Short Stories by Deanna

Dare to understand unexplored assumptions that governs your life.

SEVENTY VIRGINS

A noble voice rhythmically and steadily so as to be heard over a long

distance.

“Prepare the feast table for our faithful courageous young man. Praise to

Allah; This man marked by courage and determination in the face of

difficulties, achieved victory. Set the table with our finest linen and

meticulously place each utensil and napkin in excellent form. Our brave

heart will toast his fine crystal with the Prophet and let the sound of crystal

cheer repeatedly, making a loud noise raising him from a lower to a higher

position in this Great House.”

Another brilliant voice echoed, “Our guest will arrive soon, and he is

outstanding and excellent . Praise Allah and Mohammad His Prophet.”

This Great House is free from the sun and the moon. Like transparent glass

all paths are paved of pure gold, and at the gate multiple brilliant stars of

mosaic colors beam.

On the east side of the gate stood a huge tall tree and other countless trees

and flowers in fitful splendor. On the west side of the gate were thick

carpets of green grass graced with broad meadows, rocky clefts, elm-girt

woodland paths, and murmuring-rushing brooks. This Great House has

many unique rooms.

All of an sudden, an angelic being approached and embraced Kahib. This

angelic being was polished lie a shimmering diamond and most likely was

one in rank.

Immediately cheers of other angelic beings possessed with exceptional

holiness led him into another path of extraordinary large size. The path

paved with pure silver and material from the jasper wall lead into Kahib’s

domain. Kahib’s domain had seven rooms and each room was adorned

with every kind of precious stone. The first room

crystal, the second sapphire, the third amethyst, the fourth diamond, the

fifth beryl, the sixth topaz, and the seventh emerald. Each room was

separated by a single pearl and eight gates. Each gate was clothed in

purple and scarlet adorned with ruby stones.

His eyes gazed on the free passages of each being changing locations and

stealing a glance.

Every angelic being was perfect and in harmony with every other being,

free from birth and death.

“Bring the virgins in and have the lovely maidens greet our guest.” The

voice was no longer distant. The seventy virgins entered wearing only a

necklace of pearls, rubies, and emerald. Each maiden wore a long type of

lustrous necklace touching her breast and vagina.

“Kahib, man of courage, your reward is being a groom to seventy lovely

virgin brides.

Take the necklace from each maiden, wrap it around your neck, and she

will greet you with a kiss and her name. Each bride is pristine and free

from stain and Allah’s gift is the unsullied splendor of eternal youth and a

fruitful womb,” the voice boomed.

Kahib touched his heart and heard the beat of drums as each virgin strolled

on foot in the front of the other, swaying gracefully, and took a seat at his

table.

“Thank you Allah and Mohammad His Prophet for this pleasure of joy and

excitement, that such gift is available: a bridegroom in the company of

seventy brides.

Such honor.” Kahib signed in ecstasy and san a hymn joyfully.

It started to dawn and Kahib heard a vibrant noise like a trumpet and an

innocent 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 which

is spun on her own. Her meager wardrobe of three abayas was black in

addition to her new green garment. Today was special. “The Hajj will

bring blessings to the house.” She smiled.

“Kahib, the call to prayer has been announced. My heart is full of

happiness and joy.

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, before sunrise 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 security armed

with huge rifles.

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.

After the ropes he looked very closely at the pegs to prevent the home from

being destroyed.

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 waterproof barrier between the ground and t

heir 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. These olive trees

provided moments of joy in climbing and picking. 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 they received a rare treat of chocolate. Neatly packaged peanut

butter, breakfast bars and juices of all sorts were handed to each

household.

At night women wailed and wept when the helicopters hovered and circles

around.

Blade rotated rapidly and the chopper illuminated the camp with bright

spot lights of white and rapid red flashes. The rapping and tapping of the

choppers set bird squealing.

Laila looked often through the air vents at large birds with dark feathers

and broad wings roaming.

Every night Laila’s piano finger touched a piece of black and white

checkered cloth.

“May you rest in peace,” she sighed. Four years ago the women gathered

and cut the cloth to memorialize their leader. Each tent received a piece.

She called him “Champion.”

He led his people in the battle for freedom and independence and peace

from Israel.

Attired in military uniform, their leader’s trademark was a white and black

checkered cloth wrapped around his head to his shoulders.

“Everything is good for Mother. She will be care 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 in the hot sun. Only a few moments

of rest five time a day for prayers. Despite her affliction, Mother was

graceful and pleasant.

“Mother, you deserve the best. Father died so young and you suffered, my

sweet dear Mother. We toiled with our hands in the field we owned,

which were taken by force. Not a day goes by free from their insults. “

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.”

Kahi and Mother shared moments having 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?” Kahib hugged his mother.

“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 a Muslim non-profit organization. The Imam

selected and the agency secured the passport, visa, and health

immunization. It was a long process.

Security forces checked the applicant and it took one year to approve.

Transportation had to be paid in advance.

Kahib was chosen by the Imam from hundreds of candidates. Helping the

old man with his fog horn rewarded Kahib.

