Authors: Adrian D'Hage
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Mar’Oth
‘
Y
ou must give me the recipe for that, Ahmed, I have never tasted anything quite like it.’ Giovanni leaned back against the cushions that littered the floor of Ahmed Sartawi’s modest mudbrick house.
‘Welcome to Middle Eastern cuisine, although you will have to ask the women of the village for the recipe. It’s a very famous Palestinian dish,
Msaqa’a
, eggplants baked with onions, tomatoes and spices. Simple, but the secret is in the cooking.
‘And the pancakes?’
‘
Qateyef
. Filled with crushed walnuts, coconut, cinnamon and a touch of lemon juice, another famous recipe they will also give you. It is the least we can do after all your kindness.’
‘I’m sure you would have done the same for me.’
‘Perhaps. Although unfortunately there are many who might not. It was not always so but the fighting between the Israelis and the Palestinians has poisoned our people. It has not helped that the West has been so one-sided in its support for the Jews.’
Giovanni studied his host. Ahmed was just in his thirties but his brown face was etched with lines. He had thick black hair, a prominent nose and his dark brown eyes were gentle.
‘Are there problems in this village?’
‘Between the Muslims and the Christians, you mean?’
Giovanni nodded.
‘There were. You had a predecessor. Quite a few years ago but we all still remember him. Father Lonergan was, how do you say it, somewhat rigid. For him Christianity was the only path. That sort of teaching creates a lot of difficulty, especially in a small village like Mar’Oth. You will forgive me for saying so, but if we are to live in harmony together we should be honest with one another. Your predecessor seemed preoccupied. Troubled by something personal, I think, and fond of a drink.’
That explained the empty whisky bottles, Giovanni thought. ‘Your English is exceptional, Ahmed. I hope to pick up some Arabic.’
‘I would be more than happy to help you with that. The villagers are very receptive to anyone who makes the attempt, the mistakes don’t matter to them.’
‘Well, there will be plenty of those!’ Giovanni said. ‘What is your view of Christians, Ahmed?’
‘As a Muslim or as Ahmed Sartawi?’
‘Both, I guess.’
‘The Qur’an recognises Jesus as a prophet, but for me the answer lies not in a discussion on the Christian Christ versus the Muslim Christ, nor does it lie in an argument over Christ’s ascension from the Mount of Olives versus Muhammad’s ascension from the Dome of the Rock. For me the answer goes much further back.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning that whether we like it or not, Judaism, Christianity and Islam all have a common ancestor, one we all claim as our own.’
‘Abraham,’ Giovanni said quietly. He too had reflected on the undisputed patriarch of the three great monotheistic faiths that all had their genesis in the Middle East. Perhaps there was an unseen hand that had posted him to this little village far away from the corridors of power at the Vatican. The ruins of a tiny church with its foul-smelling room was but a symbol of man’s decay, a decay and corruption that had infiltrated the very top layers of the Holy Catholic Church.
‘Abraham,’ Ahmed agreed reverently. ‘The Qur’an explains that Abraham is one of the four great prophets and the one to whom Allah said, “I have appointed thee to be a leader for mankind.” In the Torah, to the Jew, he is the one to whom God said, “Lech Lecha … Go forth from thy father’s house and I will make of you a great nation.” In the New Testament, for the Christian, Paul mentions Abraham more than any other figure, bar Christ.’
‘Yet we fight over ownership of Abraham,’ Giovanni observed.
Ahmed smiled, recognising that he was in the presence of a fellow thinker. ‘Many believers, especially the young, have no idea of our common ancestry through Abraham, but it is the fighting over religion that will eventually bring us all undone, Giovanni. I have a feeling that the countdown for civilisation has begun.’
Giovanni instantly thought of the warning in the Omega Scroll. Again he decided against bringing it up, but he had the same feeling about Ahmed as he had about Patrick O’Hara. Here was a man who was to be trusted.
