Chosen People

by Robert Whitlow

  “Mostly what I’ve read online. It’s clear that the two sides have been going around in circles for decades with no real change in the situation.”

  “That’s true,” Hana said with a nod. “But more and more Christian Arabs, especially in my generation, identify as Israelis even though we’re not Jewish.”

  “Really?” Bart asked in surprise.

  Hana told him about her two years in national service at the airport, and the educational benefits and free health care she’d received from the government as an Israeli citizen.

  “Our family is entrepreneurial,” she said. “My father and his brothers own their own business, and my parents could have paid for my upper-level schooling, but it was great not to place that burden on them.”

  “You’re the exception, right?” Bart asked. “Most Arabs don’t support the presence of a Jewish state in the Middle East.”

  “There are four hundred million Arabs in the world, and I’m sure the vast majority oppose the existence of Israel. But if you mean the Arabs who actually live in Israel as citizens, many of them, Christian and Muslim, recognize the benefits of living there. The Western media focus entirely on the people who don’t want Israel to exist at all. But if you were given a choice between living in a country ruled by a secular Arab dictator, a government that implemented strict Islamic Sharia law over all aspects of life, and a democracy with freedom of religion, press, speech, et cetera, which would you choose?”

  “The democracy.”

  “And that’s especially true for Christian Arabs like me.”

  Hana ate another bite of calamari. “Are you sure this isn’t more than you wanted to hear?” she asked.

  “I told you I wanted to learn when I asked you to dinner. You’ve put a different spin on things.”

  “It doesn’t mean Israel is perfect,” Hana said after she’d taken a sip of water. “Arab areas of the country don’t always receive services at the same level as Jewish ones, which is wrong. And sometimes I’ve experienced negative looks and comments when I step into situations where Jews are in the majority. That hurts a lot because I’ve been a loyal citizen. But even with its faults, Israel is the only country in the entire Middle East where the overall Christian population is growing. The number of Christians in Gaza is tiny, and the Christian population in the area of the West Bank controlled by the Palestinian Authority, like Bethlehem, has been shrinking for years. Christian Arabs in the PA areas are leaving in droves for a better life in Europe or the United States.”

  “Like you?”

  “No,” Hana answered emphatically. “My stay in America is temporary. I enjoy my work, but my roots are in Israel.”

  They ate in silence. Bart seemed troubled.

  “This is so different from what the assistant minister at my church has indicated,” he said.

  Hana instantly suspected what the minister believed. “Does he think the Jews are irrelevant in God’s current purposes and future plans?” she asked.

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  “That’s not the way I read the Bible. There are promises with multiple applications: to the Jews first and then to the church. Anything else tortures the truth. Imagine how tough it is for an Arab like me to admit there are ways in which the Jews continue to be his chosen people. The beautiful thing is that because I put my faith in the Jewish Messiah, I’m chosen, too.”

  Bart shook his head. “So much for stereotypes.”

  “Hearing you say that makes me happy,” Hana replied with a smile. “Regardless of what people say about the influence of mass media, human understanding takes place one person at a time.”

  “Enough,” Bart said, holding up his hand. “I know I asked for it, but talking to you is like drinking from a fire hydrant.”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “No, I can just tell you’ve given this a lot of thought.”

  “I’ve had to. For me, it’s not theoretical. It touches my whole life.” Hana paused. “Tell me more about you and your family.”

  Hana enjoyed hearing stories about Bart’s years growing up in central Ohio. He came from a family of farmers who lived in the same area for multiple generations. Bart was a kind, sensitive man, and the continuity of his family background resonated with Hana. She realized she’d like to get to know him better.

  After the meal, Bart walked her down the street to her car. In the back of her mind, Hana rehearsed how she would respond if he asked to see her again. She knew she’d say yes. They reached her car parked beneath an old streetlight with a soft yellow glow.

  “You’ve provided me with much to think about,” Bart said.