At the gate, security forces checked Kahib’s papers and his baggage.

Kahib remained stoic as security forces scanned his body and examined

his papers. It cleared. Kahib heard the clanging of the iron gate and a bus

stained with graffiti waited. Two hours passed and the bus left the security

check point with Kahib facing the driver.

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.

Kahib enjoyed the sight seeing. The incredible salt deposit at the Dead

Sea, the vacancy of desert Moab, and the rock carved rose city of Petra.

Kahib was spellbound 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 horizon strutted as a peacock of white

green, and blue

skies.

Seven hundred and fifty miles into the journey, four buses, ad a wagon

loaded with pilgrims, Kahib finally entered the Muslim Holy City of

Mecca. Endless sermons pounded his head; a pilgrim must not quarrel,

commit any violence, or engage in activity.

A customs 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 tope 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 Saudi’s,”

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, things seem to mellow down and Kahib finally got through. Kahib

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 hecould feel the heat engulfing his whole body, but there was also a

warm breeze coming from somewhere. Kahib looked and his feet were

planted actually outside being shaded by the “mother of tents.”

Kahib moved to an area B17 where his luggage had already been taken. He

sat and waited for his next set of instruction. He realized that he might have a

long wait. He spread out his mat on the ground. 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 and began to explore the

prayers areas, the entrances and exists, and looked at the different people with

their own customs and mannerisms. After a few hours, Kahib found

his way back and unwrapped his sleeping bag , placing it on top of the mat.

He rested with one eye open.

On the first day, Kahib laid out his un-sewn white cloth. He walked to the

bathing center, bathed, and scrubbed is 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

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 carve 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 sighed as he 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.

He walks with thousand of pilgrims in a counter-clockwise procession, which

circled the Kaabah. A semi-circular wall and the entrance to the inside of the

Kaabah was gained

through a door. Inside was a marble floor and walls clad with marble half way

to the roof. The tablets with Quranic inscriptions were inset in the marble. The

upper part of the interior wall was covered with a green cloth decorated with

gold embroidered Quranic verses. Lamps hung from a cross-beam; there was

also a small table for incense burners.

Caretakers perfumed the marble cladding with scented oil, the same oil used

to anoint the Black Stone outside.

Kahib heard the beautiful voice of the Imam reciting the Takbir. He wondered

how the prayer would sound without a microphone in ancient times. The hair

on Kahib’s body was standing on end during the whole salah. Kahib prayed

his salah many thousands of time 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 as if a

dam had burst and a surge of people was flooding the area. 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 peoples swarming like a colony of honey bees.

Kahib wanted to cry but he continued completing the Tawaaf around the

Kabbah, his eyes fixes 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 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 Zamam. Than he

navigated to hillocks of Safah and Marwa, snaking his way through the

crowds. 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

days 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 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 like an army of ants. 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 in Kahib’s shadow 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? Don’t worry, I am one of you.” The pilgrim arranged

his thick large glasses, which amplified his penetrating eyes and prominent

ears.

“On bended knees we asked for bread and we have received stone instead.”

The pilgrim looked at Kahib as he tucked his six yard white hand spun and

woven shawl. He grabbed and dropped a hand-ful of pebbles.

Kahib looked 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.”

“My name is Abid. Yes. The occupation stole our land and exploited us. Only

a handful are chosen among the thousands of pilgrims.” Abid picked up a

pebble. “The Devil wants us to leave our homeland permanently. The Devil

promises good fortune if we do. 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 makes the guard feel more safe. Buy the finest clothes before

your arrive 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

quite impressive. Now, you have the chance to speak in their native tongue,”

Abid said in a firm voice and threw his last pebble.

“What is it that you’ll have me do?” Kahib asked him anxiously. They were

both silent.

“Kahib, you have complete 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.

“Yes, vultures roam tents and each day the naked beast waits for the moment

their claws can feast. Our brothers and sisters are laboring in the field under

the hot sun picking olives with weapons staring at them. Sacrifice for justice.

Suffering is out lot.

They boast and triumph of a sixty year occupation. We cry,” Kahib said softly.

“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,” Abid said.

“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 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 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 ask for his papers and carefully

check 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, excitingly 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 enters the foyer. Thick woven carpet

with mosaic colors compliment the counter of crystal clear glass. All the legs of

the furniture are either eagle type winds or lion’s claws.

Kahib in his casual clothes greeted the clerk. “Hello, I have a reservation. My

name is Kahib Abdullah.”

“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 re-

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 saidas 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. “This must be the sub-floor. Tomorrow. All I

want now is a soak and to sip tea.” Kahib 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.

Continental breakfast was served at eight. Tea and bread. After tea he opened

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, and the experience of the

Hajj. Kahib’s imagination flooded: the poverty, the taking of the olive fields,

the hours at the check-point to obtain medical care, the dilapidated school,

starvation, humiliation, and massacres. Kahib strapped the belt and

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 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 sighed.

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 lavender,

sage, and vanilla.

The waiter approached Kahib and offered him a seat. “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

an intrepid truth teller 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 speaking like intrepid truth tellers

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 toward destruction. Respectfully, what is your opinion?”