The Spirit smiled
.
‘Does the Qur’an warn of that?’
‘The signs are there if you want to heed them. Surah 20 tells us that the hour is surely coming. Some of the signs are already with us. The 54th Surah of the Qur’an refers to man digging and furrowing the moon, which happened in 1969. Many Islamic scholars point to signs of increasing warfare, the destruction of cities like Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and increased earthquakes and poverty.’
‘Those same warnings are in the Bible, Ahmed,’ Giovanni replied, not for the first time wondering if there had been revelation through the Prophet Muhammad as well as Christ. ‘The increase in earthquakes is predicted in Matthew and I saw some figures before I left Italy that confirmed that the number of earthquakes around the world is rising dramatically. The prophet Daniel made four predictions. Three of them have already passed.’
‘It was the empires, wasn’t it? With one still to go?’
‘You have studied the Bible?’
‘You sound surprised, Giovanni. To the Muslim, Jesus is to be revered as a prophet, peace be upon him. Am I right about Daniel’s prophecy?’
‘I wish I had as good a grasp of the Qur’an, but yes, you’re right. So far Daniel has been chillingly accurate. As I recall his interpretation of Nebuchadnezzar’s dream he said, “You were looking, O King and there before you stood a large statue. The head of the statue was made of pure gold. Its chest and arms of silver, its belly and thighs of bronze, its legs of iron.” Nebuchadnezzar’s dream was a prophecy for the four empires, each of which would fall. Gold for the mighty Babylonians, silver for Medo-Persia which began with Cyrus the Great when he conquered Babylon in 539
BC
, bronze for the Greek Empire and Alexander the Great, and the Iron Empire still to go.’
Ahmed nodded. ‘Iron being the extension of the Roman Empire which is now embodied in the European Union.’
‘Where do you see the United States in that?’
‘I don’t think the United States has the finesse in foreign policy to ever become an empire. If people like my brother Yusef have their way, many cities in America and those of her allies will be totally destroyed before the fanatical elements of Islam finally turn their attention to greater Europe.’
‘Yusef is intolerant of other religions?’
‘Our family was killed by the Israelis and we are the only ones left. A story I will tell you another time, but Yusef has sworn to take his revenge and he can’t understand why I won’t do the same. I understand his hatred but I can’t condone it because hatred breeds more hatred. On our side, Arafat has had many chances for peace but he is incapable of delivering.’
‘Have you ever thought of running for politics, Ahmed?’
‘Not while Arafat is around. He is totally corrupt and it would be a waste of effort even running, always assuming that we get to have elections, but if he ever moved on, I would think about it very seriously. Someone has to do something about this ever-increasing cycle of violence, Giovanni. There is a whole generation of kids who are being brought up to hate the West, something that the US politicians seem to ignore. Once this hatred starts to spiral out of control, the warning on the countdown to the destruction of humanity becomes very clear.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
Jerusalem
I
n the days that followed, the parishioners of Mar’Oth banded together to help their new, unassuming priest settle in, and some of the Muslims joined their Christian brothers to help as well. Giovanni’s kindness to their Imam had not gone unnoticed and within a remarkably short time the little Christian church and Giovanni’s quarters were clean and functional. Patrick O’Hara kept his word too, and less than two weeks after Giovanni had settled into Mar’Oth, he was summoned back to Jerusalem to meet Yossi Kaufmann, his wife Marian and their son David. Giovanni arrived early and Patrick, ever sensitive to the people around him, briefed Giovanni on the Kaufmann family background.
‘Over the years the Kaufmanns have had more than their fair share of family tragedy. Yossi and Marian both lost their parents in the Holocaust and their eldest son, Michael, was killed in the 1967 Six Day War. David fought in that as a young platoon commander and took part in the assault and liberation of the Old City. In fact he was responsible for capturing the Rockefeller Museum from the Jordanians and with it the vaults that held the Dead Sea Scrolls. David hates telling the story but I’ll be prevailing upon him to tell you how he did it. It makes fascinating listening.’
