by Rose Fox
“This happened four years ago on Allenby Street in Tel Aviv. Twenty seven Israelis died in this attack.”
Another picture of a man appeared in the corner of the photograph of the bus and Haim, speaking in a dry, automatic voice, said,
“This is Abed el-Hussaini, who was responsible for this attack. The man was identified by one of the survivors, after he reawakened from a week-long coma. The injured man remembered that he sat beside him on the bus and got off at the stop before the explosion.” The reporter added,
“Abed received twenty seven life sentences and is also included in the list of prisoners whose release is sought by Walid-el-Allah.”
The camera scanned thousands of additional names in long, unending columns.
“These are just two out of three thousand murderers, terrorists and failed suicide bombers imprisoned in Israel,” Haim commented.
To conclude the dismal report, the voice of the spokesman of the armed wing of Abbas was heard. The spokesman’s face, which was covered in black with holes for his eyes and his mouth, spoke confidently.
“This is a fair deal. Every day that passes without a decision, will increase the price and toughen the stand of our righteous organization.”
Leila sat listening to this broadcast in the large black tent. She covered her lips with trembling fingers as she followed the thousands of names and suddenly cried out,
“Yah, good God! At long last there’s a price for my Naima!” She shook her head back, clapped her hands.
“Wonderful! Now, all that’s left to do is open the prison gates and return them to their cursed families. The main thing is that they give Naima back to me.”
Yosef sat beside her, looking thoughtful. “Wow, that scoundrel got twenty seven life sentences. Now there’s a chance they’ll release him after only four years in prison. Not a bad deal at all. What’s there to talk about and what’s to be said?”
“Hey Yosef, but they have to, do we have any choice? How can we release Naima?!” Leila wondered about what her husband had said, and shouted at the TV screen:
“In the name of Allah and his prophet, why are you all making such a big fuss about this?!”
Her son, Adel, interrupted and moved her fingers that were still covering her mouth.
“Really! ya’Ummi! (My mother)! Does that seem like the right idea? I tell you, it’s an idiotic idea.”
“What’s idiotic about it?” Leila cried out bitterly.
“What’s smart about these three thousand prisoners getting out? They’ll abduct whatever they can get their hands on; they’ll kill soldiers, murder and bomb everywhere. It will never stop.”
“But there’s no choice!” Leila stared at her son, her eyes wide open. She was unable to listen to or grasp his intention.
“You know what? That will encourage them to carry on killing. Have you thought of that?”
“What?! What are you actually saying to me?!" Leila screamed hoarsely.
“I’m saying that it’s untenable. It’s illogical and it’s immoral.”
“Immoral?!" Leila yelled. She got to her feet, her black eyes burning as she screamed at him:
“I don’t believe you are my son! How can you analyze it like that! How can you dismiss the idea that? How can you twist every story?” Her voice lowered in volume a little when she said:
“My first born son has gone mad!”
Adel lowered his gaze and stared down at the ground.
“Great Allah, what’s happening here?! I don’t believe that I gave birth to you and your sister, Naima; that you were born from my womb! Go away, you are not my son and I am not your mother!”
“Okay, calm down!”
“Is this how you are trying to calm me down?!”
“Ummi, (my mother), be realistic for a moment. Do you believe that anyone really intends to release three thousand prisoners like them tomorrow?”
“What?! What you’re saying now makes me very angry, if that is correct. Because, if it is, how will your sister get back to us?!”
“It’s all a matter of time, it’s all negotiable, Ummi, it’s simply a matter of business.”
“Business? Is my daughter the merchandise?” she asked without waiting for an answer.
She sat down and spoke again.
“Who does it depend on now?”
“Let the important people argue and manage the business of releasing our Naima.”
“Then I’m going to tell you something. I am Naima’s mother and it really doesn’t matter to me whether they uphold their policy and it doesn’t matter to me if it’s called business or negotiation.”
She raised her voice again and his gaze hung in midair. She was now almost blind with anger.
“I don’t care if they release all the prisoners in all the prisons in Israel! For all I am concerned, they can all go to hell because all I care about is that they bring Naima back to me!!”
Adel kept silent and nodded his head. Clearly anything he said now would be a waste of breath. He listened to what his mother said, lowering his head and pursed his lips.
“I can’t grasp how you can understand those people jabbering there? How can you see anyone beyond Naima, your sister? I want her back here, right now!!”
He maintained his silence. His head was still spinning with the lists of thousands of prisoners that were being demanded for his sister, but at the same time, he could not look into the tortured eyes of his mother or confront her.
* * *
The following morning a car drew up at the encampment and a few minutes later a curly head peeped in through the entrance of the tent. It was Sharif.
He was invited to sit with the men. Adel and Yosef observed the young man, who sat cross-legged in front of them and waited in silence. Sharif lowered his gaze in order to express his sympathy with them in their time of trouble and they lowered their gaze in appreciation.
The clinking of cups was heard nearby and Yosef rose to go to the entrance and take the coffee tray from Nadia, Naim’s youngest daughter. The round tray had small cups surrounding the covered steaming finjan of coffee. Nadia glanced at Sharif and greeted him with a smile. Two toddlers pulled at her skirts and stared, eyes wide open with curiosity, at what was going on around them. Nadia had also come to join the tribe on this day in order to be close to her aunt Leila, who had withdrawn into the depths of her grief.
