Living Stones (6 page)

“They are wonderful. I’ve never seen any plants like them.”

“They don’t grow very well in Oklahoma either. They need cool weather and lots of rain.”

As they strolled by lawns and gardens resplendent with color, Ashley inquired about Najid’s family, their church, and their living situation. Sitting down in the HUB Café, filled with students at both long and short tables, Ashley enjoyed the view beyond the large windows looking east toward the Cascade Mountains. With their tea, Najid opened up a bit.

“My father is a farmer . . . but, ah . . . we don’t have a farm anymore. But he still takes care of an olive grove. My mother—”

“Why doesn’t your family have a farm anymore?”

“It is a long story, Ashley. It happened many years ago, and I can’t tell you now.”

“So where is it that you live?”

“Outside a town called Genigar, not far from Nazareth. Most people know about Nazareth in Northern Israel. We live in a small house now, three bedrooms.”

“Do you have Jewish neighbors?”

“Not close now. They live on a hill above us. It is hard to explain to you, but they live on the top of the hill with a wall around it. A highway separates us, and we can’t be on that road. But my friend David, who lives there, used to come down to spend time with me since I couldn’t go up to his house.”

“How did you get to know each other?”

“We both went to a Christian school because that was the best school in the area. Palestinian schools aren’t good. But you could pay to go to the Christian school no matter what religion—Muslim, Jewish, Druze, or Christian. And both our parents wanted us to get the best education.”

Ashley stopped asking questions long enough to sip her tea.

“Where in Oklahoma do you come from, Ashley?”

She still had a hundred questions to ask Najid, but realized she should share a bit as well. “Oklahoma City. We are not popular here in Seattle. We just stole the local basketball team called the Sonics. They are now the Oklahoma City Thunder.”

“Oh! Did you come in with guns firing like thunder, like the western movies?” Najd’s eyes twinkled. “With horses?”

“Right, Najid, like thunder and lightning. We had a shootout and dragged the team away.”

They both laughed, lightening the mood. He told her of the young lady in the freshman lab who couldn’t find the frog’s heart. Ashley enjoyed Najid’s sparkle as he tried to keep a straight face describing the lab adventures. He seemed to enjoy talking to her, and told stories of his own foibles in Haifa. At least she had learned a bit about Najid and his family.

The close ties of Christians with the Jewish people and their common heritage in the Bible had stirred Ashley. Most early Christians were Jews. She had cried repeatedly while reading “The Diary of Anne Frank” and Corrie ten Boom’s account of her family tragedy in Nazi concentration camps, killed for their sin of hiding Jews from the Nazis. Ashley grew passionate about the Jews as her heart ached for their suffering and for their contributions.

Najid and Ashley walked to the “Ave” for lunch, and while waiting for the traffic light to turn green on 15
^th
Avenue, she began. “Najid, have you ever been to a synagogue?”

“Oh yes. We have them in Nazareth.”

“Do you understand Hebrew?”

“Sure. I have no trouble understanding them.”

Ashley shook her head and chuckled to herself.
How many languages did he know?
She steered Najid to a Greek restaurant, a small well-lighted two-room place on University Avenue. The garlic and cumin smell tantalized her. “Oooh, I love Greek food!”

As they settled down over lunch, she asked him, “What would you think about going to a synagogue here in Seattle?” Her eyes twinkled and she cracked a smile.

“I’ve never thought about attending one here. Why do you ask?” Najid moved his glass to allow the waitress to bring his lunch plate. The cucumbers showed at the ends of the pita bread enclosing them.

Ashley furrowed her brow. “Well, I’ve been doing some studying
about how we Christians owe so much to the Jews for the past—all they gave through the Ten Commandments and the prophets. But such terrible things have happened since then. It gets confusing. Particularly in your part of the world.”

“I agree. It is—”

“But Najid, the trouble now, the unrest in the Middle East that you personally face, doesn’t that bother you?”

“Yes it does.” He paused and tightened his lips. Then he looked at Ashley and nodded. “But I’ve decided to put that aside here in America.”

“If I told you that our church supports Israel one hundred percent in the current conflict, what would you think?”

Najid stared silently out the window as they both started eating. He began slowly. “That is a choice people make. I hope your church is well informed with the facts. Sometimes I see tour groups of Americans in Israel visiting the historical sites where Jesus lived and worked. Most of these shrines have beautiful stone churches, but tourists don’t connect with the people who live there. They get back on their bus and go to their hotel. I think of how Peter once called Jesus’s followers ‘living stones.’ The tourists see the dead stones in many shrines in Israel but don’t meet the living ones.”

“A lot of Americans tour the Holy Land,” Ashley said. “You mean they never get to hear the experiences of people who have actually lived there for a long time?”

“I think so, but I’m not sure. You’d have to go yourself to determine that.”

“I’d love to. You make me want to go there.”

“Ashley, you would be most welcome to stay as a guest in my family home.”

She remembered Najid’s mentioning their small house and understood the generosity of the offer. Ashley smiled and nodded. “Thank you. Maybe someday. But right now, I want to know more of what the Jewish people think. How do they feel about the generous support Israel gets from people in some of our American churches?”

“So that is why you want to go to the synagogue?”

“Yes, but also just to learn more about them. I’ve never been to one.”

“I would be glad to go with you sometime. I could translate the Hebrew for you so you could understand the rabbi.”

