‘I got a job working for Dr Habash’s organisation.’
‘Doing what?’ He had no skills and could barely walk.
‘Intelligence.’ He smiled. ‘I translated the Israeli newspapers and news to Arabic. Remember that radio you made me? I used it to listen to the Hebrew news.’
‘I tried to find you.’ The pollution made me sneeze. ‘It was like you had disappeared from the face of the earth.’
Abbas drove slowly to avoid the giant potholes in the street. ‘I was underground,’ he said. ‘The Mossad was after me. They had already killed a number of my colleagues.’
I couldn’t believe he was bragging about his work for a known terrorist organisation in front of his son. I needed to come out with the reason for my visit. He and his family should not suffer another day here. I only hoped Abbas could see past his anger at me to do what was right. ‘We’ve come to invite you back to the States with us. We can provide a better life for you and your family.’ I glanced back at Khaled. He was sitting on the edge of the seat.
Yasmine remained quiet, her eyes on the posters of martyrs that lined the dismal streets.
‘Yes, I’m sure you’d love me to abandon what I’m doing.’ Abbas’ voice was filled with bitterness. ‘Defect to America, where I can have a fatal accident.’
‘Abbas, you’re my brother …’
‘I’ve been following your career. I understand that you and the Israeli are still collaborating. Was he the one who made you come here?’
I was stunned. ‘No one made me come. Hatred has blinded you to the good left in the world; I only want to share my good fortune with you and your family.’
‘You never gave a damn about me or our people. You sided with the Israelis long ago.’
‘I’ve taken care of our family single-handedly. Mama and Baba have a beautiful house, modern conveniences, and I put Fadi, his kids and Nadia’s through school and graduate school. And now I am here for you and your family. I haven’t sided with anyone.’
‘As Bishop Desmond Tutu said, ‘If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.’
Abbas’ words hit me like a slap. If he could only understand. ‘I’ve tried to make peace in my own way.’
‘You’ve done what’s good for you. You’ve forgotten about your people. You’re a collaborator. Did you ever think that not all of us possess skills the Israelis can exploit?’
I didn’t mean to raise my voice, but it came out that way. ‘I don’t work for Israel; I never have. I’m an American. I work for science, for the world.’ He said nothing, so I turned the conversation back to him. ‘You’re risking your life.’
‘My people’s well-being is my life.’
‘Think of yourself, Abbas, your family,’ I said. ‘I can provide you with a nice life, a safe life, one without suffering. A future for your family. Your sons and grandchildren can get the education they deserve.’ He looked old enough to be my father. I had a few wrinkles on my face, but my body was firm and strong from years of running.
‘You’re different from me,’ Abbas said. ‘I want to do something for my people, but you know as well as I do that Israel wants a Jewish state for Jews only, across all of historic Palestine. And in your new country, the Jews determine Middle East policy. Israel knows it can do whatever it wants because Jews in America will support it.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘You are giving Jews in America too much credit. It’s also the Christian right. They believe Jews need to be here in order for the second coming of Jesus or something.’
‘So that’s why I should abandon my people and go to America, because everyone there wants to destroy us?’
‘Abbas, you’re not being rational,’ I said. ‘Hamas uses suicide bombers.’
‘Israel doesn’t have to use suicide bombers.’ Abbas’ facial muscles tightened. ‘It has tanks and planes. Suicide bombing is the weapon of the desperate. The Israelis have killed countless more of us than we have of them. They’ve been trying to eradicate us from Palestine since the 1940s.’
‘I wouldn’t go that far.’ I focused on the dirt stain on the sleeve of my white linen shirt. ‘Why focus on the past when we can focus on the future?’
‘What future? Look around. Israel wants the same thing now as it did then,’ Abbas said. ‘Our land without us.’
‘Listen, I’m no big fan of Israel, but I can’t believe that. Israel wants security before it can make peace.’
‘Peace brings security. Security doesn’t bring peace.’
I thought of the Dalai Lama’s words which hung in Justice’s foyer. It went something like ‘If you want to experience peace, provide it for another, and if you want to feel safe, cause another to feel safe.’
