Chosen People

by Robert Whitlow

  “I’m an American lawyer working with an Israeli attorney on a case,” he said when he stood in front of the glass-enclosed cubicle.

  “What kind of case?” the woman officer asked.

  “Personal injury. I’m a tort lawyer.”

  The woman gave him a puzzled look.

  “Tort isn’t a dessert,” Jakob said. “That’s spelled with an ‘e’ and is a French word.”

  The young woman smiled slightly. “Where are you staying?” she asked.

  Jakob gave the name of the hotel in Jerusalem.

  “Who else will you see while you’re here?” the woman asked, keeping her head down.

  “That will be determined by my Israeli cocounsel. We want to talk to witnesses and other people who may know something about our case.”

  “What is the name of the Israeli lawyer?”

  “Hana Abboud.”

  The young woman looked up. “She’s Arab?”

  “Yes, from Reineh, but now working in Atlanta, Georgia, with an international law firm for the past eighteen months. She went to law school at Hebrew University. She also—”

  “That’s enough,” the woman said, stamping Jakob’s passport. “Have a good stay.”

  Jakob moved to the luggage area and saw Hana, who already had her bag.

  “You made it,” Hana said when Jakob approached.

  “As soon as I mentioned your name, everything went smoothly. You’re famous.”

  Hana raised her eyebrows. After retrieving their luggage, they stepped out into the sunny glare of a cloudless Middle Eastern sky. There was a line of taxis and minivans alongside the curb. Jakob heard someone call out and turned. About fifty feet away a muscular Arab man with closely cut black hair and wearing dark sunglasses started walking toward them. He was wearing a white, short-sleeved shirt and dark slacks. As he came closer, Jakob could see from the size of the man’s arms that he spent a lot of time in the gym. The investigator took off his glasses and said something to Hana that Jakob didn’t understand. She beamed in response. He turned to Jakob.

  “Daud Hasan,” he said in accented but precise English. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Jakob Brodsky.”

  “Come with me,” Daud said. “My vehicle is in the airport security lot.”

  CHAPTER 30

  I’ll take your large suitcase,” Daud said in Arabic to Hana.

  “It’s on wheels.”

  “Which will make it a lot easier on me. Also, after watching the video from Sadie three or four times, I’d better be nice to you or you’ll report me to her.”

  Hana released her grip on the handle and walked beside him. Glad to be back in Israel, she was a bit nervous about whether the same explosion of chemistry that had marked her first meeting with Daud would continue.

  “It’s great to see you,” he said. “The Skype calls were a poor substitute for the real thing.”

  Hana smiled. It was exactly what she needed to hear.

  “I’ve missed you, too,” she answered. “A lot.”

  They stopped to let several cars pass before crossing the street to the same security lot where Hana had parked on the rare occasions when she drove a vehicle to work. She recognized the car owned by one of the men in charge of her former unit.

  “Avril Lieberman still drives the same car,” Hana said, pointing to a white sedan with heavily tinted windows. “I was working here when he bought that car.”

  “He’s a dinosaur,” Daud replied. “But it’s good that he doesn’t like change. That’s one reason I park here. He automatically renews my permit every year, even though I’m a private investigator.”

  Daud stopped in front of his dark green Land Rover and took out the key fob.

  “I thought high gas prices forced everyone into a subcompact,” Jakob said when he saw the vehicle.

  “Not everyone,” Daud said as he easily lifted Hana’s heavy suitcase.

  Jakob placed his suitcase beside hers. On the rear floor mat was a white license plate with green numbers.

  “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the plate.

  Daud lowered the gate and tapped the yellow plate affixed to the rear bumper. “I use the yellow Israeli plate when I am in a Jewish area and change to a Palestinian Authority plate when I travel in the West Bank. That way I have less chance of being hit by rocks on both sides of the line.”

  “Did you change plates on your car?” Jakob asked Hana.

  “I never owned a car until I came to America,” she answered. “When I lived here I used public transportation or rode with friends who had a car.”

