“I tell myself that it’s for the best,” he answered softly. “Perhaps someday I’ll believe it.”
Accepting this, Hana nestled her head against his chest. Moments later, David discovered that it was now he who needed her.
This time it was sweeter, more intimate, less the cauterizing of need than the fulfillment of a desire to be closer. Later, filled with wonder, David and Hana were able to smile into each other’s faces.
“So,” he said with a fair attempt at humor, “we’re lovers after all. But where do we go from here?”
“I wish I could see that far.” Pausing, Hana looked away. “It was strange for me today—I was looking at Munira and suddenly saw you. And I felt a kind of peace, like different parts of me were at last becoming reconciled.
“But Munira has lived nearly thirteen years without you. Right now, she is a girl who has lost the father she may feel that she’s betrayed. I struggle to know what is best for her.”
“To stay here,” David answered firmly. “It’s best for you, and for Munira. Why should she be sacrificed to hatreds she had no part in causing? America could be a safe place for you both. It’s a home for people without a home, or for people whose home has become too dangerous. There will be no peace in the West Bank.”
“Dreams are not so easy to give up,” Hana said. “How can Munira and I abandon our people in a time when the world makes us pariahs once again? We are needed more than ever, to try to build a country for all of us, not just extremists who would condemn us to narrowness and hatred. However hard, we are still trying to make a homeland, not just a home.”
David felt a stab of guilt at what he could not tell her. “For Hamas?” he asked. “Do you imagine Munira as a forty-year-old veiled grandmother? She’s my daughter, too—a Jew as well as an Arab, and an American by birthright.” David gazed at Hana intently. “Your story—yours and Saeb’s— is the story of what happens to people when war and reprisal never end. And after this there’s no end in sight. But does this tragedy of Jews and Palestinians have to define Munira? At least we can do better for her than we did for ourselves.”
“Than I did,” Hana amended softly. “But please do not shame me with it. I made Munira Palestinian, and her home and her friends are there. Among my women friends, such as Nisreen, there is support for younger women to grow into their own identity—”
“What identity is that?” David interrupted. “Can you tell Munira who her father is? Can you tell your women friends that her father is a Jew? Or will Munira remain the product of a sin that has to be hidden? Including from Munira herself.”
In the pale light of a bedside lamp, Hana looked bereft. “Adolescents are utterly moral people, David, but only in the narrowest sense. They do not forgive their parents’ sins, and they have no room for moral ambiguity. To tell Munira the truth now would give her a mother who is a liar and a whore, and a father who her supposed father told her she must hate.
“She might reject us both. She might become our worst nightmare— the closed-off fanatic Saeb tried so hard to create.” Hana took David’s hand. “When she is closer to being a woman, I will tell her. Then she may have some compassion for us. But now it is more than enough for me to help her heal, free from Saeb.”
David felt his buried anger returning. “And what’s my role, Hana? To send e-mails? To see myself as a sperm donor? This script was tired thirteen years ago.” He forced himself to speak more softly. “I have something more to offer her—a life that doesn’t bear the fingerprints of history or hatred or unreasoning religion. When I agreed to defend you, I did it because I wanted to believe in you. Now I have a daughter, and what I did in the end was as much for her as for you.
“I’m willing to be patient. I don’t see you as my debtor. But the last few months have changed me, and I want to be a part of Munira’s life.”
Slowly, Hana nodded. “Then that is only fair, to all of us. Somehow we will find a way.”
“Only if you live here,” David retorted. “There’s no place for me on the West Bank, and you know it. Just as you know that you and Munira are safer here.”
“Why?” Hana said softly. “Because if I return, those who may have murdered Saeb will kill me for what I know? When they do not, perhaps you will finally know for sure that I am innocent. Otherwise, you can never really love me.”
This was so true that it silenced David. “Does that matter to you?” he finally asked.
Moving closer to him, Hana touched his face again. “I’m not American, David. I’ve never believed in Cinderella endings. Nor can I be sanguine about what the future holds for Palestine. But this much I believe—I could go the rest of my life and never feel with another man the way I do with you. If that is true, another year or so will make little difference to me.”
“Thirteen years wasn’t long enough?”
“For Munira’s sake, no. For us, it’s far too long already. You don’t deserve to put your life on hold, certainly not for me. Maybe you have no heart for it. If that is so, or if all that has happened is too much . . .” Her voice trailed off, and then she managed to smile. “Then you will always be welcome in Munira’s life. And mine.”
