by Noah Beck
“Sir, I assumed that we would need to have at least a two-thirds majority, with everyone voting yes or no, and no abstentions allowed,” Yisrael said.
“So we keep voting until you like the outcome? That’s not democracy – that’s a dictatorship,” Daniel replied.
“For a decision to take the lives of millions of innocent people, I think raising the level of consensus required to take such an action is the least we can do. It’s too important a question to be decided by a simple majority – especially if almost fifteen percent of the crewmembers didn’t even take a position.”
Daniel would need to summon all of his humor to avoid losing his patience with the pertinacious hold-out: “How ironic that the sailor who bears the name of the state he swore to defend, a state that has now been massively attacked, so persistently opposes the last act in its honor – an act that surely divine justice itself requires.”
“It’s not ironic at all, Sir. If anything, I’m being true to the spirit of my name. Yisrael means ‘He who struggles with God.’”
Ambesah added his support: “Yes, struggling against a superior power to save lives is a long Jewish tradition, going back to the very first Jew, Abraham. He negotiated with God about how many righteous people he needed to find before God would spare Sodom. Abraham brought the number down from fifty to ten.”
Michael spoke more cynically: “Maybe there’s really no God left for anyone to wrestle with, if his so-called chosen people were twice chosen for annihilation.”
By now Samir’s patience with the protracted process was near its end: “You were appropriately named Yisrael because there’s always gotta be some smartass in the State of Israel who thinks he knows better than everyone else. That’s the problem with Israel’s leadership and its political system, and now with its submarine.”
Michael agreed: “Samir’s right. The Jews are their own worst enemy. Always divided. How did a country with just seven million people end up with more than a dozen political parties? Because there’s always some asshole who thinks he’s smarter or more principled than everyone else, so he goes off and starts his own party, thinking that he should be making all the decisions. And in the process, he wastes resources, cripples the system, and confuses everyone – the world media commenting on the conflict, the Israelis who must live with their country’s endless divisions, and now the submariners in this boat who can’t decide what to do about Iran.”
Yisrael rejoined: “You can compare me all you like to the Israeli political system but it’s no longer relevant. The system that gave all of us the power to kill millions of people no longer exists. All that matters now is our own conscience as human beings trying to do the right thing. And all I’m asking is that every person make a final yes or no decision and that we have a stronger consensus than a simple majority.”
Daniel finally acceded to his demand: “OK. We’ll go with a two-thirds majority rule, with no abstentions allowed. So if on the next and final vote there are twenty-three in favor of an attack, then the collective will on this submarine will have determined that we attack. Otherwise, we don’t attack. Is that procedure fair and democratic enough for you?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And you will accept the outcome – whatever it is – without any more procedural arguments or other objections?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“OK, so that’s what we’ll do. There are still about 150 kilometers and 12 hours for each of you to consider your position. I know that you’re tired of thinking about what may seem like an impossible decision but I ask you to use these last hours wisely – especially the five men who abstained just now. Early tomorrow morning, probably sometime between midnight and 0200 hours, depending on surface traffic and other conditions, we’ll rise to periscope depth and make one last attempt to communicate with headquarters. Then we’ll take the final vote that will determine what we do. Those who are off-duty now can break for dinner.”
Chapter 34: Evolving Votes and Post-Armageddon
Burned out from mulling massive matters of life and death, most of the crewmembers sitting in the three different eating areas used their dinner time to give their brains a rest, and spoke little or tried to engage only in small talk during their meal. But in one of the areas seating six people, the submariners finished their meal and then lingered for the talk that ensued because some of them were openly undecided.
“I still can’t make up my mind, but I’m leaning towards a no,” Jacob said. “Were you also one of the five undecided votes?” he asked Boutrous.
“I was. But I know my vote now. I’m in favor of an attack.”
“What changed your mind?” Ambesah asked.
“I’ve thought about a lot of the points that were made. And I’ve also been thinking about the issue in terms of the big picture.”
“Wh…What do you m…mean?” Zvi asked.
“I mean the history of religions in this region, and things like that. As you know, I come from a family of proud Christians. And I was raised hearing all about how Christianity was the major religion of the Middle East for hundreds of years.”
“Rr…Really?”
“Yes,” Yisrael confirmed. “Christians were the dominant religion in the Middle East from the fourth century until the Muslim conquests of the 7th century.”
“Exactly. And we went from about 20% of the Middle East population in the early 1900s to about 2% today.”
“How did that happen?” Jacob asked.
“We have much lower birth rates than Muslims. But it’s also because of fierce persecution that leads so many to leave for places where Christians are treated better: the Americas, Europe, Australia.”
“Maybe they just want better economic opportunities,” Jacob suggested.
“That’s definitely a factor too. But remember that this is often linked to being a minority in Muslim majority countries, which can make it harder to get hired or promoted. The main cause, though, is that in most of the Muslim-dominated Middle East, the Christians are powerless and subject to discrimination. My dad always talks about how tough things are for the Copts in Egypt, and how, in general, the Christian population in the Middle East is severely shrinking every year.”
