SEVENTY VIRGINS
It started to dawn and Kahib heard a vibrant noise like a trumpet and an lively
giggle. Kahib awoke to the voice of the Azhan, a call from prayer. Kahib’s
mother, Laila touched him on his shoulder and he noticed her new green
garment. Her meager wardrobe of three abayas was black in addition to her
new green garment. Today was special.
“Hajj will bring blessings to our home.” She smiled.
“Kahib, the call to prayer has been announced. I am happy today. It has been
so many years since I have had this feeling."
Everything is packed. After prayer we sit and have tea and thank Allah.” Laila
handed him the prayer mat.
Kahib left for the prayer gathering. The Iman climbed on a tripod ladder held
by two men and called the congregation using a foghorn. Kahib helped the old
man climb the ladder on the second call. Near the olive groves, armed with a
mat, the men lined up squeezed together, to pray, raising their hands up to their
ears, reciting words, and dropping to their knees on a sunny day. Next to the
prayer gathering were tall fences or barbed wire and fully clothed soldiers in
green and armed with machine guns.
Kahib hurried home from prayer and meticulously eyed every square inch of
his home.With his right hand he held the rigid wooden pole providing structural
support. Kahib hand sawed each wooden peg with edges uneven and slid his
left hand on the pegs to make sure all of them were fastened to the ground.
Then he inspected the guy ropes which gave the frame stability.
Laila joined him and checked the brown canvas seams for any tears. Kahib
sighed with relief and walked in. The floor cover was a type of groundsheet. It
was a good
1
waterproof barrier between the ground and their sleeping cots. The dwelling
had one opening and two air vents. One opening had an entrance and the two
air vents were to reduce the effects of flies swarming around the outhouses.
On the other side of the outhouses was a dilapidated wooden structure used
as a school. The men carved the chairs and desks from large tree trunks. The
teacher made a long stick from a tree branch and swung it like a maestro
during the children’s singing lessons.
“The camp is our destiny. Allah have mercy.” The children echoed. The play
area had gravel, dust, and a few olive trees nearby. The occupation shouted at
the children for picking the olive trees. Most of the time children recited
scriptures and helped with the household.
Hundreds of men gathered in a line to receive food twice per week. On
occasion a rare treat of chocolate. Neatly packaged peanut butter sticks, breakfast
bars and juices of all sorts were handed to each household.
At night women wailed and wept when the helicopters hovered and circled
around.
Blade rotated rapidly and the chopper illuminated the camp with bright
spotlights of white and rapid red flashes. The rapping and tapping of the
choppers set birds squealing.
Laila looked often through the air vents at large birds with dark feathers and
broad wings roaming.
Every night Laila’s piano fingers stretched a piece of black and white
checkered cloth.
“May you rest in peace,” she said. Four years ago the women gathered and
cut the cloth to memorialize their leader, Yasser Arafat. He led his people in
the battle for
2
freedom and independence and peace from Israel. He called it, “ Palestinian
self-determination.” Attired in military uniform his trademark was a white and
black checkered cloth wrapped around his head to his shoulders. Everyone
received a replica of cloth and hand stitched it on his or her garment like the
Star of David for the Jews in occupied Nazi Germany.
“Everything is good for Mother. She will be cared for. Today is a new day.”
Kahib smiled. Kahib entered the tent and sat with Mother to have tea.
Mother’s face was lined and each crease told a story. Her frail body, stiff with
arthritis, made it difficult for her to move about. Her hands were like dried
leather from the daily labor under the hot sun. Only a few moments of rest five time
a day for prayers.
“Mother, you deserve the best. Father died so young and you suffered, my
sweet dear Mother. We toil with our hands in the field we own. Not a day
goes by we see the land grab and feel like an untouchable caste."
Kahib brushed a strand of hair off her face.
“My son, I gave birth to you and held you in my arms just like I am doing now.
Only a few seasons will pass until my worn out flesh is wrapped in a white
shroud and laid to rest. Go, my son.” Laila smiled softly.
Kahib saw road maps on her face. “Mother, you are safe. This is my chance
to leave.
I have prayed to have this chance to fulfill my duty as a Muslim. The Hajj is
one of the five pillars required to enter Paradise.”
“Will I go to Paradise?”
“Yes, you will. Allah is merciful. We are under occupation and against our
will. But, Allah opened the door for me to go.”
3
Kahib and Mother shared tea and Mother interpreted the leaves at the bottom
of the cup. “My son, you have good fortune. Allah has a mission for you. Kiss
the Kaabah stone, my son.”
“What does Allah have in store?”
“I do not know. Good fortune is showered by Allah.” Mother showed Kahib
the bottom of the cup.
“Mother, I must go. You know, the check-point takes a long time.” Kahib
held his mother tight.
The occupation allowed one Muslim for the pilgrimage. The money for the
journey was donated by the Muslim Brotherhood. The Imam selected
and the agency secured the passport, visa, and health immunization. It was a
long process.
Hundreds of people were lined-up.
A soldier shouted, “Itzik. Itzik. Send some people over."
A man with a child was summoned to approach.
“My daughter is very tired. I have clearance.” The man pointed to the girl
holding a paper in his hand.
“You wait here,” shouted the soldier pointing his machine gun.
“Anyone who has a sick child wait here. Do you have a medical document?”
“Yes, please help me. My daughter is sick.”
“You wait here.”
A woman approached from the line and boldly faced the soldier,
4
“He has been here since morning. You create such a pressure.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Who creates the pressure?”
“Why does this man who has a medical document be checked?”
“Everyone has to be checked.”
“He is in his country.”
“You just create pressure, humiliation, and problems.”