  “And I’ve enjoyed talking with you—”

  “No, you don’t understand what I mean. I asked you to dinner because I wanted your help in putting together a video I’m producing for a BDS group based in Atlanta. I thought the project would be a nice change of pace from pumping beauty products. The assistant pastor I mentioned supports Palestinian rights to self-determination and encouraged me to do it. I’ve studied all this stuff more than I let on, but I played dumb to get you to talk. As an articulate, attractive Arab woman who’s lived in Israel, I thought you’d be a perfect spokesperson for my video.”

  Hana’s mouth dropped open. The Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions movement promoted activities designed to damage the Israeli economy and thus pressure the Israeli government. It was a worldwide phenomenon that, to Hana, smacked of anti-Semitism. In many instances it hurt Arab workers more than Jewish ones. What immediately stung Hana was the producer’s silent deception.

  “A BDS video?” she managed. “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “I know. The pay is good, but now I’m questioning whether it’s the right thing to do.” With that, Bart abruptly said good night and walked away.

  Hana got in her car and sat for a couple of minutes, wondering if she would have said anything differently if she’d known what was lurking in the back of the producer’s mind. She’d shared openly and honestly, even if he hadn’t.

  CHAPTER 8

  Jakob tapped his right foot nervously against the floor. The Neumanns were twenty minutes late, and Ben hadn’t responded to repeated texts and two phone calls. There had to be a good reason why they hadn’t arrived. A young receptionist sitting behind a sleek glass-and-steel desk turned toward him.

  “Ms. Abboud wants to know if you need to reschedule?” she asked.

  “Let’s give it a few more minutes,” Jakob answered.

  While he waited, Jakob role-played different ways the meeting might unfold. Sadie was a cute little girl who engendered instant sympathy when she didn’t have her nose buried in her tablet. However, the tablet and earbuds would be her babysitter during the meeting. Several more minutes passed.

  “Mr. Brodsky,” the receptionist said. “I’ll be glad to check with Ms. Abboud about rescheduling.”

  “No!” Jakob replied more forcibly than he intended.

  At that moment the door opened, and a harried Ben Neumann entered. He was holding Sadie by the hand.

  “Don’t ask,” he said, holding up his other hand to Jakob. “I felt like I was transported back to 1980, which I don’t even remember. I was letting Sadie play on my phone before we left the house, and she dropped it in the toilet. Now it’s sitting in a bag of rice. Then a water hose in my new minivan burst and the engine overheated on the way over here. I couldn’t let you know I’d be late.”

  “I know about overheating cars,” Jakob replied. He turned to the receptionist. “Please let Ms. Abboud know we’re here.”

  Ben plopped down in a chair. Sadie, wearing her school uniform, crawled into her father’s lap and laid her head against his chest.

  “Sadie is worn out,” Ben said, stroking the little girl’s black hair that was sticky with perspiration.

  Hana Abboud entered the reception area. She extended her hand to Jakob, who shook it, and then turned toward Ben and Sadie. Ben held his daughter in his arms when he stood. Jakob introd
uced them. Sadie looked shyly at the Arab lawyer.

  “She has pretty hair, like mine,” Sadie whispered so loudly in her father’s ear that even the receptionist could hear her.

  “Thank you,” Hana said with a smile. “This way, please.”

  Instead of going to the large conference room where they’d met with Mr. Lowenstein, they entered a much smaller room with seating for six people around a chrome-and-glass table. One outside wall was glass from floor to ceiling and gave a spectacular view. Sadie scrambled out of her father’s arms and stood in front of the transparent wall. The Arab lawyer knelt down on the floor beside the little girl and began pointing out landmarks to her. Jakob and Ben watched.

  “And over there on a clear day you can see Stone Mountain,” Hana said, pointing to the east. “Have you been there?”

  “Yes,” Ben answered. “I took her to the top in the big cable car a few months ago.”

  Sadie made a couple of comments about the outing. Her most vivid memory centered on a blue-colored frozen drink.

  “Which was pure sugar and turned her tongue aqua until the next day,” Ben said.

  Jakob cleared his throat in anticipation of a change in the conversation. He turned to Ben. “Did you remember to bring Sadie’s tablet?” he asked.