“All of that may be true,” Yisrael replied, “but why would that convince you to support an attack on Iran?”
“Because if the only non-Muslim state in the entire Middle East can be destroyed so easily, then there is no hope for any non-Muslim minorities anywhere in the Middle East. They will become that much more powerless.”
“Ww…What are the other rr-religious minorities in…in the M-M-Middle East? I know about the Alawites in Syria…And the Bahá'í. Our family visited their b…beautiful headquarters in Haifa…Oh, and…And of course, there are the…the Druze.”
“Indeed, we have one on this boat with us – even if he doesn’t like me much these days,” Yisrael observed lightly.
“I think you and Samir just have some personality clashes that were aggravated by this situation, and what we should do about it,” Ambesah explained. Yisrael smiled and shrugged unflappably.
“S…So what other rr-religious minorities are th-there?”
“There are many,” Yisrael explained. “But you don’t hear about them much because of their frail numbers. You have Yazidi and Yarsanism. And there’s Shabakism and Zoroastrianism,” Yisrael replied. “There are others but those are the ones I know about.”
“It’s amazing that you never hear about all of these religious minorities in our region,” Michael chimed in.
“Yes. And there’s something terribly unfair and wrong about that,” Boutrous replied. “Why should so many people have to practice their faith in fear? And under conditions that make their population shrink more each year?”
Ambesah interjected: “I think you may be overstating things a little, Boutrous. The largest Jewish community in the Middle East outside of Israel is actually in Iran. There are about 20,000 Jews living there.”
Yisrael corrected Ambes
ah: “That was back in 2010. Their numbers fell to about half of that by 2012. Although one of them is actually a member of the Iranian parliament there.”
Michael was unimpressed: “So Iran has a token Jew in parliament and a fast-dwindling Jewish community of 10,000 out of about 75 million. If that’s the best you can come up with for the rights of religious minorities in the entire Middle East, then Boutrous won this argument.” He was surprised to find that he, a Russian-Israeli, was on the same side of this debate as an Arab-Israeli.
“But they’re the majority religion in this region, so what do you expect?” Yisrael asked rhetorically. “And you guys talk as if having a Muslim-majority state is necessarily a bad thing. But let’s not forget the many Muslim contributions to the world – and I’m not just talking about chess. The fields of architecture, science, math, art and many other areas wouldn’t be the same without Islamic civilization.”
Boutrous replied: “Yes, but why should Islamic laws and customs control everyone’s lives in this region?” he asked rhetorically. “It’s not like Muslims have any more right to be here than any other group or religion. As I said, they weren’t even the first religious group to live in the Middle East. And they grew to be so large and powerful mostly by military conquest and high birth rates. So why should the minorities in this region all have to live in powerless fear under Muslim domination?”
Michael chimed in: “Or atheists like me who don’t want to live under any kind of religious state – including the rules that religious Jews impose on me in Israel.”
Ambesah felt the need to correct Michael a bit: “The religious parties may have too much power in Israel, but you could still live a very secular life in places like Tel-aviv. And I’m sure there are secular cities like that in other Middle Eastern countries.”
Yisrael disagreed with Ambesah: “I’m not so sure about that. You heard what Bao said. Being openly gay in any other country in the Middle East is probably not a good idea.”
Boutrous continued. “Anyway, for me, if we hit Iran back for destroying our country, that would give Middle East minorities a kind of morale boost. They would know that at least one other non-Muslim minority wasn’t afraid, even with its last breath, to stand up to the fanatic Islamic bully represented by Iran.”
“But again, it’s not Iran, it’s the Iranian regime,” Yisrael objected.
“I know,” Boutrous said. “We’ve debated that point a lot and I’ve thought about it even more. So I get it. And in the end, I agree with what Daniel said about how the fortune of individuals is often tied unfairly to their state. We can see this sad truth from our own state, where we don’t even know if there are any individuals left in it. And they died only because their fate was unfairly tied to the State of Israel.”
Michael replied: “So that was the argument from Daniel that changed your mind?”
“Well, it’s sort of related. He was talking about the fortune of individuals being tied to states, and I’m thinking about how the fortunes of minorities might be tied to the decision we’re making.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just as our nuclear missile strike might be unfair to all of the innocent Iranians who will be killed, letting Iran get away with the mass murder of a non-Muslim minority will be unfair not just to that minority, but also to all of the other, even weaker non-Muslim minorities in the Middle East.”
Jacob seemed impressed: “I hadn’t really thought about it like that. You can just imagine what will happen in Lebanon if Iran gets away with destroying Israel: Hezbollah will complete its takeover of that state and the Christians will probably have to flee a bloodbath there.”
“And it could get even worse for the Copts in Egypt and the Christians in Iraq,” Boutrous pointed out.
“I’m not so sure about Lebanon,” Yisrael said. “If in fact our country was hit with nuclear warheads, then Lebanon could be too busy dealing with radiation problems to fight over religion.”
“Maybe,” Boutrous conceded. “Or maybe those radiation problems will only aggravate the religious and ethnic tensions because different parties will be blamed for the disaster. And remember that the disaster will make certain resources – like drinkable water – scarcer, and that will in turn lead to more conflict.”