“Why is this little girl here since morning?”
“Look at her, please.”
“Move lady. You are holding up the line.” The officer pushed the woman
aside.
Kahib agitated walked slowly towards the woman who defended the man’s
plight.
“When young kids see their mothers…being humiliated and their fathers
unemployed because they cannot pass through a checkpoint, they are bound
to develop hatred and aspirations of revenge.” Kahib forced a smile as his
wrists throbbed in protest.
An old man was standing closely on the other side of the barbed wire looking
in and heard the woman and saw Kahib twitching his eye-brow.
“Listen, I don’t want to be such a Jew. A Jew who does that to others.
Soldiers who abuse other people this way. That’s not Jewish. We don’t abuse
people day and night.”
“These people can’t lead a normal life for a single day. A iota of a normal life.
My Mother had to ask permission to give birth in a hospital.” Kahib covered
his mouth and gagged and turned away and wiped his eyes, and set his hand
on the woman’s shoulder.
At the gate, security forces checked Kahib’s papers and his baggage. Kahib
remained
5
stoic as security forces scanned his body and examined his papers. It cleared.
Kahib heard the clanging of the iron gate and a bus painted white and blue.
Eight hours passed and the bus left the security check point with Kahib facing
the driver and took a seat next to a man clad in blue. He looked at Kabib and
arranged his thick glasses, which amplified his penetrating eyes and prominent
ears.
“I saw what happened. The God-Father can stop all this. You shuddered and
your wrist told a story.”
“Who is the God-Father?” asked Kahib.
“The God-Father told the Indonesians to pack and go from East Timor.”
“What happened?”
“A good child obeys. Clinton told the Indonesians to pack and go.”
“I am not in politics.” Kahib walked to the back of the bus.
“Neither was I. Settlements are consuming our land for decades. Palestine was
on the map. The world knows us as the West Bank and the Gaza Strip."
The bus traveled north of Nazareth and from Nazareth to Amman. Kahib
gazed and looked upon the residential suburbs, which consisted mainly of tree-
lined streets and avenues flanked by elegant, almost uniformly white, houses
faced with marble-type stone.
Twenty hours and five minutes in the sight-seeing Kahib saw a dozen kids
throwing pebble rocks and stones to armed soldiers. A bulldozer rolled down
on a garden and children’s playground to make way for a settlement. As swing
sets and monkey bars were rooted fifty protestors stood chain linked and
circled the bulldozer.
6
“Thirty minutes to stretch. Please return in thirty minutes.” bellowed the
driver.
Kahib and the man clad in blue briskly walked to the blockade of the
construction site.
“This is our land,” shouted the group.
“I think those people need our help.” The man touched Kahib on his shoulder.
“I can’t. My destination is the Hajj.” Kahib shrug his shoulder.
“This is our land. Don’t take the tree,” cried a woman.
“My swing set is gone,” cried a child.
A dazzled array of rubber bullets rained on the villagers. Helicopters hovered
and blades rotated and a man’s voice boomed on a loud speaker.
“This is Israeli territory. You are trespassing. Leave or be arrested.”
The villagers sang and clapped their hands loud as they sat circled chain-linked
around the bulldozer.
“This is our land.” The women wailed.
“This is our land." The men shouted.
“This is our playground.” The children cried.
A dozen army transport trucks arrived and soldiers dressed bullet proof
jumped and surrounded the bulldozer.
The soldiers handcuffed the protestors and dragged one by one hand and foot
over the rocks and desert gravel. Pushed and shuffled, the villagers were shut
in armored transport trucks.
The bulldozer was freed and in the back corner a child approached,
“Why did you take our swing set?” the child stomped and
screamed beating his head and chest.
7
“Stop, stop, stop,” yelled Kahib.
The bulldozer stopped. Kahib sprinted, dropped, and grabbed the boy.
Moments later out of breath a soldier stood and pointed his machine gun at
Kahib.
“What are you doing here?” yelled the soldier to the child.
“I play here.”
“It’s gone. You’ll have to play somewhere else.”
“What would the driver have done if I didn’t yell to stop?” Kahib’s mouth
agape, dumb-strck, and a loud crack rang out of his chest.
“His job is to clear the playground. His order was to proceed. Most likely roll
over the kid."
“Roll over the kid?” Kahib’s eyes were wide and his chest rose quickly,
fighting back anger. Kahib stood upright, and dusted off the dirt from his
pants.
“Yes. We can’t watch everything. We have to finish the project. The kid was
lucky.”
“Shut up. Stop screaming.” The soldier yelled.
“You are on Israeli territory. Sir, you are trespassing. Go.”
The soldier held his weapon, slapped the boy, and dragged him by the arm to
the transport truck. Screams poured out when the soldier covered the
transport truck with a washed white tarp. Escorted by a armored tank
and a soldier on top Kahib saw the transport truck bounce off the playground,
and heard the bulldozer cranked the engine, scooped the playground, and
dumped it into a pile. The man clad in blue immediately walked to Kahib,
running his fingertips along his back.
8
“Let us go. Time is up.” The bus driver yelled.
“Our people are brave.”
“Allah, have mercy on us., The kid almost got it.“ Kahib knelt and kissed the
ground.
“It wouldn’t make a difference to a Jew. The kid is like a cancer to them.”
“You know what happened last week?”
“I can image. I have witnessed the abuse at the check-point. Now, the
bulldozer.” Kahib emotionally fatigued and took a seat next to the man.
“Last week, the Navy massacred freedom passengers in international waters.
It was a humanitarian aid convoy.”
“How many were killed?” Kahib gasped.
“I think nine. These bastards landed on board and pirated the ship.”
