“I didn’t know that. Anyway, so you are Christian by being born into a Christian family, and so everyone knows who you are and can put you into the proper box.”
“I don’t want to be in somebody’s box.” Sami frowned.
“Well, doesn’t that represent who you really are?”
“That depends. I could be a Christian without following Jesus Christ.”
“Right. Lots of people are. They may not be religious but are still known here as Christians.”
“Okay, how about Muslims? Many of them don’t pray five times a day or read the Qur’an or attend a mosque. Do you?”
“No. But being born into a Muslim family known to be from that line, I am in the Muslim box. That is my heritage. That is my culture. I love our traditions including fasting and giving alms—and praying. But that doesn’t mean I don’t follow the greatest prophet, Issa, who turns out to be God himself among us!”
“What about Mohammed then? Do you follow him?”
“He never claimed to be anything more than the messenger of God. He didn’t say to worship him. He was human. He made mistakes like all of us do, what the Bible calls sins.”
“So you are a cultural Muslim who follows Jesus?”
“Right, Sami. I want to stay in my culture because that is where my family lives. They are not religious but they are good people. If I said I decided to become a Christian they and others would wonder why I wanted to leave my family and friends. I would be seen as rejecting them and turning to western ways, which some see as decadent, with crime, drugs, pornography. It’s too bad because that is not the view in the West, as I understand it. But that is what many Muslims in the Arab world consider Christian. We see too many movies from Christian America.”
“So you are a follower of Jesus, and that is why you ended up in the Bible College?”
“Correct. I wanted to learn more about him and the way he lived. But also about why he died and came back to life by God’s power. And how that power is available to me today.”
“So how does your family accept your studying and working at the Bible College?”
“They do because they know it is a good place. It represents people of the book, and we are told in the Qur’an to ask people of the book if we have questions. And they see how it has affected my life to follow the ‘great prophet.’ They ask me lots of questions. Not arguing. Real sincere questions. We have a good relationship. I believe loving my family and friends is the best thing I can do to help them understand Jesus.” Fatima shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe they will also want to follow him someday.”
Sami nodded in silence. He realized now the depth of this young woman’s heart and mind. Things he had taken for granted without thinking much about them. It all began with questions about her wearing her hijab. There was so much more he wanted to know, not just facts and her beliefs, but to know her. But how would she feel about him? Would he ever have a chance to see more of her? Even though they both followed Jesus, could he bridge the cultural and religious gap … or could she? Or would she even want to? How would he tell her he wanted to pursue a relationship? This would have to involve both families.
A tea vendor offered them a cup each. Sami reached into his pocket for a shekel. They sipped their tea in quiet conversation.
“I don’t want this to end, Sami.”
“Neither do I.”
CHAPTER 39
The events of the past two days compressed into a tight series of experiences that bewildered Carmella, starting with Uri’s cardiac arrest and accident. At Bnei Medical Center in Haifa, doctors implanted a defibrillator in his chest. They’d wanted to do angiography to check for underlying coronary artery blockage, but since he was stable, she had insisted on transfer to Hadassah in Jerusalem. Uri knew several of the cardiologists there, and she would be close to home if he needed further treatment.
Sitting by her husband’s bedside in Hadassah’s cardiology unit with the soft beep of the cardiac monitor sounding out a regular heartbeat, Carmella sighed. The large room reserved for dignitaries had an additional bed for family, as well as a comfortable sofa and chairs facing a large picture window. Uri’s fifty-two-year-old heart had been steady. She could finally relax. He would have his angiogram soon and if they found blockage, the doctors might place a stent to open up a small coronary artery. It seemed to be routine to them.
One of them explained. “Ventricular fibrillation does not necessarily mean the patient has had a heart attack. It could be just a rhythm problem with the ventricles quivering instead of contracting normally.” He used his hand, fingers raised, to contrast the two, a tremor of his fingers versus a full flexion of them illustrating a ventricle contracting to push the blood out to the body. “With no blood pressure, the brain does not survive long without oxygen. But Uri Katsman was fortunate that he received cardio-pulmonary resuscitation right away. Most patients do not survive ventricular fibrillation outside of the hospital.”
As the physician left, Carmella turned to her husband. “You seem to be talking normally, Uri. Do you remember going to Haifa to pick up the Mercedes?”
“Yeah, I do, and starting to drive it home. You were behind in our Toyota. But I don’t remember anything after that until you came to see me in the hospital today.”
“I’m not surprised. You died. No heartbeat, no pulse, no breathing. You don’t know what happened.” Carmella stopped, bit her lip, and squeezed Uri’s hand.
“I was dead?”
“By the usual criteria, yes. But an amazing young couple came running across the field and were able to open the door of the car and dragged you out.”
“What about you?”
“I ran across the field in a panic not knowing what I could do. Fortunately they arrived first, opened the driver’s side door, and soon had you on the ground. Dead, no pulse, no heartbeat, no breathing. Then they did CPR on you. Your heart started up, the ambulance came, and the medics took over. By that time you were waking up. They put you into their van with me, and we took off for Bnei Hospital.”
