful.” Ashley laid her head on Najid’s shoulder. She shuddered. The dream had come true.

  CHAPTER 13

  Faisal Farhan sat in their small house adjacent to a high concrete wall with Almas, his wife of twenty-five years, wonderi
ng what he should do. The furniture, the rugs, the wall paint—everything looked old and dingy and he didn’t have the energy or the funds to do anything about it. They had lived peacefully for the first fifteen years of the marriage, unfortunately with no children, in Zabuda, their small town in the northern part of the West Bank, not far across the wall from Nazareth in Israel. It had changed gradually from being predominantly Christian to 80 percent Muslim. It proved to be a tranquil amalgamation of people.

  The problems came with the building of an Israeli settlement on the hill just west of Faisal’s olive and fruit orchard. The settlers evicted some of his neighbors at the top of the hill. First the caravans came, then destruction of houses, followed by building large apartment complexes, which constantly expanded. The IDF soon built a road between Faisal’s house and his trees. He and Almas could cross it to their ten acres of olive and fruit trees but were not allowed to drive on it. But then the occupation forces built a high concrete wall along the side of the new highway. That meant that Faisal had to drive fifteen kilometers north, pass through a checkpoint, and then back south to his farm on unimproved back roads. Thirty kilometers going and the same on return. Usually soldiers at the checkpoint waved him through, but sometimes new guards who didn’t know him would keep him waiting for up to an hour for no apparent reason.

  “What are you studying?” Almas asked her husband, speaking in Arabic. “You look worried. I think the two long drives every day to get to the orchard and back are making you old. Look at you; thin, more gray than ever, and you collapse in your chair every evening. So what do those papers say?”

  Faisal did not reply, listening to the clock on the mantel ticking slowly as it had for many years. It didn’t seem to care. Finally, he took in a deep breath and sighed. “They say that our orchard is going to be demolished,” he said quietly.

  Almas blanched. “A demolition order?”

  “Yes.” Faisal shook his head. “Within a month from now.”