“I know you are disturbed about our situation. I can’t do anything. My
destination is the Hajj. I have to complete the fifth pillar. All I can do is pray,”
“Are you listening. The occupation is exterminating us.”
“Who are you?” asked Kahib rubbing his hands.
“I am a history professor. Are you interested in history?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Before you were born Jordan and Palestine was mandated to Great Britain
after World War 1. In 1923, the British divided this area and gave seventy-
five percent of the land to the Arabs and twenty-five percent to the Jews.
After World War 11 the Europeans wanted the Jews out and the British had
enough that the problem was turned to the United Nations. We rejected the
offer of the 1947 Resolution 181 because
9
Britain had no business turning the land over to the United Nations, and the
Jews would eventually grab every inch of territory. On May 14, 1948 the
Jews finally declared their own state and became “Israelis.” Slowly, the Jews
have been successful in land grab.”
“We have lost our precious diamond-ring. We dug into the cavern and struck
the walls and collected the stone and carved it and cut it and set it and wore it
and bled for it.” Kahib's face turned red like a beet as he squeezed his hands.
“I hear you. My grand-parents planted seed in swamps and marshes. The
Jews were kicked out and no were to go took our land and blossomed fruit.
The diamond-ring is ours and that diamond ring is our sons. And if we want
him and his children to have that beautiful sparkling gem, we have to fight for it.
I fight on my knees.” Kahib's voice sizzled like a pressure cooker.
“Maybe someday you’ll get up. These pre-Holocaust Jews who no one
wanted settled in our land and are occupying it.” The professor said and
remained silent.
Kahib was spellbound with the image of the villagers who looked so small with
their backs against the bulldozer. Kahib suppressed his feelings, ignored the
professor, and enjoyed the incredible salt deposit at the Dead Sea, the white-
sand desert of Moab, and the rock carved rose city of Petra. Kahib was
intrigued with the basin which boasted over eight hundred monuments including
buildings, tombs, baths, funerary halls, temples, arched gateways, and
colonnade streets, that were mostly carved entirely out of the existing red
sandstone.
His heart throbbed for the life he never had, and praised Allah when the sky
strutted as a peacock of white green, and blue.
Seven hundred and fifty miles into the journey, four buses, and a wagon
loaded with pilgrims, Kahib finally entered the Muslim Holy City of Mecca
free from the occupation
10
and the chatter of the professor. Endless sermons pounded his head: a pilgrim
must not quarrel, commit any violence, or engage in activity.
A custom worker took Kahib to an adjoining room. It was more of an hall
than room. It was filled with benches stretching from one side of the hall to the
other. There were people sitting on both sides of the benches with their hand
luggage in the aisles. It was packed with people like a cattle market. The
waiting people would pass through two gates at the top of the hall and get their
passports and paperwork checked. At each door was an attendant who
would pick a few people from near the front and ask them to go through.
Kahib entered the hall, which was already packed and had his papers
checked. Every time the attendant cam ad select4d a few people from the
front. The attendant would ask the people to calm down and sit down. The
people were disgruntled and the murmur became a loud roar.
Kahib sat patiently with a smile of contentment and watched the whole
situation build up. The pilgrim women were getting through much quicker than
the rest of the crowd.
“What are you smiling about?” the pilgrim next to Kahib asked.
“I am here, in Saudi, the land of the Prophet. What possible reason could I
have to be unhappy, after all I am a guest of Allah. Nothing can ruffle me. The
wait is simply a test from Allah. I cannot blame anyone, not even the Saudis,”
Kahib whispered.
The pilgrim looked at Kahib in a strange way, sat down for a moment, smiled
then patted Kahib on his back.
After that, the process seem to mellow down and Kahib finally got through.
Kahib
11
went through customs and many attendants but he managed to whiz right
through.
The attendants sitting behind a row of desks checked Kahib’s papers,
removed a stub, and stamped things in his passport. Kahib clenched his
passport safely in his hand. He felt relieved; it was another step complete and
another step closer to the Hajj.
After getting through, Kahib closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was
hot, and he could feel the heat engulfing his whole body, but there was also a
warm breeze coming from somewhere.
Kahib moved to an area B17 where his luggage had already been taken. He
sat and waited for his next set of instructions. He realized that he might have a
long wait. Some of the pilgrims got food out and started eating and sharing
with each other; some went to sleep to shake off their tiredness; some prayed
and read the Quran; and others just sat down and simply waited. Kahib was
unable to rest twisting and turning thinking about the village check-points, the
man holding his daughter’s medical release, the brave woman, sick children,
hours waiting, the chain-link around the bulldozer, the child, the
abuse of the soldiers, hovering helicopters, an array of rubber bullets, tapping
and rapping of machine guns, transport trucks, and screams of the protestors.
The professors words found an echo in Kahib’s heart and Kahib felt
compelled to re-wind the tape over and over.
On the first day, Kahib laid out his home-spun water-washed white cloth. He
walked to the bathing center, bathed, and scrubbed his body twice. Slowly he
wrapped the cloth from his waist to his ankle and another cloth was thrown
over his shoulders as he lamented, “Here I am, O God, at Thy Command!
Here I am at Thy Command! Thou art
12
without associate.”
On the second day Kahib went to the Holy Mosque at Mecca. He marveled
at the renovations and extensions of the new ring. The outdoor prayer area led
to the south side of the mosque. The façade of the extension blended in with
gray marble and carved white marble bands. The three arches with black and
white voussoirs and carved white marble decoration were flanked by two new
minarets. The windows were covered with brass and framed with carved
bands of white marble. The minor gates had green-tiled sloped
canopies. The floor consisted of mosaic colored marble tiles, seven minarets,
and inscriptive medallions between the arches of the slender columns.