  Daud opened the passenger door for Hana to enter and supported her elbow to help her up. The investigator’s vehicle was higher above the ground than the Land Rovers driven by soccer moms in north Atlanta, and he maintained contact with her arm a split second longer than necessary. Hana settled in. Jakob sat behind her. Daud started the engine, which rumbled with power. He used an access card to leave the security lot.

  “Does he speak any Hebrew?” Daud asked Hana in Hebrew with a nod of his head toward Jakob.

  “English only, no Hebrew,” she replied in the same language. “He’s never been to Israel.”

  “I recognized two words,” Jakob said from the rear seat. “You said ‘English’ and ‘Israel.’ I don’t mind you talking about other matters in Arabic or Hebrew, but when it comes to me or the Neumann case, please use English.”

  “No problem,” Daud replied with a smile. “That is the right thing to say, correct?”

  “Yes,” Hana answered, turning in her seat so she could see Jakob. “But avoid idioms when speaking to Daud. Contractions can be confusing, too. I’ve only gotten comfortable with them within the past year.”

  “Your English is phenomenal,” Jakob said, realizing he’d accepted Hana’s proficiency without considering how hard it was to achieve it.

  “Contractions?” Daud asked.

  “Combinations of words that are shortened like ‘it’s,’ ‘we’ll,’ ‘I’m,’ ‘I’ve,’ and things like that.”

  “That is okay,” Daud replied. “I have been around Americans enough to understand the meanings even if I do not use them.”

  They left the airport and merged onto the expressway.

  “How far is it to Jerusalem?” Jakob asked.

  “Fifty-five kilometers,” Daud answered. “It is a one-hour drive to your hotel.”

  Hana looked at her phone. It was four thirty Israeli time.

  “Is there anything we could do this evening?” she asked Daud.

  “Go to dinner and a movie,” he replied, a serious expression on his face.

  Hana glanced over her shoulder at Jakob, who pointed downward with his right thumb.

  “I meant about the case,” Hana said.

  “I know what you meant,” Daud replied. “We can eat dinner at a restaurant near your hotel and talk about what to do. No more jokes for the next week.”

  “Keep trying,” Jakob responded from the back seat. “It’s fun to see how Hana reacts.”

  “I’m ready,” Hana said.

  Daud glanced sideways. “We will see how ready you are.”

  The highway rose steadily higher. Jakob immediately liked Daud Hasan’s style. The few times Jakob had hired a private investigator, he’d retained an older, retired police detective who never smiled and had the personality of a cactus. They passed a rail line coming out of a tunnel onto a series of graceful arched supports at least fifty feet off the ground.

  “What is that?” Jakob asked.

  “The track for the high-speed train that connects Tel Aviv and Jerusalem,” Hana answered. “It opened while I’ve been away. The trip only takes thirty minutes.”

  “It is like a ride at a”—Daud paused—“carnivore.”

  “Carnival,” Hana corrected.

  “Yes,” Daud said. “It is very fast, 160 kilometers per hour.”

  They continued to climb upward. The landscape was rocky with scrubby trees on
the hillsides beside the busy highway.

  “If you were a tourist, I would play a song for you,” Daud said, glancing in the rearview mirror at Jakob. “Maybe ‘Jerusalem of Gold.’ Coming to Jerusalem for the first time is special.”

  They rounded another curve and more buildings came into view. Hana began to sing in a soft, clear voice.

  “Who needs recorded music?” Daud said, catching Jakob’s eye again. “You can hear a live performance of the song in the language it was written in.”

  The Hebrew words filled the car as Hana’s voice grew louder. The hair on the back of Jakob’s neck stood up as she reached a crescendo. Even without understanding what Hana said, he could feel both pathos and triumph in the combination of words and melody. The song ended, and the car became quiet. They reached the outskirts of the city.

  “Welcome to the Holy City of Jerusalem,” Daud announced.