Silence reigned. The only sound was the sipping of coffee. Still seated, Sharif moved forward without changing his posture. He had not only come to participate in their troubles, but also in order to plan and work on something. But first, he was obliged to complete the customary greetings and preliminary conversations.
“Kif Halak? (What's up)?”
“Don’t you see? There’s nothing to be done, it’s the will of Allah,” was the set answer, accompanied with a sigh.
“Has anything changed?!" Sharif continued.
“Nothing,” Adel answered.
Yosef regarded him with interest. “ya’Habibi, (my dear), what are you doing, these days?”
“I can’t do a thing because I’ve been too lost in thought and filled with regret these days.” Sharif replied.
“Like all of us, so what’s to be done?” Adel wondered.
“No, ya’Yosef, I am especially pained because of Judge Adam. He is like a father to me, you know,” Sharif said and stared deeply into the eyes of the two men facing him. He wanted to check whether they understood what he meant and what he was saying.
“Of course, sure.” They both answered and Sharif realized that they didn’t understand a thing and that neither of them really knew the depth of his sorrow.
Sharif had been Judge Adam’s protégé for many years, since he was only sixteen years old and worked in Yigal’s restaurant, there in Florentine. He had become his devoted assistant and was prepared to give his life for him. He loved him like a son loves his father. Now, that Adam had been caught by the Iranian organization he was beside himself. He wanted to do somethi
ng to help but realized that there wasn’t very much he could do on his own.
He had spent the past few days wondering about the direction his life was taking and that was why he came to visit Abigail’s encampment. He thought he might succeed in moving things and it was important to get the family’s blessing. He hoped to draw strength here as well as get some advice and encouragement. He looked at them and decided to begin dealing with what he had come for.
“Our Adam and Abigail have been taken hostage and have to be released and brought home,” he said and knew that his remarks sounded as though they were out of touch with reality.
“You’re right, Sharif. But, who can release them and bring them home?
“What about us, perhaps? Or me?
Both Adel and Yosef gazed at him and then at one another.
“Let’s hear what you had in mind, Sharif,” Yosef inquired
“Something clandestine, of course. Look, if we don’t do something, who will do anything?”
Adel and Yosef laughed and Sharif stared at them. He didn’t feel they were making fun of him but their laughter told him that they were amused by what he was saying.
“Let’s say we agree to act, who knows where they are? Where do we go?” Yosef asked.
“It’s just talk,” Adel said
Sharif looked at them and his gaze moved from one to the other. He was filled with ambition but didn’t know how to enlist their participation because it was clear to him that only if was able to convince them of his unbending determination, would he be able to get their support and make use of them.
“Listen, you’re sitting around sorrowing, here in the tent, right?”
“Yes, of course.”
“So, will you continue sitting here all day and every day or do you have some plan of action?”
They were unable to get to the bottom of what he was thinking. A painful silence followed as he gazed at them with a spark of anger in his eyes.
“See here, you have enough coffee for a week, maybe two. Then what?” Without waiting for an answer, he continued.
“I already understand what will happen. You’ll buy a whole lot more coffee and you’ll drink it with a lot of important people and, of course, you’ll tell them interesting and clever things. Your remarks will quoted and publicized all over the world and you will be famous and important and then what?”
The first to lower his gaze was Adel. He got Sharif’s message but felt he could not be of any use and therefore said,
“I get it. Fine, then speak ya’Sharif. I’m listening.”
“No, I came here today to ask you to think with me, to plan things and look at the possibilities.”
Yosef nodded. He also understood that the correct plan had to involve action and not just talk.
In the two hours that followed, there was a great deal of discussion between the three of them. Suggestions were made and fell, ideas were offered and were dropped and very gradually, the strategy developed and by nightfall they had a general plan of action.
The sound of children laughing and squabbling entered the tent and added a touch of lightness to the somber atmosphere as Yosef chased them out.
At midday Nadia arrived with platters filled with yellow rice, grilled vegetables and roasted lamb, the aroma of which filled the air from a distance. Yosef asked that Leila be called to join them but she refused to eat with them. When the meal was over, they asked to speak to Leila and Nadia was sent to call her.
Leila arrived at the entrance, bowed slightly, her gaze modestly lowered. She took off her shoes and sat cross-legged beside her husband, Yosef, as she gathered her skirts around her crossed legs. Yosef glanced at her. He noticed that her dark complexion was even darker and he knew it had nothing to do with the light of day that penetrated her tent. He asked with concern.
“Have you eaten, ya’ Leila? Did you drink?”
“I’ve eaten,” she said.
She stared at the three and then looked at Sharif . Her glance showed that she liked the young man.
“Mother, Sharif sat with us today,” said Adel.
“I saw.”
“We’ve sat together, thought and discussed at length what is happening and what we can possibly do about our hostages.”
“Yes, that’s good,” she said.
“You know, Mother that we are referring to that man, Judge Adam, and our Naima” Adel said and Leila sat up and looked at them sternly.
