“You haven’t been to Tel Aviv for so long, you won’t recognize it. It’s our city, ours alone, so different from Jerusalem . . .”
“But you were born here . . . Tel Aviv is a new city, whereas Jerusalem . . . I couldn’t live anywhere else . . . ,” Miriam argued.
“This city is so oppressive, you don’t realize that until you leave. Mikhail and I are so much happier since we’ve left for Tel Aviv, we should have gone earlier. And a change would do you good. I would like it so much if you came with us . . . I miss you, Auntie.”
“It was foolhardy of you to come. The Arabs are in charge of the highway. We weren’t able to come directly because it would have meant risking our lives, and even so they still shot at us. It was a miracle that we escaped unharmed,” Louis said, in no way convinced that Miriam should come with them.
“And I would have more peace of mind if you stayed in Jerusalem. I don’t want you to put yourself in danger,” Mikhail added.
But Yasmin did not seem to hear them. She abandoned the possibility of staying in Jerusalem, she repeated that the city stifled her, and kept on saying that her Aunt Miriam should come with them.
“If we were able to come, then we will be able to get back,” she said, untouched by any argument to the contrary.
“We will have to go a very long way round, I don’t even know if we will be able to use the same road, and it would be mad to drive through Kastel.” Louis did not hide the fact that he was worried.
Yasmin was not going to give up, so she insisted that Miriam go with them if she were crazy enough to accept the invitation.
Ezekiel saw his mother hesitating and encouraged her to go with Yasmin.
“My cousin is right, you haven’t left Hope Orchard for a very long time, a change would do you good. I promise that we’ll be able to get along without you for a few days,” he joked. “Also, Louis and Mikhail will make sure that nothing happens.”
“And may I go as well?” Sara’s request surprised them.
Sara had never shown any desire to go anywhere. She seemed happy at Hope Orchard. Ezekiel and she had married very recently, so they were a little confused and found themselves unable to reply to her request. It was Yasmin who took the initiative.
“Of course you can come! You will know a Jewish city, Jewish and nothing else, the first Jewish city in the world. You will like it. We have a lot of friends and you will be able to breathe freely there.”
Louis and Mikhail looked at each other in alarm and hoped that Ezekiel would refuse to allow Sara to go with them. But Ezekiel did not dare disappoint her, in fact he told her that he would like it very much if she were to go and look after his mother. And so Miriam was convinced to go as well.
Louis carried on telling them that this was not a holiday.
“It’s dangerous. They will shoot at us.”
But Miriam and Sara said that they were willing to take the risk. In fact, they seemed enthusiastic at the idea of going on this journey. It was mid-morning when they left. Mikhail was driving. They had to meet up with another group that was trying to get to Tel Aviv, and members of the Haganah would escort them. Ben would be among them.
“I don’t know if it’s a good idea for your wife and your mother to come with us,” Louis said to Ezekiel. “We took enough of a risk coming here, and we put Yasmin’s life at risk as well, and all for a wedding . . .”
Ezekiel was worried by what Louis said, but he trusted him to keep them safe. He had thought of him as a hero ever since he was a little boy, and if there was anyone into whose hands he felt safe putting his wife and mother, it was Louis. He was also pleased that Ben would be a part of the escort.
A man came to Hope Orchard in the evening. Marinna was in the garden and went over to greet him. Ezekiel had not come home yet and Igor was going over the accounts of the farm when he heard Marinna start to scream. Igor ran out and found the man holding Marinna and trying to calm her down. He ran over to him and pushed him away from his wife. The man did not protest and merely repeated the words he had just told to Marinna.
The group that had tried to get to Tel Aviv had been attacked by a band of twenty Arabs. A bullet had burst one of the tires of Mikhail’s car. He spun off the road. He lost control of the car, which flipped over twice before it started to burn. All its occupants had died. The drivers and passengers of the other two vehicles had been saved, although two of them had been wounded. The Haganah fighters had repelled the attack. Ben was badly wounded. They had taken him to a hospital where he was now fighting for his life.