“Oh, Najid, that would be awesome! There is a synagogue not too far from the U-district, and we could meet there. Maybe on a late Friday afternoon just before their Sabbath, toward sundown. I looked it up on the Internet, and this particular one has their Kabbalat Shabbat at six p.m.”

He pulled out his smartphone and studied it for a moment. “Next week I think would be fine.”

“Great, let’s plan on that unless your schedule changes. I’ll confirm with you on the day before and text you the address if we don’t meet in the lab. We can get together in front of the synagogue at five-thirty on Friday, that’s the second Friday in May. You better show up now that you promised.” Ashley chuckled, raising her eyebrows, eyes dancing. “You know that ninety percent of life is just showing up!”

“Really?”

“Could be true, Najid,” Ashley said with a wink. “At least Will Rogers from Oklahoma thought so.”

Ashley left the freshman zoology lab at ten-thirty for a coffee break in the grad student lounge. She found Najid huddled in deep conversation with Ethan over his cup of tea. He looked up and grinned.

“Did you get my text message about the address?” she asked.

“I did, Ashley. I’m looking forward to it. That’s today, right?

“You got it. I’ll plan to meet you in front of the building at five-thirty so we can talk a bit about what to expect before we go in.”

“OK.” Najid seemed to enjoy talking like an American. He resumed his conversation while Ashley turned to get her coffee.

The plan flowed without a ripple. No one appeared as Robert, heart pounding in his chest, walked in the front door of the synagogue toward the right-side corner at the front of the building. He found the vestibule empty, decorated in muted tones, lighted by several stained-glass windows, and brightened by a menorah holding seven scented candles on a nearby table. Very quiet, the space had a pleasant smell. He strolled toward a large bookcase filled with books along the front wall and stood between it and the side wall in the corner, well hidden. Easing out of his backpack, he put it down gingerly. Hands shaking, he adjusted the timer for five-thirty p.m. and connected it to the detonator cord inside the backpack. As he slipped out the front door unseen, he heard someone walking in the rear rooms of the building.

Robert, forcing himself not to run, strolled casually to the nearby sidewalk and across the street, stopping under a large tree in front of a modest 1930s house. His dark-blue, hooded sweatshirt hid all but his eyes, nose, and mouth. He waited for three minutes. At five twenty-nine he watched as two young people walked toward each other. They met and stopped to talk directly in front of the right corner of
the building, separated from it by a narrow garden of bushes and small trees. The girl, blonde and pretty, stood with her back to the building. She looked up and caught Robert looking at her. He quickly averted his gaze. The young man from the back reminded him of Ali. He shrugged. They’d just be part of the collateral damage.

Robert turned and walked away at a normal pace, face flushed, determined not to panic. When he had reached the middle of the next block, a huge explosion ripped the air around him. He felt the blast and turned to see the synagogue come down in a huge gray plume of dust and debris. Flames shot from the rubble. Robert’s heart pounded with excitement, hardly able to take in the phenomenal success of his mission. He had never experienced an adrenaline rush like that, even when he’d tried crack cocaine.

The blonde girl lay on the sidewalk as the man kneeled over her and waved wildly. People rushed from their houses and soon chaos enveloped the scene. Within moments sirens screeched as the fire grew higher. Robert followed the crowd, drawn like a magnet, pressing in closer to the site then finally making a path for the police and fire trucks. A Medic One van raced forward as the crowd parted, stopping where the girl lay. Paramedics transferred her within a minute to a stretcher, IV running, and drove away, sirens blaring.

Robert watched as firemen controlled the flames and began with police to search the cooler rubble for victims. Smoke and dust filled the air. He smiled, taking in a deep breath at the smell. The bomb succeeded beyond his expectations. All the training and careful planning had paid off. He felt his face flush and heart race. It would make world headlines. Jihad once again in the United States, this time on the opposite coast from New York. He hadn’t done well at Cornell, but at slipping past Homeland Security, he had excelled when others couldn’t. He would be honored by brother jihadists around the world, admired for his exploit even if they didn’t know who did it.

He saw the young man get up from the bloody sidewalk and begin to walk toward him. His arms looked bloody. A policeman raced after him, clamped on handcuffs, and forced him into a police car.

Robert turned back, away from the scene, and walked casually
up a side street against the human tide of people swarming to the site wondering what had happened. He continued to walk for two hours, over the University Bridge, hearing incessant sirens and people gathered on streets far removed discussing what they had just seen on local television.

He reached the house on Capitol Hill and entered to find his puzzled but excited jihadi friends gathered around the TV in the front room. They stood around the screen watching wide-eyed at the worldwide reaction to the bombing, asking each other, “Who could have succeeded in doing the impossible?”

Robert stared at the screen. It felt like an “out-of-body” experience, as if he were looking on a triumph someone else had done. The president spoke, vowing to bring the terrorists to justice, and the Prime Minister of Israel expressed his condolences to victims and their families.

Ali flashed a quick thumbs-up at Robert, confirming their secret would remain hidden, even from the brothers in the house. In fact, it seemed like the perfect jihad event. Imam Jabril, he trusted. He obviously risked arrest with his complicity. Their C-4 provider in Butte had no idea who they were except friends of the imam and would have hidden his own participation. Any fingerprints would be burned up along with the backpack. And no one saw him. Well, no one except the girl, and then only a bit of his face. He frowned with some nagging concern, but put it out of his mind. She probably died from the blast or would have no memory of the event if she lived.