Living Stones (20 page)

Ashley perked up as the waitress came for orders. She thought tea might settle her stomach. “Are you the rabbi here at the museum?”

“No,” he said, laughing. “I retired some years ago.”

“You have obviously seen the pictures of Auschwitz, probably many times. I . . . I couldn’t handle them. They made me sick.”

“I was there.”

Ashley’s jaw dropped and her eyes widened, staring at their new friend. “You . . . really? You were in Auschwitz?!”

“Yes, as a child. Both of my parents died there in the gas chamber.”

“Oh no! I’m so sorry.” Ashley paused, squeezing the rabbi’s hand. “I’ve never met a survivor of the concentration camps. How did you escape?”

“We didn’t. My uncle and I somehow lived until the Allied armies freed us.”

Rabbi Yusef then related his story, detailing his childhood in Germany, his experience in the camp, and then his release with his uncle. They had immigrated to Israel in 1948 just after it achieved nation status.

Ashley sighed, and both women sat back in their chairs after being on the edge of them during the story. Their tea had grown cold. Ashley had so many questions to ask of this rabbi who had lived through the modern history of the Jews.

“You have been through so much that I’ll never understand,” Ashley said. “It’s such a privilege to hear your story. May I ask you a question or two?”

“ ‘No problem,’ as you Americans say.” He flashed a sly smile.

“Are you orthodox in your faith?”

“Yes, I am. And many are here. But we’ve always had a secular government.”

“What do you think about Israel getting help from the United States?”

“We appreciate it. Three billion dollars a year allows us to do what we do, particularly with military and security issues.”

“Do you have any disagreement with the U.S. policy toward the Palestinians?”

“Yes, I do. I would like America to support us exclusively in our fight with them. They are terrorists and use rockets to try to get rid of us. In the past, suicide bombs. Only the wall has finally brought the suicide bombings to a halt, as well as our soldiers. There is no other way. We have to cement our gains, literally. It has allowed us to take much of the West Bank that belonged to us in King David’s day.”

“Do you want your government to take over all the occupied territory?” Ashley inquired.

“We won’t rest until we have the entire land promised us, at least to the Jordan River. We have too many Palestinians in Israel proper. And too many in the West Bank. Some are leaving, but not enough of them. They have too many babies. If we were all one country, they could take over with time. We have to cleanse the land of Arabs. You can’t trust Palestinians.”

“Do you think the Jewish settlements in the territories will last?”

“Yes. We need more of them to control their terrorism. Look what happened in Gaza when we pulled out: Hamas. We’ll gradually strangle them with settlements, the separation wall, and exclusive roads. Eventually they’ll leave or die out and we’ll take over the West Bank.”

“Really?!” Ashley’s heart raced, thinking of Fatima and her family, and then Sami and Rafiq’s family. What would Najid say if he were here? The rabbi seemed so certain in his views, so hard.

“Do you know that some Christian churches in America do support Israel exclusively, whatever your government does? It’s part of their theology.”

“I’ve heard that is true. But I don’t understand it. Do they really think supporting Israel will hasten Messiah’s coming? I’ve heard that they predict a Jewish slaughter at Meggido. I think you call it Armageddon. That’s not very popular here.” He smiled with a wink.

Marie laughed nervously and touched Ashley’s hand. “I think we’d better not keep the rabbi any longer.” She left ten Israeli shekels for the tea for all three of them.

Ashley sensed Marie’s discomfort with her questions. “I’m sorry for being so forward in my questions, Rabbi Yusef. I wish you God’s blessing! Shalom.”

“I enjoyed your questions, Ashley, and meeting you, Marie. Here is my card and e-mail address.” He reached over the table, handing it to Marie. “Feel free to write. You’ll find English on the back. Shalom.”

With the team back on the bus heading to the Mount of Olives, Marie turned to Ashley. “Feeling better?”

“Oh, yes. When Rabbi Yusef told his story, I forgot about my stomach.”