“This is Paradise on Earth.” Kahib tightened his cloth and dropped on his
knees. The hustle and bustle disappeared. Nothing seemed to matter. Kahib
felt peaceful for the first time and it was unlike anything he had felt before. His
eyes were locked onto the Kabbah. Kahib was over-awed and lost in spiritual
ecstasy and contentment.
“In the name of Allah, may peace and blessings be upon the Messenger of
Allah. Oh Allah, forgive my sins and open the doors of Your mercy. I seek
refuge Allah the Almighty and in his Eminent Face and in His Eternal Dominion
from Satan.”
Kahib began to pray from the Qur’an and recited scripture engraved in
calligraphy on ornate scrolls of the slender columns and then headed off to his
tent.
Kahib heard the beautiful voice of the Imam reciting the Takbir. He wondered
how the prayer would have sounded without a microphone in ancient times.
The hair on Kahib’s body was standing on end during the whole salah. Kahib
prayed his salah often
13
but this was something quite different. Everything around Kahib was
supercharged with barakah. Every breath Kahib took, every moment that
lapsed was blessed. Kahib was so relaxed, and at peace, the ultimate high.
Toward the end of the salah, it was difficult for Kahib to contain himself with
the sheer power of excitement and pleasure.
The city population swelled exponentially. The huge mass of the people around
the Kabbah. Kahib turned in one direction and there was always someone in
front of him.
There was always a head with two ears facing Kahib. In every direction he
looked, there were eager faces looking toward the Kabbah.
The floodgates opened and the Kabbah overflowed with a sea of pilgrims, as
more and more people entered the area around the Kabbah. It was like a race
with everyone rushing to get there, eager to please his or her lord, eager to
complete this final pillar of Islam.
Kahib too wanted to get to the front and touch the Kabbah, kiss the black
stone.
Muhammad the last prophet, the greatest of all mankind had kissed the same
black stone and the only thing that stood between the black stone and Kahib
was a huge crowd of people swarming like a colony of honey bees.
Kahib wanted to cry but he continued completing the Tawaaf around the
Kabbah, his eyes fixed on it. The Tawaaf was very emotional for Kahib, and
as the emotions flowed so did the duas from his lips.
Kahib was near the edge of the pilgrims going around the Kabbah. It was
much slower and longer. When Kahib gazed toward the center, he could see
the crowds were
14
moving quicker, pushing and shoving as groups of pilgrims made their way
through the crowds at different speed. Kahib was quite near the edge of the
people going around the Kabbah, so it was much slower and longer.
Kahib smelled perfume of lavender and sage, and gazed at the ancient stone as
he joined the thousands circling. Finally, after a few attempts, he touched the
Stone and remembered his mother’s plea to kiss the Stone. Laila believed that
the Stone itself had supernatural powers.
“Here I am at your command.” Kahib wept and kissed the stone. He dried his
tears with his cloth and draped it back over his shoulders. Being exhausted
among thousands of pilgrims, Kahib slept soundly on the plain of Muzdalifah.
On the third day, Kahib prayed two Sunnah and drank the Zamzam. Then he
navigated to the hills of Safah and Marwa, snaking his way through the
pilgrims. Kahib loved the Zamzam, the same spring water that gushed forth
from the ground at the time of the Prophet Ibrahim. Ibrahim had left his wife,
Hajar, and his baby son Ishmael in this barren valley, near the hillocks of Safah
and Marwa. When they ran out of food and water, Ishmael began to cry and
Hagar made a frantic run between the two hillocks looking for somewhere she
could get some water. When she returned to Ishmael, there was a spring of
pure drinking water where Ishmael had been kicking his feet.
Kahib had to complete one more ritual: the stoning of the Devil. On the fourth
day at dawn he found himself standing on the p0lain of Arafat with an elderly
man who must have been at least seventy years old, with one arm missing and
carrying his luggage over his head, determined to fulfill his pilgrimage. The man
had the most beautiful smile
16
despite the heat, despite the crowds, and despite the lack of toilets. Kahib
offered the man help to find a place to release himself. The elderly man’s face
was illuminated like a bright light bulb. After he released himself the elderly
man hugged and kissed Kahib twice and with he bent cane went on his way to
find a place to pray.
Kahib saw the mountain covered as if by an army of ants. At the foot of the
mountain where many had camped, Kahib saw a grown man crying, his tears
dripped from his beard as he prayed for forgiveness. A group of elderly
women sat and supplicated together under the scorching sun. Kahib stood tall
and strong. He gathered a handful of pebbles with which to pelt three stone
pillars representing the Devil. With each pebble, Kahib openly declared his
enmity to the Devil. Kahib shouted with his fifth pebble,
“Devil, you prepared three times to me. Each time you appear to me, seven
stones are thrown. I declare hatred and hostility.”
Standing near a olive tree a pilgrim came into view. “I have been with you
since the first day. Being alone, you have courage and strength. What was that
you declared as hostile?”
“On bended knees we asked for bread and we have received stone instead.”
The pilgrim looked at Kahib as he tucked his white robe and woven shawl. He
grabbed and dropped a handful of pebbles.
Kahib glanced at the pilgrim and threw the sixth stone. “Ninety percent of our
people starve. Our children eat bread and drink water, and when the injured
and sick appear at the check-point, they’re rejected. Our fields are stolen and
land confiscated. Pregnant women curse their fruitful wombs.”
16
“Are you read to get up and take a stand?”
“Professor. It is you. We spent time together, but I don’t‘ even know your
name.” Kahib looked surprised.
“My name is Abid. Only a handful are chosen among the thousands of
pilgrims.”