As Marinna told Mohammed what had happened, Ezekiel kept silent and Salma burst into tears.
Mohammed didn’t know what to say or what to do. He had been worried to see Marinna and Ezekiel both coming. Obviously something important that was bringing her to his house, and now she was here, her face twisted from crying so much as she explained that her son Ben’s life hung from a thread and that Ezekiel had lost all that remained to him in this life, his mother and his wife.
Wädi was not at home. He had gone to Haifa after the wedding as Anisa’s grandmother lived there and she was too old to attend the ceremony. They would be back in four or five days and this made Mohammed feel more alone than ever. He put his arms around Marinna and Ezekiel as he tried to find the words to express the pain that he felt in his gut at that moment. He thought that his nephew Rami might have been one of the men who attacked the convoy in which Miriam and Sara were traveling. Suddenly the war had appeared in its true colors, desperate to take lives. He, who had fought in the past, knew this all too well.
He looked at Ezekiel, feeling responsible for him. He was Samuel’s son and he could not leave him to his fate. He had lost too many people to be able to bear it without help. He would have liked to tell him that any enemy of his was also an enemy of his own, that they would go out together to kill them, but he couldn’t. Ezekiel’s enemies were his enemies, and his own nephew was among them, and his own son, Wädi, would surely be so soon.
Salma and Mohammed insisted on going to the hospital where Igor was waiting motionless for some doctor to tell him that his son was going to recover.
Igor leapt to his feet when he saw Salma and Mohammed and cast a glance at his wife to reproach her for having dared to allow the Ziads to come with her. Aya fell into Marinna’s arms and their sobs were so intense that they were soon a single wail.
The following days were a nightmare. They buried Louis, and Miriam, and Sara, and Yasmin, and Mikhail; and Ezekiel cried as if he were a lost boy. Wädi had come back for the funeral and nothing could stop him from being by his friend’s side. Some of their friends were looking angrily at the Ziads, not understanding how they could bring themselves to come to the funeral. How dare they? But neither Mohammed nor Wädi took any notice of these angry glares. Nothing and nobody could stop them from helping Ezekiel Zucker.
“At least I can go to my mother’s grave to weep for her. I have nowhere to go to mourn my father and my sister, unless I go to Auschwitz where a few wisps of their ashes may be floating around still,” Ezekiel murmured to Wädi, and his friend could do little more than shudder.
After the burial, Ezekiel asked for everyone to leave him alone. He needed silence to be able to come back to himself, so he went back to Hope Orchard and refused even to speak to Wädi.
Marinna and Igor spent all day and all night at the foot of Ben’s bed. He had not regained consciousness. The doctors did not give him much hope. “If he recovers,” they said, “then he won’t be the same.” But he didn’t recover. They buried him a week later.
Marinna had grown suddenly old, unable to deal with the loss of her son. Mohammed would have held her in his arms but he could only try to tell her by looking at her how much he, too, was suffering for her. He barely exchanged a word with Igor, just shook hands with him briefly. Aya ignored every reproving look and stayed by Marinna’s side, holding
her hand, wiping away her tears. For Aya, Marinna was more than a sister, she had loved her since they were children together.
When the ceremony was over, Ezekiel went over to Mohammed and asked him to stay behind for a moment.
“Tell me, do you still think that there are times in life when the only way to save yourself is by dying, or killing?”
Mohammed felt all his muscles grow tense, and all his nerves set themselves on edge. The only thing he could do was tell him what he really felt. He owed it to Samuel, he owed it to Ezekiel himself.
“Yes, I do. There are moments in one’s life where there is no other option if you want to live without losing all respect for yourself. I will understand whatever you do.”
Mohammed asked himself if Ezekiel and Marinna knew that Rami was one of the members of al-Husseini’s band, whose mission was to stop Jews traveling between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. If he did, then Ezekiel might decide to go to find Rami and take his revenge. He shuddered to think of the fate that might befall his own nephew, but also of what might happen to Ezekiel.
