Living Stones (2 page)

One hour later, with Mark in the passenger seat and two backpacks full, they sped south down Highway 87 to the Bronx and then headed west, first on 95 and then Interstate 80. Robert’s plan to flee his family’s gilded emptiness was coming together perfectly. Mark always said he loved an adventure. He seemed to enjoy racing down the highway, top down, open to the sky above. Robert gripped the wheel, jaw jutted outward, teeth clenched. “I just told my dad what I think of him. You know, it made me feel good to tell him off.”

“Cool, dude. Sometimes a guy’s got to do it. OK, now tell me why you want me to go way out West with you.” Mark rolled up the window. It was a sunny day, still warm for October. “I don’t get you. Like . . . you kept leaving our hangout every afternoon to go to that mosque. A mosque? What’s up with that?”

“I’m not sure you’d understand. I’m sick of the way America works. It’s all about money and superficial stuff, like scrambling up the corporate ladder and stepping on everyone else in the fight to the top. New York is run by financial phonies, man, and controlled by the Jewish businesses and press. My family is into it big time, you know, but it’s not for me.”

Mark stretched with his hands behind his head and gazed at the world flying by. “They say Wall Street runs on fear and greed, and I believe them. Your family has done pretty well though.”

“I don’t care. My dad had me in business training at Cornell, and man, I hated it. I figured maybe we Westerners have it all wrong. Maybe I needed a whole different perspective on things. So I found a mosque and dropped in to hear what they had to say. It changed my life and gave me some direction and a reason to live. It’s been awesome!”

“You mean, like you had no direction for your life?”

“Yeah.” Robert shook his head and shrugged. “None. But in the mosque they have a plan. They have five pillars in their belief system and they pray to Allah, five times a day.”

“Dude, no way! Five times every day?”

“Yeah, really. They face Mecca in Saudi Arabia and bow clear to the floor, touching their foreheads. Strange, man, at first. There are lots of rules, including stuff you can’t eat or drink. It’s like hard, but it’s challenging.”

“So what does that mean for you? Sounds difficult.”

“Well, for one thing, the word ‘Muslim’ means submission to Allah. So I’m learning to submit.”

“You’re crazy, dude!”

“Well, at first I attended a mosque once in a while, but then I found the Salaheddin Islamic Center, and now I see the world as it really is. True believers see what is really happening.”

Mark turned toward Robert, grabbing the backrest behind him, frowning. “What do you mean, ‘true believers’ and ‘what’s really happening’?”

“OK, it’s how the U.S. attacked the poor people in Afghanistan and Iraq, and the Jews cop the land in Palestine. The Zionists and the United States are conspiring to destroy Muslims, Arabs, and Palestinians. So, you know, we’ve gotta help them resist and fight back.”

“How do you do that?” Mark suddenly stiffened in his seat.

“Well, look what we are doing in lots of places in the world, with the Taliban and other groups, and of course al-Qaeda. I don’t know much yet about the Salafi-jihadi ideas, but their goal is to establish ruling caliphates with sharia law in a bunch of countries, not just Saudi Arabia or Afghanistan.”

“I don’t know much about that stuff, but it sounds bad. Like, what are you planning on doing?”

“Jihad.”

“So you’re learning about jihad?! Did you get all this in New York?”

“Oh no. Now I have a bunch of friends around the world on the Internet who are far ahead of me. Like I’ve found a ton of websites and chat rooms. That’s why I’m going to Seattle. A group there is interested in jihad, and they have invited me to join them.”

Mark frowned. “Hey look, I just came on this outing for a fun road trip. I had no idea that you are considering Islam and jihad. That’s serious, dude.”

“It’s, like, the only thing that makes sense to me now. It’s us or them in the world, and I want to be on the winning side.”

“Well, if you’re on the 9/11 side, I’m outta here.”

“That American conspiracy of our own government, you know, played nicely into the West’s anti-Islam prejudice. Man, don’t you see? It amounted to a clever ploy by the CIA to turn the nations of the West against us, against Muslims.”

“You gotta be kidding! Like you actually believe 9/11 was an American government conspiracy?”

“It’s clear that our government did it!”

“Robert, I don’t think I belong on this trip. Let me off at the next exit, dude. I’ll find a bus or train back to town.”