Abid picked up a pebble.
“The Devil wants us to leave our homeland permanently. We know the Devil
wants us out, but Allah, the Almighty gives us strength to stay.” Kahib held
tightly to his last stone.
“What is that you have for me?” Kahib asked.
“Your destiny is at the Desert Inn in Beersheba next week.” Abid handed
Kahib a white pouch. Kahib took the pouch and tucked it securely underneath
his garment.
“When you step on and off the bus hold your head up and smile pleasantly. A
friendly smile mitigates suspicion. Buy the finest clothes before arrival in
Beersheba. A tie to match and polished shoes. A good businessman is known
for the quality of his shoes.
Do not shave your hair. For a pilgrim shaving is his last commitment to submit
to Allah and mark of his salvation and re-birth. Your re-birth is in Paradise.
Allah has arranged it so. Your skin is light, eyes hazel, and hair light brown,
which sets you apart from others.
Remember, look at the guard and do not let your head down once. The Iman
told us of your language skills. Studying on your own is quite impressive. Now,
you have the chance to fullfill your duty as an Muslim,” Abid threw his last
pebble.
“What is it that you’ll have me do?” Kahib asked him anxiously. They were
both silent.
17
“Kahib, you have completed your last journey on Earth. Only a few are
chosen to spend eternity in Paradise, a place free from suffering and death.
There is no other recourse but to sacrifice,” responded Abid.
“I have a mother who needs me. I desire a wife and kids,” Kahib lamented.
“Allah will nurture. Kahib, the Hajj is our first reward. As a hero you earn your
second reward. And as a hero you will receive your third reward. Your
destiny is in Paradise. Seventy virgin brides blessed with fruitful wombs is your
destiny.”
“When you arrive at Beersheba check in at the Desert Inn. Your room is on
the fourth floor. The walk-in closet has a sub floor on top. Walk three steps to
the East from the wall. You’ll find a box and instructions. Remember, Kahib,
Paradise is offered to you.
There is a place reserved and a lovely house with your virgin brides. Good-
bye. May Allah be with you.” Abid gave Kahib a handful of gold coins, took
his wrap, and re-draped it over his shoulder.
Kahib rested at the tent site, prayed, donated his wraps, and packed up
quietly and sadly not fulfilling his last ritual of re-birth. He ran his finger through
his curly hair and wept.
Thousands of pilgrims were up at dawn. Kahib sat at the Prince Alwajeed
Café sipping tea and watching the traffic. Close to the big white tent there
were many shops.
Later in the day he found a clothing shop and bought a suit, white shirt, blue
silk tie, shoes, and a brief-case. The shop furnished him with an attractive bag
to protect the suit and shirt, and as a compliment, a handkerchief. He donated
his worn bag to a pilgrim and walked several blocks to another modest shop.
He left the shop with a green shirt
18
and black casual slacks with shoes to match. Out the door Kahib donated his
arrival clothes to another pilgrim. The pouch had seven hundred riyals left.
Dressed comfortably and casually, Kahib waited for his transportation to
Jordan and from Jordan to Israel.
During his travel to Beersheba, security forces asked for his papers and
carefully checked his identification. Kahib was first off the bus, having a firm
grip on the hand-rail, his right foot felt the pavement of the cobble-stone road
in Beersheba. Kahib signed as he placed his left foot on the road and when
both feet were firmly on the cobble-stone, he took a deep breath and
composed himself. Heart pulsating, Kahib realized he had finally reached his
destination.
Around the town square were dozens of shops and in the midst was the
international café. The shops of the square were mostly outside and the shop-
keepers proudly displayed merchandise of all sorts. This was a place where
many people bustled about, excited shopping, and no one paid attention to
anything unusual except the security forces surrounding the square.
Nestled on the north side of the shops was the Desert Inn. Much of the Desert
Inn was imported: wood from Lebanon, marble from Saudi Arabia, silk from
Egypt and carpet from Qatar. Kahib entered the foyer. Thick woven carpet
with mosaic colors complement the counter of crystal clear glass. All the legs
of the furniture are eagle wings or lion’s claws.
Kahib in his casual clothes greeted the clerk. “Hello, I have a reservation. My
name is Kahib Abdullah.”
19
“Certainly, the room is ready for you. I’ll have the bellhop take your bag.” The
clerk dressed in an ankle-length garb woven from white cotton with a large
red-checkered square held in place by a black cord coil on his head gave him
the key. The bellhop, fair-skinned with brown eyes and underneath his parrot
nose a trim mustache, took Kahib’s bag to his room.
“Thank you, sir.” Kahib tipped him well.
“I’d like some tea. Tea is good for concentration. I have many papers to
read.” Kahib nodded to the bellhop.
“Okay. A do not disturb sign and tea,” the bellhop said as he held the tip.
“Thank you.”
Kahib eyed the walk-in closet and walked three steps to the east. He noticed
a break in the wood paneling.
“All I want now is a soak and to sip tea.” Kahib thought and removed his
clothes and wrapped himself with a huge towel. Kahib the rested and coaxed
himself to sleep by reciting verses from the Qur’an.
After his rest he checked the sub-floor and found a brownbag that matched
the teak wood and a note:
“Kahib, praise to Allah and Mohammad His Prophet. When you strap the belt
around your waist, make sure the fitting clicks.”
Kahib’s hands trembled and he saw his mother, the people in the tent village,
the taking of the olive fields, the hours at the check-point, the substandard
medical care, the dilapidated schools, the humiliation, and the massacres.
Kahib strapped the belt and
20
heard the click. He took out his brand new suit, white shirt, blue silk tie, and
shining shoes.