After dinner, Patrick, Giovanni, Yossi, Marian and David settled into the big comfortable armchairs in Patrick’s rambling study.
‘
Basta, basta!
Patrick. An excellent dinner as usual but
domani!
Tomorrow! I have to work tomorrow.’ Professor Kaufmann was used to his host and he protested as Patrick filled his glass. Yossi Kaufmann was tall and square-shouldered, his face fair-skinned and sculpted with laughter lines. His sense of humour was also reflected in his gentle blue eyes.
‘You speak Italian, Yossi?’ Giovanni asked.
‘
Soltanto un poco
,’ he replied, putting his thumb and forefinger close together to indicate a little.
‘Yossi’s too modest,’ Marian protested. Marian Kaufmann was tall and elegant. Her long dark hair shone in the soft light, framing her unlined face and her soft but alert brown eyes. They were, Giovanni thought, a very striking couple. ‘As well as English and Hebrew, Yossi is quite fluent in Italian and he also has some quite passable Arabic and French.’
‘What about you, David?’ Giovanni asked.
‘I get by, I guess,’ David replied with a boyish grin. ‘My pursuits have been a little less glamorous than Italian and French. Not much call for ordering a beer in Koiné or Aramaic!’ David’s playful demeanour made him look much younger than his thirty-nine years.
‘I’ve been trying to converse with the villagers of Mar’Oth in Arabic. All I can say is that they are very tolerant,’ Giovanni said. ‘You were a platoon commander in the Six Day War?’
‘A very good one,’ Yossi replied, always ready to give his son credit.
‘Have you ever wondered if the Omega Scroll was amongst those you liberated from the Rockefeller Museum, David?’ Patrick loved a good conspiracy.
‘The Professor and I,’ David replied, using his father’s title as a term of endearment, ‘have often wondered about that. It was pretty chaotic and we had enough trouble securing the building without counting and checking what was in the vault.’
The Professor’s face was inscrutable. Yossi Kaufmann had seen some recent Mossad reports indicating that the original and one copy of the Omega Scroll had indeed been in the vaults.
‘You should tell Giovanni the story, David,’ Patrick prompted.
‘Oh, I’m sure Giovanni doesn’t want to hear about the war,’ David replied reluctantly.
‘I’m sorry,’ Giovanni replied, mindful of the loss of David’s brother. ‘I don’t want to raise any painful memories.’
‘Don’t be sorry,’ Marian said gently. ‘We miss Michael but we’ve come to terms with his loss. It just makes us all the more determined for peace.’
‘But it can’t be peace at the expense of one side,’ Yossi warned. ‘There will never be peace until we reach a solution with the Palestinians that is equitable for both sides. The Palestinians must be given their own State. On the other hand, those who criticise the Jewish nation for warmongering have very little understanding of how reluctant we have been to fight, how divided the Cabinet was in 1967 and that the Palestinians are not the only ones to have suffered terrible losses. In the end we were given little choice. Even today there are still some who want to push us into the sea and if nothing else, the 1967 war serves as a reminder of how futile that approach is. Wars are not the answer,’ Yossi said sadly. ‘But when the Jewish nation is pushed into a corner we will fight with every means at our disposal.’
‘Yes, but David is such a reluctant hero,’ Marian added with a warm smile. ‘Perhaps I should start, Patrick?’
‘Let me refill your glass,’ Patrick replied, reaching for the red wine.
Acre
From the day Yossi and Marian had arrived in Acre as teenagers on a fishing trawler after their escape from Vienna in 1938, they had both been captivated by the old city with its Crusader walls, minarets, mosques, souks and the great Khans, where the merchants of Italy and Provence had plied their trade. By 1967 they had found a modest holiday house that was close to the ancient harbour. It was on a narrow, twisting street and one of a row of houses that dated back to the Turkish Ottoman Empire of the eighteenth century.