Abbas continued, ‘Israel said it couldn’t negotiate peace with us until it had security. We’ve stopped our attacks: where are the talks? Where there’s oppression, there will be resistance.’
‘Let go of all this hatred, Abbas; come with us to the States. You can help people from there, where you’re safe. I’ll arrange for your whole family to come.’
‘Even if I wanted to’ – Abbas stopped the car at lights, to let a group of children pass – ‘Israel would never let me and my family out. It would be easier for us to travel to Jupiter than to get out of Gaza.’
The light turned green and Abbas began to drive again.
‘Where are we going?’
‘We don’t get many American tourists here in Gaza.’ Abbas glanced over at me. ‘I thought I’d show you around.’
‘We’re as Palestinian as you are.’
‘You turned your back on us.’ He looked in the rear-view mirror. ‘Both of you.’
‘How dare you?’ Yasmine had had enough of Abbas’ self-righteousness. ‘You know nothing about me, or what I have done for our people.’
I turned to Abbas. ‘How did you even get involved with Hamas? You’ve never been religious.’
‘During the Oslo Accords, our organisation joined forces with Hamas and the rest of the rejectionist front.’
‘Why would you reject Oslo?’ I asked. ‘Don’t you want peace?’
‘Peace wasn’t offered,’ Abbas said. ‘Israel wanted to rule us land, sea and air, create an open-air prison and keep their guards in place. Dr Habash could see that; he was a Christian, but it didn’t matter: we were all Palestinian first.’ Abbas gestured around him. ‘Do you think we’re liberated?’
‘Well, no,’ I said. ‘But Hamas forced their hand – they were shooting missiles into Israel.’
‘You’re so naïve. You’ve bought into the Israeli propaganda. This blockade – this prison they’ve trapped us in – do you really think they did all this just to stop a few homemade missiles? They want to kill our hopes and dreams, destroy our humanity. The majority of us now live on donations – they’ve turned us into a nation of beggars. We were a hard-working, proud and resourceful people; now we have no trades for our men, no education for our children, no hope for a better future through our own hard work. They’re doing worse than killing our bodies; they are breaking our spirits, taking our souls. Do I want my children and grandchildren to become beggars, or do I want them to starve? It is a Solomonic decision.’
I looked at Abbas. ‘What you are suggesting is impossible. The whole world is watching.’
‘Israel is breaking every human rights law conceivable and no one stops it. We are portrayed as ruthless, devious, bloodthirsty extremists. It’s much easier to kill extremists, or just to turn a blind eye to their endless suffering.’
‘So you believe that Israel is going to kill you all?’
‘Its policies are calculated and systematic.’
‘Then why did so many vote for Hamas – a terrorist organisation? If that is just playing into their game, why do it?’
‘What do you think happened in 2005 when Israel told the world it had left Gaza? They gave us our own country? No, they removed their settlers so that they could strangle us in a diffe
rent way. We didn’t have a chance. Fatah didn’t liberate us. Our economy fell apart. Israel never allowed Fatah to develop the infrastructure needed to succeed, but they allowed the Muslim Brotherhood, which became Hamas, to develop the proper infrastructure over years. When you can’t feed your children, where do you go? Hamas provided us with food, schools, clinics and the means to better our lives. When Fatah couldn’t deliver, the masses turned to the party that could. It’s about survival. And my job is to represent the masses.’
‘But Hamas’ methods of sending missiles into Israel,’ I said. ‘Don’t you see how counterproductive they are?’
‘What would you do if you and your family were trapped in a prison, starving, freezing in a tent in the winter, with no clean water, no means to make money, and the world had turned its back on you? How else could we get the world’s attention?’
‘It’s not the right kind of attention, Abbas. I wish you could see that.’
Abbas parked the car in front of a hospital. The windows on the south side were covered in plastic.
‘The Israelis won’t allow us to bring in the materials we need to rebuild. Don’t kid yourself. The destruction meted out during Operation Cast Lead was anything but random. The Israelis wanted to make Gaza go back decades.’