His eyes opened wide as the mirror reflected his image.
“Our children eat crumbs fallen from the floor. Our women poke like
scavengers deep into the inner core of the waste fields. Our children are
dressed like orphans, teeth decayed, and their fragile bodies move like
carcasses with protruding rib cages. Their countenances are sullen and
there are no melodies and songs but a begging bowl beating the
pavement,” Kahib’s thoughts heightened his passion.
The clock was set at four.
“Soon I am in Paradise. A table awaits all heroes.” Kahib recited a few
verses.
Holding the belt, Kahib saw his image in the mirror, closed the door, and
walked out.
Close by the town square Kahib perceived an exhibition of some kind by
children of third or fourth grade children singing songs and one voice befitting
an angel stood out.
Mesmerized by the children and their majestic voices and stage presence,
Kahib exerted a struggle fighting for his breath. “Why are the children here?”
Kahib thought about the kid standing in front of the bulldozer.
Within the town square was a well-known international café, King David ,
decorated with European paintings and Middle Eastern tapestries, clay pots
filled with flowers in bloom and plants of all sorts. Hanging from a beam were
scents of lavender, sage, and vanilla.
The waiter approached Kahib and offered him a seat.
21
“I like to sit on the terrace. I enjoy watching the bustle of the people. Is that
possible?” Kahib smiled at the waiter.
Near the window of the café, Kahib noticed a group of students, debating with
a Rabbi who dominated the debate by davening liturgies. Kahib heard about
rabbis dressed in black over-coats, black hats, long locks, protesting the
harlots of Zionism, and interpreting the Torah word for word.
The rabbi appeared fitting in his black over-coat, and white shirt where the
buttons were tucked. A black soft hat with a brim and crease along the length
of its crown uncut sideburns, trimmed moustache, fully bearded and curly long
locks shaped perfectly on both sides of his cheeks.
Next, to the rabbi, a group of youths clad in identical green Tee shirts
emblazoned with the Seeds of Peace logo huddled around a table. The leader
looked at the rabbi and smiled.
“Rabbi, thousands of Orthodox Jews around the world feel that Zionests are
criminals who have not only stolen Palestinian land, but also hijacked Judaism
and are leading Jews. Respectfully, what is your opinion?”
A student pinched the speaker and said, “ Don’t use the word, “Zionist.”
“Rabbi, you know the movement that believes in the establishment of a Jewish
state. It is like a manifest destiny. God’s jewel is Israel.”
The rabbi did not pay attention to the young man.
“Rabbi, the young man is from the Seeds of Peace. They’re from King
Solomon’s University. Rabbi, the University is known for their peace efforts.
Only the best and
22
brightest attend King Solomon,” the young student remarked.
The rabbi closed the Torah and with his right hand and touched his beard and
curly side burns of flowing locks. The rabbi paused and puckered his lips.
Slowly the rabbi lifted his head.
“Yes, I am one of the Orthodox Jews. Our brethren are hailing from one
grandfather; Prophet Ibrahim.” the rabbi replied.
“We are people in exile. We are forbidden to settle the Holy Land. We call for
a peaceful dismantling of the Israeli state without violence of bloodshed,” rabbi
said boldly.
“Rabbi, we belong to the Seeds of Peace and believe in co-existence between
Israel and Palestine. I think this would be good for the whole region. The
Arabs will get access to Israeli high technology and the Palestinians will open
the markets of the Middle East to Israel.” The youth proudly pointed to the
Seeds of Peace logo.
“Zionism, from its inception, advocated and urged cruelty towards the
Palestinian people. Zionism advocates and executes war against all nations.
Zionism sadistically abuses the poor. There is no excuse for the Zionest take
over the Holy Land. The Palestinian people have graciously agreed to
participate in a so-called peace process with the Israeli government. That is
most kind of them.” The Rabbi turned his head left to his students and to the
Seeds of Peace youths. “God, will bestow many blessings upon you.
The Rabbi nodded, opened the Torah, and recited verses of wisdom from the
book of Proverbs.
“Rabbi, I do apologize for the interruption. It is an honor to meet you. We are
here to
23
plan a program to plant more seeds for peace. We will meet again. God
willing,” the leader gracefully bows his head and takes a seat.
Kahib looked at the rabbi and the students and heard the words flow between
them. He was surprised that a rabbi believed that Israel was born out of
wedlock and the students throwing seeds to reconcile a long feud.
To the right of the café, several artist drew sketches and another artist painted
on a small canvas.
“What if I get caught before the mission. How will mother survive?”
Kahib thought.
“There are more people than expected. Probably because of the
children’s concern and parade.”
In the midst of the terrace of the café, Kahib has a chance to listen to
conversations. It was a gorgeous day. The sky so clear and few dust particles
in the air. Sitting on his left a woman laughed. Her voice free from roughness, a
sound of clarity and purity of tone, as clear as a waterfall. She glanced at him
and smiled. Her hair, soft brown, and her large blue eyes were like the young
maiden in his dream, a rare beauty.
The waiter smiled, “Good morning, can I bring you some tea?”
“Yes, thank you,” Kahib replied.
“Did you enjoy the singing of the children?” the waiter asked.
“Yes, I did,” Kahib smiled.
“I cannot help myself from laughing. It is good to laugh,” said the young
woman as she looked favorably at Kahib. “The children are terrific. Lots of
talent.”
Kahib, in the midst of the bustle, smiled.
24
“What is your name?”
“I’m Joanna. I notice you watch the children perform.”
“Where are you from?”
“I’m from Philadelphia. So what did you think of the performance?” Joanna
asked.
“You are far away from home, Joanna?” Kahib responded seriously.