“That’s a fair point,” Yisrael conceded. But neither he nor Ambesah looked closer to changing his mind on the basic issue at hand.
Ambesah suddenly remembered something he had wanted to discuss earlier: “Speaking of radiation problems, what’s our plan for the day after tomorrow?”
“What do you mean?” Jacob asked.
“I mean, what are we doing after we decide to attack or not attack?”
“It’s funny, I hadn’t even thought about that.”
Yisrael answered as the deputy captain: “We have fuel and provisions for another twenty-five days, maybe twenty-eight, if we stretch things a little. If we risk it and surface more often so that we increase our average speed, that could save us a few days. But at some point, we’ll probably have to stop in a friendly harbor for more fuel and provisions before we can make it back home.”
“You just said a strange word,” Michael replied.
“Indeed, I don’t know if we can really call it ‘home’ anymore,” Boutrous replied. “We have no idea what’s waiting for us there.”
“Going back home could mean death from starvation because there’s no more functioning agriculture or economy,” Ambesah reasoned. “Not to mention clean water.”
Jacob added his own gloomy forecast: “By the time we get home, the entire territory could already be overrun and conquered by neighboring Arab armies, competing to see who gets to claim the former Israeli territory as their own.”
“I still prefer to die in the land where I was born,” Michael said defiantly. “There’s no better country to host my grave at this point. And who knows? Maybe before that I can somehow find and help a relative or a friend who’s still alive.”
Yisrael was doubtful: “The possibility of any of us finding or helping anyone before it’s too late seems impossibly remote. The soonest we could get back would be two to three weeks from now, depending on how much we want to risk rising for more air to increase our average sailing speed. And let’s not forget that Egypt will probably deny us access through the Suez Canal now that the whole region fears Iran so much more. So that would add a few more months to our travel time.”
Jacob thought of a possible workaround to the Suez problem: “Couldn’t we in theory dock in the Gulf of Aqaba and make our way up by land?”
“Through the desert with no supplies and no bus service or anything to transport us about 300 kilometers through a post-apocalyptic wasteland with nothing but scavengers and marauders along the way?” Yisrael asked rhetorically. “I’m not sure how much better that would be. In any case, by the time we get back to Haifa – regardless of which route we choose – it’s virtually certain that the area formerly known as the State of Israel would become the twenty-third Arab Muslim state in the Middle East.”
“We might have to disembark somewhere in this neighborhood and do what we can to survive,” Ambesah said.
“What do you mean?” Jacob asked.
“Well, if we actually decide to fire nuclear weapons at Iran, do you think there’ll still be any friendly harbors that will let us resupply our fuel and food?” Ambesah asked.
“I don’t really care at this point,” Boutrous said. “I think what happens to us at this point is totally secondary to the bigger decision we have to make.”
“I certainly agree with you about that,” Yisrael said. “Even if I disagree with you about what that decision should be.”
Michael shared his dark reflections: “I think it’s inevitable that we will all die very soon – either because of external events affecting our sub, or because we decide on collective suicide, or because we get home and then die or kill ourselves there. It doesn’t really matter at this point – there’s not much left to live fo
r now anyway.”
Ambesah gently explained his disagreement: “No, we must always choose life. We must rebuild. If not in Israel, then somewhere else.”
“Where? In Brooklyn?” Michael quipped impatiently, looking at Jacob.
“There are a lot of Jews there,” Jacob replied with a smile.
“You guys are ridiculous,” Michael said, shaking his head. “We should just kill ourselves and get it over with, after we do the last meaningful thing that we can do.”
“No, Michael. Jewish law forbids suicide. Even in a terrible time like this. We must always choose life.”
“Who gives a shit about Jewish law at this point?” Michael retorted. “Do you think God could punish us any more than we’ve already been punished?”
Chapter 35: When the Sirens Went Off
Ambesah’s wife Yardena was eager to meet her brother-in-law’s new girlfriend. She was delighted to hear that Sanbeto had finally met a non-Ethiopian interested in dating him and was curious to meet the woman. So when the doorbell to her Haifa apartment rang, she jumped to answer the door before even her barking Pekingese puppy or two children could get to it.
“Hush, Koko! It’s fine,” she said to the family dog, quieting him down.
“Hi Yardena. Shabbat shalom,” Sanbeto said.
“Shabbat shalom, Sanbeto. Welcome.”
“This is my girlfriend, Orly.”
“It’s great to meet you, Orly. I’m glad you two found each other – but don’t let him get you into trouble,” Yardena teased.
“Oh, if anything, I’m the one getting him into trouble,” Orly replied.
“Definitely,” agreed Sanbeto, with a chuckle. “Tell her how we met.”
“Wait, come in first. We don’t charge you for sitting down,” she joked, as they followed her into Ambesah’s home. There were fresh fruits and roasted nuts waiting for them on the coffee table in front of the living room sofa, where they plopped themselves down. Ambesah’s two young children, Adi and Tikva, loitered about, trying to decide how long they wanted to listen in on the conversation.