Patients arrived in ambulances, taxis and carried in by relatives. Inside, we wove our way through people in various states of injury and illness, and their family members – all vying for attention. Abbas took Yasmine, Khaled and me to the paediatric ward.
Ten beds were squeezed into a room that should have held two. There wasn’t a nurse in sight. The boy in the first bed had white bandages where his legs had once been. Bandages covered his arms and the entire left side of his face. All the other boys in the room were amputees as well.
Yasmine paled.
‘This is Salih,’ Abbas said. ‘He’s only five. All he did was go outside to get water. He was hit by a missile.’
‘What’s up, buddy?’ Khaled said to the boy.
‘Did you bring your book today? I can’t wait to find out what happens to Gulliver.’
‘Tomorrow, buddy.’ Khaled saluted him and we left.
We walked from room to room.
The power went out. The lights turned off and the machines shut down. People just adjusted as if it wasn’t a big deal. Abbas took us to the morgue next.
A man showed us baby after baby, the glare of a large battery-powered light picking out face after tiny face. ‘They all died of blue-baby syndrome,’ Abbas said. ‘It’s from nitrate poisoning.’
Yasmine’s face was as white as my shirt. Where would Abbas take us next?
CHAPTER 52
Abbas drove us as close as was safe to the walls that Israel had erected around Gaza.
It was clear from the pattern of destruction that they had methodically razed every building within a quarter of a mile of the border. Whole neighbourhoods were flattened. The further from this dead zone, the more buildings were still standing.
We visited Beach Camp, a warren of concrete huts and open sewers next to a sandy beach. An Israeli navy ship was firing at a fishing boat.
‘What’s going on?’ I asked.
‘Israel won’t allow anyone to fix our sewage system, so it is spilling out and polluting the ocean. Our fishermen are restricted to the contaminated water in which to fish. Fishing once thrived here, but now we have to buy frozen fish on the black market or risk being blown out of the water.’
No one could escape Gaza.
We went to Jabaliyah, the place where Nora and Justice had planned on going. We drove through it on the way to the hotel. Over 100,000 people were crammed into a quarter of a square mile. Rubble, tents, bullet-riddled walls, dirty barefoot children everywhere. It was what I imagined hell looked like.
Abbas’ car started to make a strange noise, but he didn’t seem to notice.
‘Israel doesn’t need to make peace with us as long as the US continues to give its aid to Israel,’ Abbas said. He parked the car in front of enormous piles of rubble, opened his glove compartment and showed us pictures of the Israeli settlements in Gaza with their deluxe houses, playgrounds and swimming pools. We had once helped to build homes much like these.
‘That’s how they lived before they were relocated,’ Abbas said. ‘US tax dollars helped build those settlements.’ Abbas pointed out of the window to the demolished landscape. ‘They blew everything up before they left.’
I imagined how many families could have been relocated here from the border areas that the Israelis had decimated. It would have cost them nothing.
Abbas started to drive, his attention on the cratered road. ‘I know you’ll forget about all this when you go back to your comfortable life in America tomorrow.’
‘I’m not leaving tomorrow.’ I turned to Khaled. ‘Maybe you can come to the hotel and I’ll explain my research to you.’
His eyes brightened. ‘I’d love to.’
Abbas dropped Yasmine and me off at our palatial hotel. Deflated, we retired to our suite. Surrounded by the luxury we had so recently cherished, we were unable to even speak. Abbas was right: I was selfish. All I cared about was my work. I was buying my nephews convertible Mercedes while other children didn’t have food or safe water. I thought sending money to my family was enough, but weren’t these children my family too? How had my priorities got so screwed up? I’d made my peace by forgetting about my people. I knew they were suffering and I ignored them.
I stayed up until midnight so that I could call Menachem. It was seven in the morning in Boston. I explained Khaled’s situation and he promised he would get Khaled a visa.