“But who are the young couple?”
“He wrote his name and his wife’s on your card.” She fished into her purse where she had moved it from the pocket of her slacks in Haifa and examined it. “His name is Najid Haddad. He’s Palestinian. His wife is, let’s see, looks like ‘Ashley.’ I think she’s European or maybe American. They both worked on you.”
“Right there on the ground?”
“Yes. I watched in amazement as you began to move.”
“What did they actually do?”
“You know, CPR. They pushed on your chest rapidly and did some mouth to mouth breathing for you.”
“How long did that go on?”
“I don’t know. It seemed like forever, but probably five minutes or so. Until your heart started up again.”
“Then what happened?”
“The medics came with the ambulance. They checked you out and did some things and then we went racing off to Bnei Hospital in Haifa in the back of their van with sirens blaring.”
Uri gazed out the window at the landscaped parking lot surrounded by trees and bushes. He began to nod. The silence accentuated the soft beep of the cardiac monitor as Carmella watched her husband. He frowned as he often did deep in thought. Finally he spoke softly, eyes still fixed on the window. “If not for that young couple, I wouldn’t be alive.”
“True. I don’t know why they stopped and ran across the field to us. They could have driven on by.”
“Did you thank them?”
“Oh yes. I did.”
“I want to meet them, Carmella. I know he’s Palestinian, but they saved my life. Do we have any way to contact them?”
“He left his cell phone number on the card.” She brought it back out from her purse. “Yes, here it is.”
“Good. Maybe we can meet them when I get out of here.”
CHAPTER 40
While Sami was still on the street trying to find a place to park the c
ar, Najid picked up Ashley to carry her over the threshold of their first apartment together, up three floors in the Silwan neighborhood just south of the Old City in East Jerusalem. She laughed as he put her down just inside the front door, ending in a long embrace. She loved him and had said she’d follow him to the ends of the earth.
“And here we are, Najid. Not quite the last bit of our planet.”
“No, I brought you to the beginning of it. The center of the earth, right here next to the City of David. We have our own place at last. I can’t believe it—me with the most beautiful lady in the world.” He stroked her long, blonde hair and felt her body melt into his. “I love you, Sweetheart.”
“This is a great location, Ashley, next to the Old City and close to all the buses. Even near the Hebron Road so we can get to Bethlehem easily. And being on the third floor is nice for the view, but also gets us off the street in case of any trouble.”
“The owners of this house who live on the ground floor said they are not always here,” Ashley said. “They speak English quite well. Apparently they have family nearby and sometimes stay with them. Their son and his family live in the second floor apartment just below us. It will be fun to get to know them.”
“You’ll learn more of Palestinian hospitality.” Najid pointed to another large house on the hill above them. “Families usually live close to each other, sometimes just adding another floor on the top of their house to accommodate the next son with his bride. So we are like the new family except that we pay rent.”
***
Ashley and Nijad began to settle into their new apartment in East Jerusalem. Sami had to sleep on the couch, but he didn’t seem to mind. He bounced around the apartment like Tigger, accepting one cleaning job after another. It was time to return the rental car. They couldn’t afford to keep it any longer. Najid had said the busses and trains in Jerusalem would be fine for getting around. He had just returned when his cell phone rang.
“Shalom,” the woman’s voice spoke in Hebrew.
“Shalom,” Najid answered in kind and continued in Hebrew. “Who is this?”
“I’m Carmella, the wife of Uri Katsman. The man you resuscitated near Haifa.”
“Oh yes! I’m so glad you called. Is he … okay?”
“He is!” She continued with the story of what happened after they left the accident scene, including that he had just had his coronary arteriogram at Hadassah, and that he did not need a stent.
“So he has no real heart disease except the arrhythmia?”
“That’s right. And the doctors say that he is protected from that with the implanted defibrillator they put in at Bnei Hospital.”
“I’m so pleased. God answered our prayers.”
“You prayed for Uri?”
“Yeah, we did. Silently. That his heart would start beating normally again.”
“Really! And we aren’t even religious. We’re not observant Jews.” She stopped for a moment and then continued. “Uri asked me to call you. We’d like to take you and Ashley to dinner at the King David Hotel. Could you make that? I don’t even know where you live.”
“We have an apartment in East Jerusalem. So yes, we would be very pleased to join you. The hotel is not far.”
“Good. Uri will be discharged from Hadassah tomorrow, so we’ll make arrangements and get back to you in a day or so, whatever your schedule permits.”
***
Carmella enjoyed their first day back in Male Adumim in East Jerusalem. The spacious living room and adjacent deck looked west at the Mt. of Olives with Jerusalem just beyond it. One of the oldest and largest Israeli communities in the West Bank, they also overlooked the road east, down to Jericho and the Dead Sea through the dry hills. Built on Palestinian land, in combination with other settlements being built around East Jerusalem, she knew the encirclement of the city would soon be complete.