“Father, what can we do?” Wädi asked him as soon as they returned home.
“There is no turning back now.” Mohammed’s reply was filled with bitterness.
“There has to be a way to avoid all this suffering,” Wädi insisted.
“People like us only have one job, to fulfill roles written by other people. No one cares what we think or what we feel. The people who can decide have made their decision, and it would be useless to try to make them change their minds. The British have betrayed us once more, and the UN has ratified this treason. We can do nothing more than fight for our rights, for our homes, for our families.”
Salma and Anisa listened in silence. They knew the immense pain that their husbands were feeling.
Mohammed did not dare arrange a meeting with Marinna to tell her that he shared the pain she felt, which was tearing her apart. He imagined her alone, lost at Hope Orchard, with Igor caught up in his own pain and Ezekiel in his. Salma did not dare go either, for fear of not being welcome. Anisa pressured Wädi to go see Ezekiel and tell him that he could count on him.
“I cannot lie to him, and what would happen if he told me that he wanted to take revenge on the people who shot at Louis’s car? Could I go with him to kill Rami? My father is right, we can no longer choose.”
On the night of April 2, 1948, the Palmach, the elite unit of the Haganah, attacked Kastel. They were fulfilling Ben-Gurion’s order to prepare for Operation Nachshon, whose objective was to make travel between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem possible, and the highway passable. They achieved their aim.
Rami complained about the lack of troops and equipment. He had survived the attack by the Haganah but his pride was injured.
“Al-Husseini came back from Damascus with his hands empty after trying to convince the heads of the Arab Liberation Army to give us more heavy artillery and more men. All that he achieved was for Ismail Safwat to insult him and say that he should take back Kastel or hand control over to Fawzi al-Qawuqji.”
“I told you that the Syrians, the Egyptians, the Iraqis, they all have their own interests,” Wädi reminded him.
“Well, it will be their fault if we lose Palestine, that is what Abd el-Qadir al-Husseini said.”
“And do you think that in the future people will remember that their indolence was treasonable?” Mohammed asked.
“We will take Kastel back. We will not allow the Jews to take an Arab village for themselves. We will throw them out, whatever it takes. That is why I have come, because we need men, it’s time for you to fight alongside us.” Rami looked straight at Wädi.
“You want to take back Kastel with few men and fewer weapons . . . Shouldn’t you wait?” Mohammed was afraid for his son and his nephew.
“We are a group of nearly three hundred men and we also have three British soldiers who don’t agree with their country’s policy. We don’t have enough weapons, but even so Abd al-Qadir al-Husseini has decided that we attack tomorrow.”
“I will go with you,” Wädi said, and Rami hugged his cousin in gratitude. Mohammed did not dare argue with his son.
Wädi said goodbye to Anisa, explaining briefly what he was going to do. She didn’t argue with him either, as she felt proud of his determination. The loss of Kastel had demoralized the Palestinian Arabs and it was a question of honor to recover the village, so no one could argue with her husband’s decision.
Abd al-Qadir al-Husseini explained to his men that they would attack from three fronts and chose the commanders of each detachment. Rami and Wädi would have liked to have fought together, but al-Husseini, with good judgment, separated them.
It was ten o’clock in the evening on April 7, 1948, when the attack began. Al-Husseini’s men and those of the Haganah were equally ferocious. Body to body, hand to hand, they fought for that strategic enclave. Fate toyed with both groups, and the Jews were about to declare victory when two minutes later it was the Arabs who were thinking they were the winners.
Morning was breaking when fate opted for the Haganah. Abd al-Qadir al-Husseini and the men under his command were routed and about to lose the battle. But the balance of the fight changed once again. Five hundred men arrived to reinforce Abd al-Qadir al-Husseini’s forces and on the afternoon of April 8 they managed to snatch a victory from what had seemed like certain defeat. When they finally took control of Kastel, hundreds of sighs of relief mixed with the warm spring air. They had taken prisoner more than fifty members of the Haganah. They were enjoying their success. But their sweet victory all too soon changed into a nightmare. On the field of battle lay the body of Abd al-Qadir al-Husseini. When the news went round, his men made a bloody decision—they assassinated the fifty Haganah prisoners and mutilated their corpses.