They coasted to a stop at a strip mall just outside the city. Mark clapped Robert on the back as he reached for his backpack to leave.

“You’re going to miss a real adventure, you know.”

“I hope you survive!” Mark replied over his shoulder as he hurried out of the car.

Most considered Ashley Wells beautiful. She was tall and slender, with long blond hair and sparkling blue eyes that squinted when she laughed. But when she looked beyond the mirror each day, she saw a serious young woman deep in thought about world affairs, helping animals and healing people.

Ashley had moved from her home state to get an advanced degree in zoology at the University of Washington in Seattle. She loved animals, but decided to apply to medical school after she finished the zoology master’s degree program. She had some catching up to do, including studying for the rigorous MCAT entrance exams.

As a doctor, she could serve humanity in a more forceful and meaningful way. She had grown up in a conservative Christian family in Oklahoma and the idea of service was instilled deep within her social conscience. Her parents were delighted when she decided to go to medical school.

Their support for Zionism had transferred to Ashley. She too believed that Israel should possess the Holy Land at all costs. God promised it. It should be its own state and be staunchly defended
by Christians because of hostile Arab neighbors. And she followed events in the Middle East with interest. She saw them as the fulfillment of Biblical prophecy.

That was one reason Najid Haddad interested her. She had never met an international student from the Middle East. Both graduate students were also lab assistants for the beginning zoology classes. “Come in. Please, come in,” Ashley beckoned to the tall young man with black hair and a swarthy complexion who stood in the doorway. She had noticed him coming down the hall. He reminded her of one of the international soccer players on the Seattle Sounders. The small-windowed break room for graduate students contained a couple of tan lounge chairs and an old print sofa—but most importantly, a coffee maker and teapot. Two other young men sprawled in the chairs seemed indifferent, lost in their reading. “Please, come in,” she said with a broad smile. “I don’t want anyone to feel left out. Coffee or tea?” She patted the sofa next to her, indicating where he could sit.

“Tea would be fine,” he said softly. “I did learn about American customs, that it’s all right to accept a cup of tea on the first offer instead of waiting for the third one. But I don’t know if it would be acceptable to sit so close to a young woman.”

With that, one of the American grad students looked up. “She won’t bite.” He resumed his reading.

Najid sat next to Ashley, who rose to bring him a cup of tea. “Thank you. I didn’t worry that you would bite.”

“Bad American joke,” Ashley said. She pondered this athletic-looking guy who seemed mild mannered and reserved. It would be good to learn more about him.
Maybe he’s just unsure of this new American culture
. “Where are you from? It’s Najid isn’t it?”

“Yes, and I’m from Israel, near the town of Nazareth.”

“Really? And how long have you been here?”

“Three weeks.”

“Awesome! What do you think of Seattle so far?”

“It’s beautiful, but very busy. Everyone seems to be in a hurry. I don’t know any Americans yet. My two housemates are from Libya.”

“Your English is great. Where did you learn to speak it so well?”

“We studied it in school starting from the sixth grade.”

“So was that in Nazareth?”

“Yes. But we studied in English at the University in Haifa.”

“Is that where you got your zoology degree?”

“Yes. But then I had another year in graduate school while applying here at the University of Washington.”

“Are you on a scholarship?”

“Of course. I could not come on my own. My father works in the olive groves near us and has to support my mother and their six younger children. So I applied for a Fulbright Scholarship and here I am.” Najid smiled for the first time.

By this time the two other grad students perked up. “I’m Brandon,” one said. He put his papers aside and stood to shake hands. “You know Ashley here, and this is Ethan.”

Najid stood and returned the handshakes. “I didn’t know her name, and I am so pleased to meet all of you.”

“So you live in Israel, not the West Bank?” Brandon asked.

“Yes, my family has lived there for generations—over three hundred years.” He sat down, sipping his tea.

“So you’re Jewish then.”

“No, but we have many Jews in our town. We are Palestinians.”

“So let me get this straight.” Brandon look puzzled. “You are Palestinian and your family goes back three centuries in Israel?”

“Probably longer than that, but we have no records older than about ten generations.”

“So you speak Palestinian?”