  Ben struck his forehead with his hand. “That’s why she was playing on my phone. I let the battery on the tablet run down.”

  “That’s not a problem,” Hana said.

  Sadie was leaning against the lawyer and resting her hand on Hana’s shoulder.

  “But we can’t talk about anything substantive with the child in the room,” Jakob protested.

  Hana didn’t say anything. Instead, she returned to her conversation with Sadie. This was one of the more unusual client conferences of Jakob’s career, and it was getting stranger by the second.

  “Mr. Neumann,” Hana began.

  “Please, call me Ben,” the client responded.

  “And I’m Hana,” the lawyer said.

  “Hana,” Sadie repeated with the same intonation, strongly emphasizing the final “a.”

  “Children are such incredible mimics,” Hana said with a smile.

  “Yeah, she’s not yet seven, but I believe Sadie is going to have a knack for languages,” Ben replied. “Verbally, she’s off the charts.”

  “When will they start teaching her another language?” Hana asked.

  “She’s learning Hebrew at school, and they’ll add Spanish next year in second grade.”

  “She goes to a Jewish school?”

  “Yes.”

  Hana said something to Sadie that Jakob didn’t understand. The child immediately replied. Hana followed up with a longer sentence that produced another answer. They went back and forth for a minute.

  “You’re right,” Hana said to Ben. “She has linguistic ability.”

  “How many languages do you speak?” Ben asked.

  “Arabic, Hebrew, English, and French,” Hana answered, getting to her feet. “And I used them all when I worked as a security officer at Ben Gurion Airport. French is my weakest, but it was good enough that I could question travelers coming in from French-speaking parts of the world.”

  Hana sat in a chair. Instead of returning to her father, Sadie started to climb onto the lawyer’s lap.

  “No, Sadie,” Ben said. “Come here.”

  “It’s okay,” Hana answered as Sadie confidently positioned herself. “Holding her makes me think about my nieces in Israel. I miss them a lot.”

  Jakob had given up trying to figure out the direction of the conversation, but he was glad it seemed positive. He stayed silent and waited.

  “What questions do you have?” Hana asked Ben.

  Sadie turned and gently pulled Hana’s face close to hers and whispered in her ear. Hana smiled.

  “What did she say to you?” Ben asked.

  “You tell,” Hana said to the little girl. “But say it in English, not Hebrew.”

  “I asked if Hana would eat ice cream with us,” Sadie answered.

  Ben smiled. “Fine with me.”

  Hana stroked the little girl’s hair. Sadie was leaning against the female lawyer with her eyes closed. Jakob felt like he’d parachuted into a therapy session.

  “Why are we meeting with you instead of Mr. Lowenstein?” Ben asked Hana.

  “The partners left it up to me to decide whether the firm is going to become cocounsel on the case. I wanted to meet with you and Sadie before giving my recommendation.” Hana gently touched Sadie’s back. “Seeing her is all the encouragement I need.”

  Jakob was completely mystified.

  “I think I understand,” Ben replied slowly. “But tell me exactly why you would be willing to get involved in the lawsuit. Not on behalf of the firm, but you.”

  “I am an Arab, and I am an Israeli. What took place that day in Jerusalem was inexcusable and horrible. No amount of money will compensate you and Sadie for your loss, but I’m willing to work to see justice done even if it’s unpopular for me to do so.” Hana placed her hand on the top of Sadie’s head. “Above all else, I want her to know that a person like me was willing to help and bless her, not hurt or harm her.”

  “That’s—” Ben started and then stopped before finishing, “more than I could have hoped for.”

  “I’m good with it,” Jakob interjected. He was interested in results, not rationale.

  “It’s amazing,” Ben continued, “to find two lawyers like you and Jakob who want to help not just with a lawsuit, but because you care about us as a family. That means a lot. It’s the sort of thing that would please Gloria.”

  “Gloria is my mama,” Sadie said to Hana. “A bad man killed her and hurt me.”

  “I know,” Hana answered. “But I think part of her is alive in you.”

  “That’s what my grammy says,” Sadie replied.

  “Gloria’s mother,” Ben explained.