It was good to be home again with Uri. Carmella mentioned Ashley and Najid. She’d never met a Palestinian really and was surprised by how bright and friendly he seemed, along with his American wife. She gazed at her husband, resting comfortably in his recliner. “They seem like a nice young couple.”
“Yes, but you never know, with Palestinians. We may be setting ourselves up for trouble. On second thought, I’m not sure we should have invited them to dinner.”
“Why would you say that?” Carmella grimaced, knowing what was coming.
“Because we know they are our enemies. They could want to hurt us in some way.”
“But, Uri, they saved your life. Why would they want to hurt us?”
“Because they are the enemies of our government. Remember, Carmella, I’m charged as head of Internal Affairs in the Likud government to be concerned with security, identification cards, visas, and passports. Security is the big thing. Everything we do is geared toward keeping our enemies at bay. The wall, the laws. We are not meant to associate with the others. Keep separate. They are different, not like us. They are not our friends.”
“But we don’t know this couple. Besides, she’s not Palestinian. Can’t we put politics aside and just be friends with them.”
“I’m not sure what it would look like to my colleagues if they saw us having dinner with a Palestinian. I’d be willing to take that chance if I knew the man didn’t have ulterior motives. But he could.”
“That’s ridiculous, Uri.”
“Maybe so. But we tell all our people to have nothing to do with Palestinians. We even have arrested some members of Parliament who are Palestinian. Put them in jail.”
“For what?” Carmella shook her head. “I’m getting tired of hearing of all the arrests when we never hear of any charges.”
“But you don’t know what they are plotting against us, Carmella. We have our informants both here and in the West Bank and Gaza. They are resisting our building new communities in Judea and Samaria. That is the problem. They never give up with their protests and harassment of our soldiers.”
“But they do it peacefully for the most part, right?”
“In what they call Palestine, yes, but they think it is their land when it is really ours. The state of Israel owns all of it. We took it in 1967 from Jordan, so they have no right to protest when we take it for what they call settlements. It’s all part of our Zionist vision for Eretz Israel. The land belongs to Israel. We shouldn’t even call them Palestinians. They have never lived here before recent times when Arabs from other places came. Despite what they say. And they never had their own government.”
“Of course not, they have never been free of a colonial government. Come on, Uri. I know that is the party line, but do you really believe that? They never had a chance, living here for centuries under colonial powers, Turks, British, Jordanians, and now—dare I say it … us.”
“You sound like part of our enemies around the world, Carmella. They want us to go back to 1967. We’re not an occupation force. The land is ours to absorb. We are just defending our own land against Arabs who want to take it for themselves.”
“I don’t want to argue politics with you, Uri Katsman. All I know is that these two young people saved your life, and no matter who they are, we owe them a great debt of gratitude. We need to be thinking of what we might do for them.”
CHAPTER 41
Ali once caught a little bird that couldn’t fly and put it in a box. He fed it some worms and put in a dish for water, but it died. Now he felt like that little creature, trapped, with some food and water, but nothing else. What would happen to him? He tried to count the days he had been locked up and gave up. He missed his parents and Fatima so much and when he thought of them, tears came. But he couldn’t let the guard see him crying in case he came in.
Unexpectedly, the steel door opened. Ali thought it must be time for some food. The guard towered over him, the one who had been so rough. This time he spoke softly and in Arabic. Not very good Arabic, Ali thought, but understandable.
“How you, Ali? You get special treat.”
Ali looked up at the man and frowned. Why the change from before? He wondered what they wanted from him? A confession that he threw stones at the soldiers when he didn’t? He remained silent.
“We are going to take you to have a shower and get those smelly clothes off you. Then you’ll get to go outside into the courtyard for some exercise. Will you like that?”
Ali shrugged and remained silent. The guard motioned for him to walk out of the cell, and taking Ali’s hand led him to a shower room and some clean socks, underwear, pants, and shirt. After his shower, with the guard sitting on the bench near the stack of clothes, Ali dressed. It felt so good to be clean again and have fresh clothes that almost fit. Most of them had been too big.
“Come me,” the guard said, holding out his hand.
Ali sighed, and held up his hand. The guard grasped it firmly, but did not hurt him. They walked down the hall, opened the door, and suddenly walked out into the sunlight. Ali squinted, found himself enclosed in a courtyard with high walls, about thirty meters square, with a couple of trees and some red flowers. A flat open area of packed dirt looked like a place for practicing football and then Ali spotted a ball. He saw a backboard and hoop at one side up on a pole three meters high. He could finally get some exercise. The guard hadn’t said what this was all about. He simply walked to the door they’d just come through, opened it with his key, and disappeared. Ali walked over to the ball, began to kick it, bouncing it against the tiled wall. It was then he saw the other boy. He must have been hiding behind one of the trees.
Ali kicked the ball to him. He looked like one of his neighborhood friends, about Ali’s age. Ali smiled for the first time since his arrest. It was so great to have someone to talk to.
“What is going on?” Ali asked in Arabic. “Who are you? I thought I was alone.”
“They left me here. I don’t know why. We just had our exercise time and the others have gone back inside. Then they told me to stay. I thought I would be by myself.”
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