Marian Kaufmann had set the table simply. Two candles representing God’s commandments:
zachor
, to remember, and
shamor
, to observe the Sabbath; a glass of wine and two loaves of
challah
that would remain covered with a white cloth until after the blessings. Marian had long ago lost her own Jewish faith behind the forbidding bluestone walls and wire of the Nazi charnel house at Mauthausen, the concentration camp in Austria where both Yossi’s and her own parents had been brutally murdered. Despite this, Marian had a deep respect for Yossi’s beliefs and she was happy to observe the Jewish ritual. Yossi and Marian had agreed that both of their sons would receive instruction in the Torah, but the matter of faith had been left to the boys to decide for themselves. David, Marian knew, would never have time for religion. Michael, blond, tall and three years older than David, had the same strong faith as his father. Given the boys’ natures it could have been expected to be the other way round – Michael was brash and aggressive; David, mischievous but thoughtful.
Yossi removed the white cloth from the bread and holding one loaf in each hand, he blessed it:
Barukh atah Adonai Elohaynu melekh ha-olam
– Blessed are You, Lord, our God, King of the Universe.
Ha-motzi lechem min ha-aretz. Amein
– Who brings forth bread from the earth. Amen.
Like the Christians and the Muslims, it was a ‘thank you’ to the God of Abraham, the same God for all the faiths. The same God and the same hope for peace, yet once again the war clouds were gathering over the cities of the Jews, Christians and Arabs.
‘How is the flying going, Michael?’ Yossi asked.
‘Very well,’ Michael responded enthusiastically. ‘By the end of next week I will have two hundred hours on the Mirage,’ he added proudly.
‘Do you think there will be a war, Yossi?’ Marian asked, dreading the thought.
‘I hope not. Going to war with the Arabs will not solve anything. I think it’s time both sides pulled back from this madness. It’s time we both tried to walk a mile in the other man’s shoes. Palestinians simply want the opportunity to work in peace and make a contribution, but a man without a country is a man without dignity and until we reach agreement on the Palestinian State, the killing will continue.’
‘I don’t agree,’ Michael said. ‘I think it’s about time we taught these lying Arab bastards a lesson, one they won’t forget in a hurry!’
‘Michael Kaufmann! I will have none of that language in this house.’ Marian had some clear rules when it came to swearing. Yossi suppressed a smile. The language in the officers’ mess would no doubt be a lot worse. Yossi was proud of his sons but he, like Marian, had often reflected on how very different their sons were. It was almost as if there was an old soul and a young soul.
Michael was the young soul; full of the enthusiasm and invincibility of youth, a zest for war and adventure without the wisdom to consider the consequences. All he had ever wanted to do was fly, and after graduating at the top of his pilot’s course he had been assigned to a conversion course for the Dassault Mirage III, dubbed by the Israeli pilots as the Shahak, the ‘skyblazer’. After achieving another graduation first, Michael had been posted to the Israeli Defense Force’s premier fighter squadron, the 101st, at the huge Hatzhor Air Base. Yossi knew that if it came to war the 101st would be the first into combat. David was the old soul. Partway through an archaeology degree at the Hebrew University at Mount Scopus, he too was in the Reserves as an infantry platoon commander. Yossi also knew from bitter experience that all wars were vicious, but for the infantry they were particularly so, especially if it came to hand-to-hand fighting.
‘I shouldn’t be telling you this,’ Michael continued, unabashed by his mother’s rebuke, ‘but the Arab scramble time is at least twice that of ours. We’ll have ’em on toast!’
‘What about you, David? Are you looking forward to teaching the Arabs a lesson?’ Marian asked.
David shrugged. ‘If we have to fight, we have to fight. But I don’t agree with Mikey. The Palestinians have lost their homes and their livelihood and I guess you’re right,’ he said, looking at his father. ‘They’re just as much a family people as we are. At the end of the day we took their land. They need a country, too.’