David felt his throat constrict. “And for now?”
Briefly, Hana closed her eyes. “For Munira and me,” she said, “it is time for us to try to resume our lives. We’re leaving, David, the day after tomorrow. Will you come with us to the airport?”
With sadness and foreboding, David waited near the security gate for Hana and Munira to check in for their flight through New York to Tel Aviv, from where the Israeli government would escort them to Ramallah. It was before seven o’clock in the morning, and the airport was quiet; only the watchful presence of deputy marshals suggested that these two passengers were unusual. But to David, Hana and Munira were poised on the edge of uncertainty and danger.
After they got their tickets, Hana whispered something to Munira. Munira nodded and then, glancing shyly at David with dark eyes reminiscent of his mother’s, she walked toward him, alone.
Munira wore a soft, flowing dress much like Hana’s. She was taller than when they had first met, David suddenly realized, her bearing closer to that of a woman than a child. Somewhat formally, she said, “Thank you for helping us.”
We might have been a family, David thought, but for the history of two peoples. Instead, his daughter did not know who he was, and she was returning to a place that was alien to him, a place riven by hatred and grievances so ancient they were honored. “I’m not saying good-bye,” David told her. “I’m coming to see you, and I’ll be sure to help keep you in cell phones. And maybe someday, like your mother, you’ll study in America.”
Munira’s face clouded. For her, David realized, America had been, in its own way, more frightening than a life under occupation or Hamas. Nor could she now imagine her future. But, perhaps out of courtesy, she nodded, extending her hand.
David took it in both of his. “Be well, Munira.”
Hana appeared behind her. Softly, she told their daughter, “Let me speak with David for a moment.”
Munira walked away. Standing close to him, Hana asked, “So what will you do now?”
“With my life?” David smiled a little. “It seems you’ve made me famous. I may have found a new career defending the embattled.” He paused, then gave her the fuller answer she was seeking. “Before you came I was heading straight into politics; now, that will never happen. Odd, isn’t it, that destroying all my plans should make me more myself. But that may be what’s happened, however hard.”
Hana looked at him with fondness and concern. “You’re a gifted lawyer, David. Maybe what you needed was something to lend these gifts more meaning.”
Perhaps this was so. But it was not quite the conversation he wished to have. “I don’t want to talk about myself,” he said to her, “as though I’m some spare part. The world is filled with spare parts. But also with families, some of whose members see each other for who they are, and
even tell the truth.”
Even as he said this, it again struck David that he had not told the entire truth to Hana, another price of her freedom. But she did not know this. Briefly, her composure slipped, and her voice became husky. “The truth, then. Before we met again, you still lived inside me. But now I am filled with you. Leaving you is even harder than before, and the rightness of it far less clear.”
David felt hope collide with his deepening sense of loss. “Nonetheless, you’re leaving. But this can’t be the end for us. We have Munira.”
Silent, Hana touched David’s arm, looking up into his face as she once had long ago, her eyes still luminous but a woman’s now, their fire tempered by time and understanding. Then she turned before David could reach for her and was off, walking Munira toward security, a slim mother and daughter with the same determined stride, their two dark heads uncovered.
AUTHOR’S NOTE AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The ongoing tragedy of Israel and the Palestinians is the most complex and controversial subject I’ve taken on. The disagreements between and among Israelis and Palestinians are so emotional and deeply rooted that it is challenging even to find a common vocabulary: for example, the West Bank, which Palestinians routinely refer to as the “Occupied Territories,” is, to many Israelis, “Judea and Samaria,” part of the biblical land of Israel. And when it comes to the cause and effect of violence, these differences become incendiary.
I admit to one bias: that only a two-state solution aimed at a secure Israel and a viable Palestine holds any hope of freeing both peoples from the past. But my aim in writing this novel was not to pass judgment on the “truth,” or to map out a solution, or to make some implicit argument about moral equivalency between one side or faction and another. Rather, my aim was to craft a compelling narrative that interweaves the varying experiences and perspectives of Jews and Palestinians, and suggests why the prospect of a lasting peace remains so elusive. I trust the reader to understand that telling someone’s story does not mean endorsing it, and to exercise his or her judgment and discernment.