  Ben turned to Jakob. “I’m satisfied if you are.”

  Jakob looked at Hana, who was watching him with intent black eyes that seemed to bore into his soul. “We need to let Hana know about your decision regarding Sadie,” he said to Ben.

  “What about me?” Sadie asked, sitting up straighter and staring at her father. “Are you going to send me to that other school? I don’t want to leave my friends.”

  “No, no,” Ben replied.

  “Ben doesn’t want Sadie to be a party to the lawsuit,” Jakob said, trying to make it sound like a minor point.

  “Daddy, he’s not talking about my birthday party, is he?” Sadie asked anxiously.

  “No, sweetie. It’s something else.”

  “Can Hana come to my party?”

  “Maybe, but that’s something we’ll talk about later.”

  “It’s okay,” Hana said to Sadie before turning to Ben and Jakob. “But this is a new development that I’ll have to discuss with Mr. Lowenstein.”

  “It’s all about her safety,” Ben said. “Which I can explain later if you like.”

  Hana nodded. “I understand, but this is outside the scope of my authority to accept.”

  Jakob felt a wave of disappointment threaten to sweep over him. He fended it off by changing the subject. “We’re ready to pay our portion of the cost advance immediately upon signing the cocounsel agreement,” he offered.

  “Mr. Lowenstein sent me a memo about that prior to our meeting,” Hana answered. “Let me see if he’s available to discuss this change in the scope of the claim. I’d like to give you an answer today if possible.”

  There was a phone on a side table in the conference room. Hana picked it up and pressed several numbers. “Is Mr. Lowenstein available?” she asked. “It’s about the Neumann matter.”

  “Thanks,” she said after a pause. “I’ll be right there.”

  “Can I come?” Sadie asked.

  “Not this time,” Hana answered. “I need to talk to my boss.”

  “I hope he’s nicer than Daddy’s boss,” Sadie
said. “He makes him work even if we’re supposed to go someplace fun.”

  From the moment she first saw the little girl in the reception area, Hana felt a deep tenderness well up in her heart for the motherless child. It was both intensely sweet and disturbingly confusing. She knew from her experience in the night that she was supposed to meet Sadie, but she hadn’t anticipated the depth of her reaction. It had taken every ounce of willpower she possessed not to burst into tears.

  She reached Mr. Lowenstein’s office. The senior partner was sitting behind his desk with his necktie loosened and his hair slightly mussed. Leon Lowenstein collected miniature antique sailing ships that he displayed under glass covers. Some of the rigging for the ships seemed so fragile that it would dissolve if exposed to the atmosphere. He spoke before she did.

  “Hana, we represent a shipping company caught between two feuding underwriters who can’t agree on allocation of risk for a shipment bound for Mumbai. Two vessels have to leave Antwerp within the next twenty-four hours. The value of the cargo is over fifty million dollars. Our client wants to go through the Suez Canal instead of around Cape Horn. That means they’ll have to run the Somalia gauntlet. We’re scrambling to bring on extra security and obtain approval for the route. Anyway, there’s nothing I can do now but wait on a return phone call. What’s on your mind? Gladys said it was important.”

  Hana summarized her conversation with Jakob Brodsky and Ben Neumann. Mr. Lowenstein listened with his chin almost touching his chest. He raised his head when she mentioned the requirement that they leave Sadie out of the lawsuit.

  “Do you think the best thing to do is shut this down before we get started?” Mr. Lowenstein asked.

  “That’s why I’m here. To ask you.”

  “Who has the better claim? The father or the daughter?”

  Ben lost a wife. Sadie lost a mother. Both had scars on the inside, but Sadie bore one on the outside.

  “The daughter,” Hana said.

  “I disagree,” the senior partner replied.

  “You do?” Hana’s eyes widened. “Why?”

  “Ben Neumann lost his wife, which will justify a substantial damage claim. And common decency says it’s prudent to minimize a small child’s exposure to the kind of publicity a case like this will generate. Remember, I have granddaughters of my own, so I understand where the father is coming from. The question is whether there is enough left to warrant proceeding.”