  “It’s beautiful,” Jakob said.

  “For thousands of years most of the buildings in the city have been built with limestone taken from nearby quarries,” Hana said. “When the sun hits the stones a certain way, they look golden. That’s one reason for the title of the song.”

  “We are coming in through the Jewish areas, which are newer,” Daud added. “My office and apartment are in an Arab area of East Jerusalem known as Beit Hanina. We will go there tomorrow in the morning.”

  “Daud’s office is on the Israeli side of the security barrier,” Hana added. “Nearby you can see the wall because it divides Beit Hanina.”

  “What do you think about the wall?” Jakob asked her.

  “There is no doubt that it has saved lives by making it harder for terrorists to enter the Jewish areas,” Hana replied. “But it is also a tragic reminder of the hatred that exists here. It deeply offends many Arab people because it divides families. It makes me sad every time I see it.”

  Jakob shut his mouth. Being with Hana in Israel was much different from talking to her in a high-rise office building in Atlanta.

  “It does not make us angry to hear questions,” Daud said. “It is common.”

  “But I don’t feel like it’s really any of my business,” Jakob replied.

  “If people do not ask questions, they will never have answers,” the investigator replied.

  Jakob knew he could rattle off scores of questions. Hana and Daud seemed willing to talk, but the intensely personal nature of the situation restrained him.

  “Maybe later,” he said.

  “There are different kinds of Americans,” Daud continued. “Some are afraid to talk honestly about real problems. Others think they know everything and have the right to tell us, both Arabs and Jews, what to do with our country.”

  “Is there another group of Americans?” Jakob asked.

  “Yes,” Hana said. “There are seekers of truth like you.”

  “What makes you say that?” he asked.

  “Am I right or wrong?” she replied.

  Jakob paused. “I hope you’re right,” he said.

  “I am, until you prove me wrong.”

  They entered an older part of the city. “This is the German Colony, settled by German Christians in the late 1800s,” Hana said. “It’s a very expensive place to live. Our hotel is a couple of minutes away.”

  Hana liked riding with Daud as he smoothly wove in and out of traffic. Most of the cars on the road were small, and the Land Rover stood out. They reached their hotel, a two-story building with twenty-four guest rooms surrounding an interior open courtyard.

  “This place was built during the time of the British Mandate between the two World Wars,” Hana said to Jakob as they stopped in front of the entrance.

  “Do you need me to go inside?” Daud asked her.

  “No,” Hana answered. “What time do you want to pick us up for dinner?”

  Daud checked his watch. “Is an hour and a half enough time?”

  “Perfect,” Hana replied.

  The investigator lifted Hana’s luggage from the rear of the vehicle and drove off as she and Jakob entered the registration area. A middle-aged Arab man stood behind the desk.

  “Ms. Abboud, you’re on the first floor,” he said after checking their reservations on a computer. “Mr. Brodsky, you are on the second floor.”

  A bellboy took Hana’s bags to her room. She unpacked, showered, and put on a dark blue dress. It was still awhile before Daud would return, so she stepped into the courtyard. There were ten small tables. For now, she had the area to herself. She sat beside a bougainvillea bush covered in luscious red flowers. The winters in Atlanta were cold enough to keep the magnificent plants from surviving outdoors. Intending to review her notes about the Neumann case, she turned on her laptop, but, fatigued from the trip, she couldn’t focus. She logged off the computer and closed her eyes.

  When she did, the atmosphere around her thickened, but not due to heat or humidity. There was almost no moisture in the Jerusalem air this time of year, and the temperature grew cooler as the sun set. Hana relaxed and entered a state of acute inner alertness. All her senses came forward without any of them jostling for attention. She felt fully alive. It was a phenomenon she’d first experienced when sitting on the veranda in Reineh one evening with her great-grandfather Mathiu. He’d explained to her what was happening by using the Hebrew that best described the sensation—kavod—the invisible weight of God’s glory.