I have no doubt that many readers will find something in this novel to dislike. Indeed, some partisans on both sides are so committed to their own narrative that they are grossly offended by any deviation. But I believe that acknowledging each other’s perspectives is essential to coexistence. A modest example: it should be as possible for Palestinians and their advocates to comprehend why Jews, after centuries of persecution, desire a Jewish state as it should be for Israel and its supporters to acknowledge the aspirations and resentments of stateless Palestinians, including those whose families were dislocated by the founding of Israel. But, for many, this is much harder than it sounds.
A few more observations. First, while the characters are imagined, the history, the context, and the identity of the contending forces depicted in this novel are very real. Obviously, while Amos Ben-Aron and Marwan Faras are imaginary leaders, their predecessors—men such as Ariel Sharon, Yitzhak Rabin, Benjamin Netanyahu, and Yasser Arafat, referred to in the novel, are major figures in this tangled history. The nuclear ambitions of Iran’s ruling classes became common knowledge during the writing of this book; the building of the Israeli security wall continues; the actions of Fatah, Hamas, the Al Aqsa Martyrs Brigade, and Islamic Jihad are reported in our daily media. The places, too, are real; not only Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, and Ramallah but Jenin, Aida, Hebron, Qalqiya, the Qalandiya checkpoint, Mukeble, Masada, and the village of Atwani are among the many locations I saw for myself.
Second, while the events of this novel are also imagined, they are rooted in the extensive travel and research I refer to elsewhere in this note. I could not write about the burdens of those who oversee Israel’s security without interviewing those responsible in the IDF; or about the Al Aqsa Martyrs Brigade without meeting one of its leaders; or about the victims of suicide bombers without interviewing their survivors; or about right-wing settlers without visiting settlements; or about politics and geopolitics without consulting diplomats and politicians; or depict those, on both sides, who seek peace without soliciting their views. These are merely examples—my aim was to be comprehensive. I recognize that some people will be offended that those I chose to interview included highly controversial figures, including a leader of the Al Aqsa Martyrs Brigade wanted by the IDF. As I conducted my research, my aim was reportorial; limiting my observations would not have served my story or my readers.
Third, my choice of language: in selecting such terms as “Palestinians” and “Occupied Territories,” I employ common usage, even though some Israelis would argue that the “Palestinians” are not a people and that the West Bank, however heavily peopled by Arabs, is God’s biblical grant to the Jewish people, and therefore cannot be “occupied.” Similarly, I do not seek to avoid the anti-Semitic sentiments one encounters on the West Bank. I cannot possibly satisfy the ideologues and purists, and did not try.
Fourth, while too little of what I observed engendered optimism, it was a wonderful experience to immerse myself in this subject and to meet so many interesting, and often admirable, people. I have tried to do the help they gave me justice. But errors of fact and interpretation are inevitable and, where they occur, the responsibility is mine alone. I also note that for narrative purposes I have simplified the chronology of suicide bombings in relation to the military operations in Jenin, but not in a way that alters the assertion of the IDF that this operation was a reprisal for such bombings.
Finally, a word about events in the Middle East as of mid-July 2006. I finished writing Exile in mid-February 2006. Its geopolitical themes—the regional and nuclear ambitions of Iran; the rise of Hamas and the threat of fundamentalist domination of the Palestinian territories; the relationship between Iran, Syria, and Hamas; the role of Iran and Syria in promoting the actions of Hezbollah in Lebanon; and the exploitation of the plight of ordinary Palestinians by Iran and by extremists on all sides—prefigured, rather than reflected, the developments that followed. I make no claim to prophecy; the sad events in the first eight months of 2006 were utterly predictable, requiring me merely to interpolate a couple of lines about Lebanon to the final text. As so often in the past, extremists dictated the course of events, and while I hope publication of this book in January 2007 occurs in a materially better climate, I fear that it will not.
That said, I would like to thank all those who helped me.
In the early stages of the novel, I interviewed a number of Americans with special expertise in the geopolitics of Israel and the rest of the Middle East: Wolf Blitzer of CNN; former National Security Adviser Sandy Berger; former Secretary of Defense William Cohen; former Ambassador to Israel Martin Indyk; Dan Kurtzer, the ambassador to Israel at the time; terrorism expert Matt Leavitt; former Chief Middle East Peace Negotiator Dennis Ross; and Jim Bodner, Danny Sebright, Bob Tyrer, and Doug Wilson of the Cohen Group.