‘I always knew there was a reason I didn’t go to university,’ Michael retorted. ‘They’re Arabs, for hell’s sake.’
Marian sighed. Always it was war – race against race, white against black, Arab against Jew, Christian against Muslim, faith against faith, hatred over tolerance – a vicious and unbroken cycle of escalating violence. It was in man’s power to break it, but he had chosen not to.
Jerusalem
Lieutenant David Kaufmann knocked before entering Brigadier General Menachem Kovner’s office.
‘You sent for me, Menachem?’ David asked. Brigadier General Kovner looked up from a desk cluttered with intelligence reports filed in different coloured folders. The green ones were marked ‘Confidential’ and the red ones ‘Secret’; the one open on Kovner’s desk was crimson, marking it as a ‘Top Secret’.
‘Come in, David, and have a seat.’ Kovner, a wiry, fit-looking professional soldier, picked up the file and joined his much taller lieutenant at the small conference table that was jammed in one corner of his office.
‘What I’m about to tell you must not go out of this room. You are not to discuss it with anyone, except your battalion commander, who is aware of the task I’m about to give you. There is now a strong possibility that we will go to war with Egypt. If we do, the General Staff hope to restrict the war to the one southern front but that will depend on what the Syrians do in the north and what the Jordanians do in the east. It is the Jordanians that I want to talk to you about.’
‘Me?’ David was at a complete loss as to why a platoon commander could have any influence on the eastern front.
‘The Old City and the Dead Sea Scrolls are now in the hands of the Jordanians. The scrolls are being held in the Palestine Museum. When we went to war with Egypt in 1956 the Jordanians stayed out of it. The view in the Cabinet is that they will do so again, but I’m not so sure.’
‘You think the Jordanians will attack?’ David asked.
‘To put it bluntly, yes. Unlike November 1956, the Jordanians know that this time Israel stands alone. Neither the British nor the French will be there and the United States and the Soviets will try to stay out of it. The Jordanians have had your university and our small enclave on Mount Scopus under siege for nearly twenty years. They would dearly love to get it back. The most important of the Dead Sea Scrolls are housed in the Rockefeller Museum.’ Brigadier General Kovner got up from the table and pulled down one of several maps that were held in a rollerblind cabinet on the wall. It was a map of Jerusalem and its environs showing the locations of Jordanian units. He opened the crimson file on the table and placed some aerial photographs and the floor plans of the museum in front of David.
‘The Rockefeller Museum is located on Sultan Suleiman Street.’ Menachem Kovner pointed to Kerem el-Sheik, a hill just outside the north-eastern corner of the Old City walls where the museum had been built. ‘Three months ago the Jordanians nationalised the museum.’
‘So it’s now Jordanian property?’
‘Correct. And whilst I’m not sure the Rockefeller family are overjoyed, in a way the Jordanian Government has played into our hands. If they attack us and enter the war, and if – and this is a big “if” – we drive the Jordanians out of Jerusalem, the museum and more importantly its contents will fall into Israeli hands.’
David realised very clearly what he was being asked to do.
‘You want me to capture the Dead Sea Scrolls.’ It was a statement rather than a question.
His Brigade Commander smiled. ‘Not single-handedly. From time to time your battalion commander and I will be taking an interest in your progress. Given your background and your knowledge of the Scrolls’ importance, it will fall to you to ensure these priceless antiquities are not lost to the scholarship of the world. To help you I have arranged for Private Joseph Silberman to join your platoon, but Silberman is a rather unusual recruit.’
‘Unusual?’
‘Up until a couple of weeks ago he was an inmate of Ramle, and other than teaching him how to shoot to protect himself, we haven’t had time to give him the normal military training.’
‘Ramle! What’s he done?’ David asked, intrigued as to why his platoon would need the services of someone confined to one of the harshest prisons in Israel. ‘Why is he coming to me?’