  The solitude of the courtyard became for Hana like the garden of the Lord, where in ages past he walked with Adam and Eve in the cool of the evening. Now it was her turn to spend time with the only One whose presence could complete her. She worshipped without words and without limitations. After several uncounted minutes passed, the enveloping love lessened.

  “Abba,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

  “Excuse me.” A male voice forced her to open her eyes.

  It was Jakob. Hana didn’t resent the interruption. In fact, in that moment, his timing seemed perfect.

  “Jakob, there is nothing that compares to God’s presence,” she said. “And no better place than Jerusalem to find it. When your moment comes, don’t miss it.”

  Jakob blinked his eyes. “Okay,” he said slowly. “But I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Another male voice echoed across the courtyard. “Hana!” Daud called out in a deep voice. “Are you ready?”

  Hana stood and ran her fingers through her long black hair. “I need to grab my purse.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Jakob followed Hana and Daud to a table for four in a back corner of the restaurant. They each selected a different lamb dish. There were only six other customers, tourists from a Western nation, in the restaurant. Jakob took a sip of mineral water.

  “Is this private enough to talk?” Jakob asked.

  “It depends on the language,” Daud replied. “That group was speaking Dutch when we passed by them. I think they are interested in their conversation, not ours.”

  “Do you speak Dutch?” Hana asked as she opened her laptop.

  “Only enough to recognize it.”

  Jakob saw Hana scroll through her notes. “What’s the status of the man from Deir Dibwan who was willing to talk to you about the Zadan brothers?” she asked.

  “You will meet him tomorrow morning in Ramallah, but it is not a good idea for Jakob to join us. Nabil will not open his mouth around an American Jew.”

  Jakob didn’t protest.

  “Ramallah?” Hana asked.

  “I have documentation from a border patrol commander that grants me access to zone A,” Daud answered. “The permission is broad enough to include you.”

  “What are you talking about?” Jakob asked.

  “Because Daud and I are Israeli citizens, it’s illegal for us to go into areas of the West Bank primarily under the control of the Palestinian Authority,” Hana said. “Ramallah falls within that zone. If we went without permission, we might have to pay a fine when we returned to this side of the line.”

&nbs
p; “And be interrogated,” Daud added.

  “But I could go without a problem?” Jakob asked.

  “Yes,” Daud answered. “But—”

  “Being Jewish would be a problem once I got there,” Jakob said, finishing the thought.

  “Correct,” Daud said.

  “How long will it take you? I’d rather not stay at the hotel with nothing to do.”

  “Most of the morning,” Daud answered. “We do not want to rush Nabil. He will want to extend hospitality before talking.”

  “What’s his attitude toward women?” Hana asked.

  “He will like you,” Daud said with a smile. “But do not worry. I will be there the whole time. You are my personal assistant. That will impress him. Do not say anything about living in America. He will know from your accent that you come from Nazareth.”

  “Why is he willing to talk to either one of you?” Jakob asked.

  “He has a claim against the Zadan family that has never been satisfied,” Daud replied.

  “A feud?” Jakob asked.

  Daud looked at Hana, who explained.

  “Yes,” she said. “These disagreements can be very serious between families and go on for years.”

  “Hatfields and McCoys in the Middle East,” Jakob said.

  Daud and Hana both gave him a blank look. “Never mind,” Jakob added.

  “And what about the Israeli authorities who investigated the attack?” Hana asked Daud. “Any progress there?”

  “I am still working on that. There are many levels. I want to go deep.”

  “What does ‘go deep’ mean?” Jakob asked.

  “Deep or high is the same thing,” Hana answered. “As you know, we want to gain access to intelligence information that connects the Zadan brothers to other terrorist groups. The Israeli police and Shin Bet secret service have a large network of people feeding them information. All of it is cross-checked for links. Only the men and women in charge see everything.”

  “And the security services do not want to tell us something that will put someone they work with in danger,” Daud added. “That can be life or death.”

  “How will you go deep?” Jakob asked.