“Yes, I am. I’m student on vacation for two weeks. I love it here. Everything is
perfect.”
“Does she know how the occupation has ravished my country and
begging bowls are our lot? Kahib thought and felt a jab in his stomach.
“Enjoy your tea. Is this your first time here? Do not worry, security forces are
in full force because of the children’s festival. They look intimidating. Those
guys are friendly. After work they come and relax with tea and conversation,”
the waiter said
pleasantly.
Joanna noticed an officer standing close to Kahib. Kahib moved from the
officer as she watched quietly.
One young officer smiled and as he approached, Kahib returned the
smile. The young officer, accidentally hitting his right shoulder, apologized.
“I am so sorry,” the young officer said in a soft voice. “It’s been a long day.
Working twelve hours filling in for others. Today especially is tiring.” The
young officer looked at Kahib and yawned.
“Your job is especially exhausting,” Kahib said. He tensed, remembering
Abid’s instructions to keep calm and pleasant looking. “It is fifteen to four.”
Kahib’s skin felt moist. He rubbed his hands and spread the sweat over the
surface of his skin.
25
“Thank you,” replied the officer. “Where are you from?”
“Beersheba, I am here to watch the children perform. My daughter is in the
festival,” Kahib proudly pointed to the children.
“Did you enjoy the songs of children?”
“Yes, I did. The school masters in our school are well trained to offer an
excellent education, including all sorts of arts. Very few countries can beat our
system.
“Where are you from? I noticed a slight accent?” Kahib smiled. “Zionist from
all over the world bring an accent to Israel.” the officer boasted. Kahib waited
for an answer.
“I have lived here for twenty years and moved to Israel from America. I lived
in New Jersey and my parents immigrated to Israel. ” The officer took a seat
at Kahib’s table.
“Yes, we are blessed that God provides us with an opportunity to go home.
You know we are the chosen people and this land belongs to us. We have the
right to the land, so it is our duty to be good stewards and obey God’s plan,”
the officer said.
Kahib, calm and intensely frustrated, agreed with the officer. “What a bastard
who is occupying my land,” Kahib thought rubbing his hands together.
The officer departed from the café. Joanna heard the conversation between
Kahib and the officer.
“Israel is God’s land for his chosen people. The officer is blessed returning to
his homeland. I did not realize that you are the Father of one of those darling
children,” Joanna said.
The waiter refilled Kahib’s glass with tea and served bread.
“You know, those guys who strap a bomb on their waist and blow up good
citizens
26
and then themselves. That is sinful and the act of suicide is an abomination to
God.
Don’t you agree?” the waiter said seriously and in a contemplative voice.
Joanna overheard the comments by the waiter.
“Yes, it is sinful. I am Christian and it is against the Christian doctrine to kill
and commit suicide.” The waiter, surprised by Joanna’s comments, turned to
Kahib.
“You are a Jew. We are the chosen set aside to be an example of
righteousness to the word. We were gathered by the grace of God to form this
great state of Israel sixty years ago. It is God’s will that all Jews dispersed in
the world return to Israel. This land is our land given by God. It is our birth-
right. Don’t you agree?” The waiter turned his head to Kahib and Joanna.
The waiter did not respond to Joanna’s argument realizing she was Christian
and a tourist; to challenge Joanna would not be good for the café. The
café’s large open patio was buzzing: Rabbi debating with his students,
the Seeds of Peace youths discussing solutions for peace, artist sketching,
tourists having tea, housewives complaining, mothers bragging about children,
business people reading, lawyers reading briefs, security forces striking a
conversation.
It was almost four. Transit moved in four directions and the café was loaded
with the work-force. Huge drops of sweat fell from Kahib’s face. Kahib left
his table and approached the men’s restroom trembling. Kahib composed
himself and looked at an oval mirror taking his fingers and removing the drops
of sweat. He washed his face and dropped to his knees.
27
“Allah, my heart is aching, but I understand to defend honor is to fight
and die. My tool is the belt on the body you have created and my body is
to offer honor for you and my people. To fight is an honor but to die is a
greater cause.” Kahib thought.
Kahib checked his belt and left the men’s restroom. He walked slowly to the
back of the café, and removed his suit jacket standing in a stance showing his
belt.
The people at the café became like cemented statues. The young officer was
under Kahib’s spell. The Rabbi and his students were immobilized with terror.
Housewives were stiff with fright, and the student who debated most with the
Rabbi possessed a look of dread.
Kahib sensed the young student’s fear.
“How can we compete with weapons of such intelligence, force unmatched
and unavailable? You are a guest in my Grandfather’s land. The only political
and military tools available are our bodies as opposed to planes soaring
through the air or boats planing across the water.”
The artist of the café drew quietly a sketch of Kahib. Kahib activated and in
the corner of his eye the children approached singing joyfully.
“Children, run run run. In the name of Allah save the children,” Kahib shouted.
“Go with speed, my friend.”
The officer leapt like a leopard to the school master and children screaming,”
Run run run.”
The bomb exploded. Human flesh sharden like shattered glass. Skulls cracked
and brains burst open like confetti. Bones scattered and flesh torn apart and
28
thrown as by a tornado in different directions. Shards of glass flew through the
air, and shattered glass became thousands of tiny debris of gravel and
cobblestone tossed through the air. Frames, fixings and walls splintered into
thousands of pieces of wood, metal, tile, and carpet. The surface of the stone
stairway leading to ladies powder room became white. Brick buildings
crumbled like bread crumbs. Nearby, clothes which people wore
were burned by the heat of the blast. A breeze from the north carried the
odor of burned flesh that set the people outside the square screaming. The
charcoal scent was nauseating and sweet and putrid, something
like leather tanned over a flame.