“No.” Najid laughed with a twinkle in his eye. “We speak Arabic.”

“Oh.” Brandon furrowed his brow. “You mean that you are a Palestinian Arab but you live in Israel? I thought all Palestinians stayed in the West Bank.”

Najid chuckled. “No, we have lived there always, before Israel existed as a country. But many of us do live in the West Bank or Gaza.”

“Do you speak Hebrew?” Ethan inquired.

“Oh yes. I played with Jewish boys growing up and learned it from them, but also at school.”

“So you must be Muslim,” Norman replied. “Which branch are you with, Sunnis or are you Shiite?”

“Neither. I’m a Christian.”

Ethan looked surprised and rose to pour another cup of coffee. “More tea?” He gestured toward Najid, who held out his cup for more tea. “I don’t get it. I assumed all Palestinians are Muslim.”

“Oh no.” Najid shook his head. “I come from a long line of Christians dating back two thousand years. So I am a Christian by birth . . . but also by choice.”

“Okaaay . . .” Ethan paused, gazing out the window. “So you’re telling me that many people in Israel are not Jewish, but Palestinian. And some of those are Christian and not Muslim? I’ve never read that.”

“There are five million people in Israel and about a million are Arabs,” Najid said.

“So how many of the Palestinians in Israel are Christian?”

“About two hundred thousand.”

“Poor Najid,” Ashley intervened. “He came here for tea and ended up getting grilled.”

“What is grilled? You mean like a sandwich?”

“No,” Ashley said with a laugh. “That’s an English idiom that means you had to answer a lot of questions.”

“Oh, I don’t mind them at all. I love to talk about my country and our history.”

Ashley looked at this shy young man, feeling strangely attracted to him. He came to a new world, far from home, unsure of America’s informal culture and direct speech. He struggled to know what was acceptable behavior. She had never heard of Palestinian Christians living in Israel playing as children with Jewish neighbors. He didn’t fit her picture of a Palestinian terrorist. She hoped they could get better acquainted. He sparked a sense of adventure in her, as though he might open her eyes to new things, and she wondered where it could lead.

“Well, we better get back to work.” Ashley stood. “Those freshmen students won’t know a frog’s liver from its spleen.”

Robert found his Internet friends in Seattle. Most had emigrated from Muslim countries within the last few years, but several were born in the U.S. of immigrant parents. Ali Shakoor, a Pashtun, born in America to a Pakistani family, became his close friend. Ali spoke Urdu, Arabic, and English.

“Why don’t you come to live here with the group, Robert?”

“Maybe I should.” So he moved in, but still kept his own place in an old home nearby. Both houses occupied part of an old neighborhood on Capitol Hill.

Ali walked into the sparsely furnished kitchen with white painted cupboards. Robert had just finished his bean soup.

“Why did you come to room with jihadists, Ali?”

“Lots of reasons,” he began. “For example, I don’t like the U.S. for its strong support of Israel and its invasion of the Muslim world of Afghanistan and Iraq. What makes America think it can dictate to other countries what they can or cannot do?”

Ali grew passionate, “And I hate the secular government of Pakistan.”

“You do? Why?”

“Pakistanis are not Salafis. Sharia law does not exist there. Now, Pakistan has switched from supporting to persecuting my Pashtun Taliban brothers in South Waziristan along the Afghan boarder. I want to learn what I can do about all this.

“How about you? Why did you come from New York?”

“Good question, Ali. I guess I had nothing to live for there. Then I wandered into a mosque one day and met people who lived by a strict code and knew what they believed.”

“Really! Never been in one before?”

“Never. I learned a different way of looking at life and what is going on in our world beyond just making money. Then, you know, I found you guys on the Internet and decided to come here to put to work what I was learning. I’ve finally found a cause I can live for . . . and maybe die for if it comes to that.”

Over the next few weeks, Robert joined Ali on an intense religious quest. They prayed at the Masjid Al Farah Mosque in Central Seattle and heard readings from the Qu’ran—the Holy Book—and Hadith, and the Traditions. While they sat in a semicircle on the carpeted floor facing the front, the imam sat on a chair near the stand holding the Holy Book. He would take the Qu’ran, slowly turn its pages, and begin reading in Arabic that to Robert, sounded like poetry.