Other Americans helped me flesh out the legal, investigative, and security aspects of the story: Assistant District Attorney Al Giannini and Assistant United States Attorney Phil Kearney; former Assistant United States Attorney Martha Boersch, and defense lawyers Jim Collins and Doug Young. Former Deputy Attorney General Philip Heymann and Jeff Smith, formerly General Counsel of the CIA, enlightened me as to the ins and outs of litigation involving national security and classified information. United States District Judge Susan Illston generously helped me think through some of the thornier trial issues. Bob Huegly of Dignitary Protection for the San Francisco Police Department; Terry Samway, formerly of the Secret Service; Jeff Schlanger of Kroll and Associates; former FBI agent Rick Smith; and explosives expert Dino Zografos of the San Francisco Police Department contributed their insights on security and investigative matters. Special thanks to defense lawyer Dick Martin, formerly an assistant United States attorney, for his insights on many facets of the legal problems presented here.
I was fortunate to have the assistance of the Foreign Ministry of Israel in arranging interviews and he
lping to facilitate our very rewarding trip to Israel. Many thanks to Hamutal Rogel of the Foreign Ministry and, especially, David Siegel of the Israeli embassy in Washington, D.C., who creatively and tirelessly worked to share his perspectives and to open doors. The Israeli officials who were generous in sharing their knowledge included Ambassador Alan Baker, General Amos Gila’ad, General Yossi Kuperwasser, Minister of Housing Isaac Herzog; Ambassador Gideon Meier of the Israeli Foreign Ministry, and Judge Eliakim Rubinstein of the Supreme Court of Israel. It was a special privilege to visit with Vice Prime Minister Shimon Peres, twice prime minister of Israel.
Many thanks, as well, to the numerous other Israelis who enhanced my understanding: Abad Allawi, mayor of the divided town at Ghajur; retired admiral and peace advocate Ami Ayalon; educator Sundos Battah; fundamentalist settler Gershon Ferency; political and security expert Michael Herzog; writer Etgar Keret; Professor Moshe Ma’oz; Dahlia Rabin of the Rabin Institute; Professor Avi Ravitsky; journalist Meier Shalev; communications specialist Myra Siegel; and conservative writer Ariel Stav. I am especially gratified for the poignant accounts of survivors of victims of a suicide bombing in Haifa, two of whom not only lost their husbands and children, but were survivors of the bombing itself: Ron Carmit, Rachel Korin, and Nurit and Doran Menchel.
Finally, I want to thank two Israelis who became friends: Ron Edelheit, a wonderful translator, guide, and archaeological expert, whose knowledge and enthusiasm made historic and contemporary Israel equally alive, and Dr. Yossi Draznin, who not only contributed his expertise but commented on the manuscript.
I am just as grateful to those who brought the Palestinian experience into focus, both in America and during our travels on the West Bank: Akram, a community leader in Jenin; Nisreen Haj Ahmad and Zeinah Salahi of the Negotiations Support Unit of the PLO; Khader Alamour, community leader in the village of Atwani; Nidal Al-Azraq and Nidal Al-Azra, community leaders in the Aida refugee camp; Dr. Hanan Ashrawi, former spokeswoman for the PLO and now a member of the Palestinian legislature; conflicts resolution specialist Amjad Atallah; Muhammad Abu Hamad, Jenin commander of the Al Aqsa Martyrs Brigade; nonviolence advocate Sami Awad; Professor Wafa’a Darwish of Birzeit University; Yasser Darwish of Birzeit University; Faten Farhat of the Sakakini Institute; Said Hamad of the Palestinian Mission in Washington; skilled translator, observer, and guide Ibrahim Jaber; businessman Majdi Khalil and lawyer Jonathan Kuttab, who shared their observations and experiences of detention; businessman and investor Zahi Khouri; guide Issa Loussei; Nabil Mohamad, who vividly described his experiences during the tragedy at Sabra and Shatila; Amer Rahal, who ministers to disabled children in Jenin; Iyad Rdeinah of the Holy Land Trust; guide, translator, and activist George Rishmawi; Basima Zaroor of Jenin; and Reem Al-Hashimy of the embassy of the United Arab Emirates, who was wonderfully evocative in helping me imagine the characters. Thanks also to Kristin Anderson, Diane Janzen, and Kathie Uhler of the Christian Peacemaker Teams, who introduced us to the village of Atwani.
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