There was enough soot, smoke, and dust to blanket the square and block out
sun-rays.
Merchandise from the shops broke into tiny pieces. Fire sirens were in full
force.
Ambulances gathered limbs, placed the parts of the body, and in flash
departed to the hospital.
Out of the cloud of the fine particles of dust the young police officer carried his
daughter whose fragile body slumped and rested unconscious in his arms. The
officer, black with smoke dust and in a seizure, collapsed holding his daughter
tight to his chest, clinging and not letting go. Both rested in each other’s arms.
The girl regained consciousness and gently kissed her father on his left cheek
then his right. She touched his face and neck. “Father, I am here. Please do
not leave me. You are my hero,” she cried.
The child held her father and after some time her father looked at her and
smiled.
“Today, this evil is the harvest of a tiny seed we plant. Our hands planted and
nourished a seed for sixty years. Our hands molded the clay and pottery we
cast. Our
29
hands carved the stone and today he is our harvest and finished sculpture.”
The young officer cried.
“What are you babbling? What seed? Beersheba is terrible now. I have friends
who won’t visit each other because they are frightened of going downtown.
The worst thing of all, isn’t only matter of time until we are killed and
wounded. We’re always waiting for the next bomb. The terror has brought this
tension to the surface so that nobody trusts anyone. We are always worried
about the next bomb and for the siren to go off. We never let our guard down.
We let our guard down because of the children’s festival. Look what they did
to us.” A middle-aged officer knelt as he wiped off the blood splattered on
his face.
“You see, none of us are bad people. We hate violence, but this is a sacrifice
we must make to protect our society. I know that they consider us monsters
but they are such hypocrites. When we bomb a building with terrorists in it, we
warn the people to leave and then bomb it, even though this means giving the
terrorists time to escape with their weapons. What warning do they give us?
God, have mercy on us. We have to live with it all the time. We are always
watching each other wondering who has a bomb,” an older officer cried
stretching his arms.
Another officer screamed. “The shopkeeper nearby is injured by debris. A
woman at the bus stop was thrown about ten feet in the air. She died. What is
this world coming to?”
“They are raised to hate us and they always will. What can we do to heal this
madness? We have no choice but to coexist but….I don’t know how this can
happen.”
The young officer cried holding his daughter close. “We must find an answer.
We
30
must not lose hope because it is all that keeps us sane.”
A loud thud of bricks tumbled and a fire fighter loaded with soot approached
yelling,
“A auto-van is underneath a heap of bricks. Help me. I hear moaning.”
“Hurry, a gas cylinder burst from the impact of the blast,” a senior police
officer said.
“It is very complicated. How can we take them back? We must have our own
country because we have lived in other countries before and we were
persecuted and killed. God, have mercy on us.” The older officer lamented.
“This war is bad,” the middle-aged officer lamented looking at plumes of
smoke rising above the café.
After the blast there was complete darkness for a while and the police ordered
a group to take several severed limbs.
“There are lot of limbs all around. The workers are loaded with dust and their
faces seeped.” The man in charge lamented.
“Look, I do not know what part belongs to who. The gut of one looks like the
other.
All this blood splattered. I cannot separate and determine which is Jewish.
Can you? Here is rib cage, stomach, arm, and leg. Is it Jewish? All this dead
human flesh mixed together share a foul odor.”
After weeks of examination and testing DNA the department of investigation
put the human parts together: the Jew from the non-Jew.
“Which is Jewish, Muslim, or Christian?” the man of retirement age cried. This
is the Jewish tradition that the non Jews cannot be buried with the Jews.”
The man of retirement age later spoke to a fellow of his team softly on his last
day,
31
“The scattered remains that day show there is nothing special about us. What
separates us is our belief.”
“What do you mean?” the fellow asked.
“To think we have the privilege to take land and claim it as our birth-right is
untrue.”
The man quietly nodded turning his face left then the right.
“Nonsense, Arab citizens of Israel are full citizens under the law and enjoy the
same civil rights as other citizens. Arabs in Israel have equal voting rights. It is
one of the few places in the Middle East where Arab women may vote.” The
fellow laughed.
“But…but that does give us the right to claim the land as our birth-right,” the
man shook his index finger.
“Look, there are similarities between the Arab and us. We worship the same
God.
We are descendents of Abraham. Jerusalem is our Holy City,” the man
responded.
“You are right. There are many similarities. But…..why don’t we get along?”
the man asked.
“Listen, you are ready to retire. Retire and be a good Jew.” The man departed
waving.
“Three-quarters of Gaza’s one and one half million Palestinians rely on
humanitarian assistance and food aid. Royal blue iron security gates, tall
barbed wire fences, and brick wall looks more like Africa’s apartheid. Why
do one million and five hundred thousand people depend on aid? I cannot
believe this is happening to us in the twenty first century.
They are living in a roofless prison, caged in like animals. The walls have cut
their neighborhoods and redrawn the map,” the man yelled shaking his head.
32
“Nonsense, enjoy your retirement and live as a good Jew. We are the chosen
people. Accept it.” The fellow laughed.
“Well, that is easy to say. But….twenty-two Arab countries surround us. One
of these days history is going to repeat. Now, I know what the old rabbi was
talking about sooner or later we will be once more be scattered on the face of
the Earth,” the man cried.
In her home Laila paced back and forth between the cots and two bowls
embracing Kahib’s robe. Security forces interrogated her, threaten to tear the
canvas, and reduced her ration of food to a handful per day.
“I miss you so much. I am so lonely. Soon I’ll be in Paradise.” Laila
thought and lifted her arms and surrendered.