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 brightest attend King Solomon,” the young student

remarked.

The rabbi closed the Torah and with his right and touched his beard and curly

side burns. 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 attempt to re-conquer 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 thinking 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

takeover 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 turns his left and than right to his students and

to the Seeds of Peace youths. “God, will bestow many blessings

upon you. The Rabbi nods, opens the Torah, and recites 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 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.

To the right of the student is an artist drawing sketches and another artist

painting on a small canvas. This place is a popular spot.

“What if I get caught before the mission. How will mother survive?” Kahib

wonders.

“There are more people than expected. Probably because of the children’s

concern and parade,” Kabbi’s worries about prison.

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.

“Good morning, can I bring you some tea?” The waiter smiled.

“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

talents,” she said striking a conversation.

Kahib, in the midst of the bustle, smiled. “What is your name?” Kahib asked.

“I’m Joanna. I notice you watch the children perform,” Joanna smiled.

“Where are you from,” Kahib asked.

“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.

Kahib noticed one young officer smiling 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 has 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.

“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

education system. We are noted for our schools are the best. “Where are you

from? I noticed a slight accent?” Kahib smiled. “Zionist from all over the world

bring an accent to Israel.” 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 web God created the state

of 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 surprisingly.

The waiter refilled Kahib’s glass with tea and served bread. “You know, there

are lots of problems in Israel. You know, those guys who strap a bomb on

their waist and blow up good citizens 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

and 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’s

showing their talent at the festival, business people reading, lawyers reading

their briefs, and 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 and lamented, “Allah,

my hear is aching, but I understand to defend honor is to fight and dies. 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 dies is also an honor to be in

your Holy presence.

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 an stance showing his belt.

The people at the café became like cemented statues and frozen icicles. The

young officer was under Kahib’s spell. The Rabbi and his 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; a man determined to

make his point clear.

Kahib activated and in the corner of his eye the children approached singing

and full of joy. “Children, run run run. In the name of Allah save the children,”

Kahib shouted.

“Go with speed, my friend.” Kahib commanded the officer.

The officer leapt like a leopard to the school master and children screaming,”

Run run run.”

The bomb exploded. Human flesh was blown like shattered glass. Skulls

cracked and brains burst open, dripping pools of blood. Bones scattered and

flesh was torn apart and thrown as by a tornado in different locations. Shards

of glass flew through the air, and shattered glass became thousands of tiny

debris flying 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.

An half mile away, clothes which people wore were brunt by the heat of the

blast. The charcoal like smell of burning flesh set the people outside the square

screaming. The scent was nauseating and sweet and putrid, something like

leather tanned over a flame.

There was enough soot, smoke, and dust to blanket the city and block out the

sun.

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, he is our hero. He is the harvest of a tiny seed we plant. Our

hands planted and nourished his seed with evilness from our ignorance. Our

hands molded the clay and pottery we cast. Our hands carved the stone and

today he was our harvest and finished sculpture.” The young officer cried.

“What are you saying, 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, non 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?”

“Hey, help me carry this man. This one is pinned under his motorbike. Another

one was killed on the spot riding his motorbike. We need to spare this one,”

yelled a firefighter.

“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 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 for our society,” 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 several limbs all around,” the man in charge lamented.

The workers were loaded with dust and their faces seeped with red moisture from

human blood.

“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 equal a foul of 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 Muslim or Gentile?” 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,

“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 Jews.” 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 with the Dutch. 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.

“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.

“What, are you, the Prophet Jeremiah, lamenting?” the fellow shouted and departed.

So many lives lost and among the limbs blown was Kahib’s body, shattered and

dispersed all over the town square. His presence remains in Beersheba for saving the

children.

Security forces interrogated Laila for weeks and even threaten to tear the canvas. Her

nights were sleepless, but flowing tears soothed her to sleep.

“Kahib, I miss you so much and I am so lonely. The soldier interrogated me over and

over questioning and questioning, if I knew anything. They called you a murderer. Hours

and hours, Kahib. My garment is worn, Kahib. My eye lid is swollen like a balloon. I

can’t hardly close my eyes anymore. I am ready to close my eyes, Kahib. Soon I’ll see

you paradise.” Laila lifted her arms and let go of her last breath.

Laila surrenders and sits next to Kahib on goose-feathered oversized satin and

silk pillows with his seventy virgin brides. The brides prepared a room for her adorned

with emeralds graced in a garden of white lilies in fitful splendor, near a silvery stream,

and fruit bearing trees.

Soon after the wedding Kahib and his brides hear a loud blast in Paradise. An angel

blasts the trumpet to announce another angel of higher rank. “It is time to anoint another

hero.” Much work has to be done. Let us send Imran, a young man wailing and weeping

at the Gaza Strip. Allah’s spirit will anoint him when he kisses the Stone.”

“Praise Allah and Mohammed His Prophet, Yes, Imran is chosen,” says the Angel.

All the angelic beings are excited stringing the harp and blowing trumpets.

“Arrange seventy virgins brides for Imran,” booms the Angel.