CHAPTER 53
I met Khaled at the restaurant the next morning. I explained my work to him as we ate a hearty breakfast and watched the waves crash. He soaked up every word I said. He reminded me so much of myself.
‘Would you come to study in America if I got you a visa?’ I asked.
‘Are you kidding?’ His eyes sparkled with hope. ‘That’s my dream.’ And then his shoulders sank. ‘You’ll never be able to get me out.’
‘What would you do if I told you I could?’ I asked.
‘I’d become your slave,’ he said enthusiastically.
‘What if your father objects?’ I didn’t want to be negative, but I had to be realistic. ‘You know he doesn’t want you to leave Gaza.’
‘If you can get me a visa…’ He smiled. ‘I can convince my father to allow me to go.’
‘We’ll continue later,’ I said. ‘I want to take your nieces and nephews to the zoo. It was highly recommended by the concierge.’
The rental car agency dropped off a van and we went to pick up the children. I was determined to show them a better life.
***
Majid spotted his friend Fadi in front of the zoo and called to him. He was talking to a group of children. When he saw me, he rushed right over.
‘You must come and see our beautiful zoo,’ he said. ‘Since you were so generous to me yesterday morning, I’ll let you all in for the low price of ten shekels a ticket. It’s truly spectacular. We have two one-of-a-kind zebras. They are Gazan zebras.’
‘Zebras aren’t indigenous to Gaza,’ I said.
Yasmine paid him.
‘Please follow me.’ Fadi waved his one arm. He stopped at an empty ticket counter, with his back to us, and said in a very serious voice, ‘Go in. I’m working right now.’ Then he peeked at us over his shoulder. ‘But for an extra ten shekels I can show you around.’ Majid laughed.
Yasmine handed him the money and Fadi smiled and bowed, gesturing to the turnstile. I watched him pay the ticket vendor from his other pocket and we walked inside.
A grassy field surrounded by a ring of cement and makeshift cages was filled with children. A couple of boys rode on two unusual zebras in the middle. They couldn’t stop laughing. I’d never seen anything like it before.
‘The two zebras died of starvation during the offensive.’ Fadi spoke wit
h authority as if he were the zookeeper himself. Khaled and Yasmine got in line with Abbas’ grandchildren. They were giggling and pointing. All they wanted to do was ride the zebras. Fadi and I continued on to the lion’s cage. ‘Or perhaps an escaped lion ate one.’ He gestured to a cage with a lion inside. ‘For three weeks it was deadly dangerous for us to come here and feed the animals or help the ones who had been shot or bombed – so all but ten of the animals died.’ He gestured grandly to large, empty cages. The nearest one had a damaged sign that read ‘Camels’. He continued as we strolled back towards the zebra rides. ‘To replace even one zebra would have cost us 100,000 shekels. We’d have to have it smuggled in through the tunnels. If you’d like to buy us two new ones, talk to me. I’m in charge of purchasing.’
‘I’ll take that under advisement,’ I said.
A group of kids had gathered behind Fadi to see what he was doing.
‘You know these aren’t really zebras,’ Fadi whispered to me. ‘Don’t tell the kids.’
‘What are they?’ I whispered back.
‘I had two of my workers clip off the hair of two white donkeys and paint stripes on them with black hair dye.’ He looked proud, as if he really was the brains behind this clever idea.
The fake zebras looked scrawny on their fragile legs, but the children didn’t care. I felt like we’d stepped into a different world. Both the kids and the parents seemed so carefree. Kids were running from cage to cage laughing and excited. Others sat on their fathers’ shoulders giggling and pointing.
Many of the cages were filled with domestic dogs and cats and the children gathered around them flapping their arms and throwing back their heads in laughter. I was happy to see that life could still be good, even in Gaza.
I’m so happy to see everyone having fun,’ I told Khaled as he and the children joined us.
Khaled shook his head. ‘You should have seen the burned carcass of the pregnant camel. Her mouth was open in pain. In her back was a foot-wide hole where a missile ripped through her.’
‘Well, the zookeepers have done an excellent job restoring the place,’ I said.
The Almond Tree Page 26