“Did he answer your questions to your liking?”

Ashley put her hand to her chin, looking out the window at a busy intersection. “I suppose he did, Marie. I . . . respect him for all he has been through in a lifetime of stress. But I wonder if he has any Palestinian friends.” She paused. “It would have been so much fun to have Najid here to share these experiences together. He would have loved the old Rabbi Yusef, even with his hard views.”

Ben let the team rest for a bit as he drove back from the modern city toward the old one. They seemed subdued by their museum experience as they wound up the hill to the top of the Mount of Olives. The panorama proved spectacular, with the Old City in the foreground, surrounded by its high stone wall. The Temple Mount crowned the view, topped by the dramatic golden Dome of the Rock shrine, the site from which the Prophet Mohammed was said to have ascended to Heaven.

“When you’re ready, we’ll take the Palm Sunday path down to the Garden of Gethsemane that you see below.” Soon they ambled down the trail as the sun high in the July sky bore down on everyone. They enjoyed the shade of the trees approaching the Garden of Gethsemane below.

Ashley stared at the olive trees in the garden, some trunks fully five feet in diameter.

“These trees may well have been here when Jesus agonized under them,” Jim said.

Ashley and Marie strolled the paths in the garden. Beautiful and quiet, Ashley visualized Jesus on his knees, knowing his trial and a
painful death awaited. She thanked him quietly as they walked.

Walid looked around Umar’s apartment in the Muslim Quarter of the Old City. Dark and dingy, Umar didn’t have a wife to brighten it up. Walid had started a close vigil on the guesthouse not far away in the Armenian quarter. He had taken off his visored cap and his Muslim hat. He exchanged his shaded glasses for dark ones. He wore a long shirt with baggy cotton pants.

Umar had laughed. “You look Pakistani.”

“I don’t care, as long as it hides me. The problem is her. So far they are always together with their group. I guess we’ll have to be patient until we can find her alone or somehow separate her from everyone else. She’ll be here in Jerusalem for several more days, according to the schedule the boss received. Wherever she goes, one of us has to be in the background somewhere near but far enough away to avoid suspicion.”

On a walking tour in the late afternoon, the group passed through the Armenian Quarter of the Old City, entering the larger Jewish quarter. A column of young men strode by in their black suits and white shirts, with broadbrimmed black hats. Their long sideburn braids swung forward and back with each step. Each proceeded head-down, reading from his book and chanting while hurrying along the street.

Ashley looked at them and then turned to Ben with a quizzical frown.

“These guys are Hasidic Jews, a branch of the ultra-Orthodox community. I won’t go into all the other Jewish groups, but there are lots of divisions and subdivisions.”

“What about Zionism?” Ashley ventured. “How does that fit in with Jewish beliefs?”

“That’s a political movement that brought us back to the land and established Israel as a nation.” Ben swept his arm around toward a nearby synagogue. “For some, it’s part of their religion. For others
it’s against their faith. For most of our founders in the 1900s, Zionism was strictly political and not religious at all.”

“Now we’re approaching the Temple Mount. We’ll bypass that for now to go through the Muslim Quarter, the Souk. We share this large piece of the Old City with them. It’s big. Follow me so we don’t lose you.”

Ashley noticed more confined alleyways and shops only ten feet wide, open to narrow and sometimes covered walkways. Colorful bazaars filled with jewelry, clothes, beautiful scarves, and wall hangings seemed to fascinate all the women of the group. “Souk” must mean market, Ashley realized. In adjacent areas, from connected stone houses people gazed down through open windows.

Amid the crowd, Ashley glimpsed a man with dark glasses looking at her. Her mind flashed to Bethlehem and the wall. She shuddered. He quickly turned away. She mustn’t start seeing bad men in every venue. No, she wouldn’t start getting paranoid—it could be anyone. She dismissed the thought.

Ben introduced several university students the next morning, all wearing yarmulkes, who would each take two or three people to wherever they wished to go in the Old City. David chatted with Ashley and Marie. “What would you like to do today?” He seemed like a fun young man, ready for anything, slightly built, with dark hair and eyes that sparkled.