“I am here instead of Naima. I am Naima. Now, speak to me.”
“Fine. We thought we have to go, completely secretly, to the region where they are located.”
“Who will go? How will you reach the place? Do you know where they have been abducted to?”
“Listen…”
They talked and detailed their plan. It was clear that it didn’t seem realistic, nor did it seem achievable. Adel glanced at Sharif and noticed the spark that shone in the young man’s eyes. He understood that even a conversation like this could empower him.
And, indeed, the empowerment he gained from talking helped the young man turn it into something huge; a miraculous rescue.
* * *
Two weeks after the abduction, the Chancellor of Germany, Marcella Angel, arrived for a round of talks in the Middle East. She declared that she would try and mediate between the sides and ameliorate the stand of the Walid-el’Allah organization, which was holding the Israeli hostages.
Facing the cameras she smiled and spoke confidently. “The emissary from Germany is well experienced in negotiations in the lengthy conflict between the Arab states and the state of Israel,” and, in private, she whispered to the members of her delegation, “if only the matter could be resolved differently from the way it usually is.”
The Prime Minister of France, Nicolai Sergio, also met with Russian President Sergei Bautri, to attempt to reconcile between the sides and arrange a European summit.
A week later the General Assembly gathered for its first meeting on the matter of the captured Israeli hostages. Nothing was agreed at the hasty meeting and it was decided to reconvene on the following Monday. Walid-el’Allah proudly announced their responsibility for the capture of the hostages.
At the second gathering the representatives of the members of the United Nations Security Council were present and the cameras documented the arguments and stormy mood. The Italian ambassador threatened to sever relations with Russia because of an incident between the ambassadors.
He stood up, raised his arm and shouted, “Italy will not countenance Russia’s impertinent remarks. Russia is two-faced. With one face it supports the Arab countries with arms, plans and financial aid and today, puts on its other face of trying to mediate in the conflict. You always played the role of the double agent!”
The face of the Russian ambassador, Waldav Dubrovny, changed colors. He turned to the Chinese chairman of the committee and yelled:
“I demand that the Italian ambassador be removed from this chamber. The man is a Fascist and his accusation should be brought to the International Court of Justice.” Afterwards he turned to him and screamed out loud.
“You are a clone of that notorious Fascist, Mussolini!”
The Chinese chairman tried to silence the hawks. He stood up, raised his arms to either side, in an attempt to lower the flames of anger. The commotion was so great that he announced the closing of the session for the day and postponement of the discussion to a later date.
* * *
On the Sabbath, the newspaper published a bold headline:
THE RANSOM HAS BEEN REDUCED TO TWO THOUSAND FOUR HUNDRED LIVE PRISONERS.
THE ORGANIZATION IS PREPARED TO RECEIVE 550 BODIES OF SLAIN TERRORISTS, BURIED IN ISRAEL.
On the same page, under the article, an interview with one of the leading American emissaries to the Middle East, Tommy Messenger, appeared.
IN MY OPINION, THE ISRAELI PRISONER EXCHANGE DEAL WILL ONLY ENCOURAGE ABDUCTIONS ALL OVER THE WORLD.
IT IS IMPORTANT NOT TO ACCEDE TO D
EMANDS AND NOT TO RELEASE MURDERERS.
The newspaper lay in the living room of the family of Giora Shechtman, a former Minister of Foreign Affairs. Photographs of the two hostages stared out from its pages. In the Shechtman home, voices were heard arguing in shrill high tones.
His wife, Ora, a former celebrated singer, and now a successful businesswoman, yelled,
“I don’t understand how those despicable people dare to behave like this. It’s enough just to see the face of that terrorist Hamdallah to make me to go wild!”
“Never mind his face. When I hear how many prisoners they are demanding, I feel like exploding. They want three thousand murderers released so they can go out and kill again without any difficulty!”
“What is there to think about? I don’t understand. What is happening to us? It seems like a troupe of clowns in running our country.”
Giora answered in a calmer vein. “What’s to be done? I actually understand that. In this case, it’s a matter of long and exhausting negotiations.”
“Listen to yourself, Giora. Not one prisoner should be released.”
“So, how can we get them back? You’re just talking nonsense.”
“No, I’m just going out of my mind. I feel like screaming for both the kidnappers and their hostages to be sent to hell. I even dare to suggest that we give up getting our hostages back. At this rate we’re going to have to give away half the country for them.”
“Ora, think logically,” Giora replied. “It’s not that simple, the matter is very complicated, believe me.”
Their son, Arieh, roared on top of his voice from one of the rooms in the house.
“Stop! I’m sick of this subject. You’ve turned our home into a parliament and you’re driving me nuts! Keep quiet and let me study!”
The two stopped arguing and looked at one another. Giora went to the entrance of the room where his son sat in front of his open books.
“Hey, Arieh, what are your classmates saying about the issue? After all, you’ll be enlisting in the IDF this coming August. Is there talk on the subject?”
“Sure there is. We argue about it all the time and we also find it very frustrating.”
“Tell me, what are they saying? For example, how many prisoners do they think should be released for the two of them? That is, if any should be released.”