“May Allah pardon you for profaning the dead,” Mohammed murmured as he heard Wädi describe the details of the battle.
Salam and Anisa stayed very quiet, deeply shocked by what they were hearing.
Mohammed and Wädi went to the funeral of Abd al-Qadir al-Husseini, a man mourned by all the Palestinian Arabs. Jerusalem seemed to be paralyzed in saying farewell to this man whom everyone respected. But the pain they felt at the death of their general would soon pale before the pain they would feel for another massacre that was about to take place.
Dawn had not yet broken when a group of men approached Deir Yassin surreptitiously. Aya was lighting the fire and Yusuf was carrying out his morning ablutions. Rami and his wife Shayla were still asleep. Aya gave thanks to Allah for having returned her son safe after the battle in Kastel, and there was nothing to suggest that this would be anything other than a normal day.
The shouts and screams alarmed them. Men, women and children. Aya opened the door and shuddered. She saw men throwing grenades into houses and shooting indiscriminately at everyone who appeared, even children and the elderly. They destroyed everything they found in their way.
Aya shut the door with a scream. Yusuf and Rami came running immediately.
“Noor’s house is on fire!” Aya wanted to go to the house where her daughter and son-in-law lived.
Rami had seen what was happening through the window and ordered his wife and his mother to run toward Ain Karim, the closest village and one where a unit of the Arab Liberation Army was stationed. The British police patrolled the outskirts, so they asked them to go for help while they tried to face up to this group of armed demons, who killed without pity, children and women and the elderly.
For all that Aya insisted in tears that she would not leave until she had seen if Noor was alright, her son and her husband were firm. They left the house and ran without looking back, hearing the desperate cries of their neighbors. Other women joined them as they ran. Aya slipped and fell, knocking her head against a stone. She lost consciousness. Shayla tried to make her stand up, but Aya’s body was slumped, inert. Shayla d
ragged her, dragged her over the stones, pulling her body to try to get her to safety until she felt a sharp pain in her chest. She did not know what it was, but she carried on dragging Aya. She could scarcely breathe when she reached Ain Karim, her knees buckled and she fell to the ground.
Brother Agustín told Wädi how a group of the men who had attacked Deir Yassin had dragged survivors of the massacre to the Jewish Quarter of Jerusalem. They publicly humiliated them, then let them go.
That dawn whole families died, victims of the gunmen who turned out to be members of the Irgun and Lehi. For all that Ben-Gurion and the Haganah tried to wash their hands of what had happened and to publicly condemn the massacre, the infamy of the action would always be remembered.
Mohammed wept by his sister Aya’s bedside. The nurse said that she should be left to rest, but Mohammed refused to leave her. Yusuf and Rami were hovering between life and death. Shayla had died. Noor and her husband Emad had managed to save themselves, but Emad had decided not to spend a single day more in Jerusalem and, in spite of Noor’s tears, they moved across the Jordan River. They would be safe in Abdullah’s kingdom.
Anisa was with Salma in the hospital corridor when she saw Marinna walking toward them decidedly. Wädi was talking to the doctors, so she decided that it should be she who faced Marinna.
“I want to see Aya.” Marinna’s eyes and voice would not admit contradiction, but even so Anisa tried to stop her.
“She’s unconscious. You cannot visit her. We would prefer to be left alone. Shayla has just died, and Rami and Yusuf are unlikely to recover. Thank you for your concern, you have done your duty toward us, but I would prefer it if you left.”
“I will not leave without seeing Aya,” and pushed open the door to the room where her friend was dying.
Mohammed saw her but did not get up. He didn’t feel that he could say anything. She came up to the bed and took one of Aya’s hands, then stroked her face and stood next to the bed in silence.
Shoot Me, I'm Already Dead Page 84