“I’d like some local culture and food for lunch,” Ashley replied. “Oh . . . and shopping. How about you, Marie.”

“Sounds good. David, what do you recommend?” Marie asked.

“I’ll take you for some falafel and salad with pita bread. Good little restaurant in the Jewish quarter. Then we can go shopping in the Souk.”

He walked his charges to a place with outside tables. He pointed to the back wall. “That man standing behind the vat of hot oil is deep frying falafel, the traditional Arab patty made from ground chickpeas or fava beans.”

Several pieces with a colorful salad and pita bread soon filled their plates. They found a table and indulged in a few bites when a middle-aged, bearded gentleman in a white shirt and dark pants
stopped to greet David. A yarmulke sat precariously on the back of his bushy hair. Ashley wondered how it stayed in place. He seemed very friendly and interested to meet the two women.

David jumped to his feet. “Rabbi Cohen, I want you meet two American friends, Marie and Ashley. I’m helping them shop today.”

Marie smiled. “David here is introducing us to your Middle Eastern delights.”

“Great. It’s good to meet you,” he said, nodding. “Any friend of David’s is a friend of mine.”

He sounded so American to Ashley. “I’ve been hoping to meet people who live here, so I am delighted you stopped by. Would you join us for lunch?”

“OK, I will. Let me get something to eat and I’ll be back.”

“Who is he, David?”

“Rabbi Cohen is my rabbi. I think you call it your ‘pastor.’ ”

“Do you take a day off after the Sabbath, Rabbi Cohen?” Ashley popped the last bite of falafel in her mouth as the rabbi sat down.

“We do, Ashley. So this is my day off, to enjoy meeting people like you.” He began to eat.

“Where are you from, Rabbi? Your English sounds American.”

“I am one. Well, maybe I used to be one. I was born in New York and came to work in a kibbutz in Northern Israel as a young man. I never left.”

They shared stories, learning of the rabbi’s journey into theological training. Afterward, he’d worked for several years in the kibbutz. Marie shared her interest in various belief systems in college before becoming a Christian.

Then Ashley explained her background and church where support for Israel and Zionism became very much part of their beliefs. “In fact it is central to how we think about the future and the Messiah.”

“Really? I’ve read about the evangelical branch of Christians in America, some of whom are ‘Christian Zionists.’ It seems like an oxymoron. Also that they have an organization to promote Israeli interests. Is that true?”

“Yes. It’s a national organization called ‘Christians United for Israel.’ It’s quite large. I’ve been raised in Oklahoma to believe all of what it stands for, and now in Seattle, our church also would be
classified in the Christian Zionist group.”

“Is that what you personally believe, Ashley?”

Ashley looked into the face of this rabbi, whose piercing brown eyes penetrated right into her brain. Her heart sped up. What could she say, now that she had seen the wall from the other side? That her heart had been touched with the plight of Palestinians who had lost everything at the hands of Zionists?

On the other hand, she loved the Jewish people. She appreciated them for their great suffering, perseverance through history, and contributions to society.

Well, maybe she didn’t love the soldiers at the wall and checkpoints. Not for what they did to Faisal and Almas near Zubuda. Nor for the government that dispossessed Najid’s family of their home and lands forever. But she liked the people, like David here, and Ben their driver, and yes, Rabbi Yusef. Ashley had always been glad that the Jews, oppressed for centuries, had finally found a homeland, a place of safety and protection. Yet look what they did in Bethlehem to Fatima’s family and all those who lost their livelihood in Jerusalem because they could no longer enter the city.
Have the oppressed become the oppressors?

Her mind whirled as she struggled to contain her thoughts. She finally gazed into the street outside and shook her head. “After all the experiences I’ve had here, Rabbi, I don’t know if I believe in Zionism or not.” She looked back into his steely gaze. “Do you think we should believe and support it?”