“Because my job is not finished. There is something even more important than walking that you must learn.”
“What?” she said irritably.
“Come for a walk with me and I will tell you.”
Hannah had papers to grade, an exam to write, lecture notes to review. She didn’t have time for games. But Ahmed had removed her jacket from the coatrack. He held it out for her to put on.
“All right, but just to the corner deli and back,” she said, picking up her canes. “I need to buy coffee anyway. I’m all out.”
They rode the elevator to the lobby and walked outside to a cool spring day. With its soft gray clouds and brisk damp breeze, it reminded Hannah of the day she first walked down to see the ruins of Gamla with Ben. Ahmed’s unusual solemnity made this walk seem just as momentous.
“All right, what is it that I must learn?” she asked as she limped along.
“You must learn to forgive.” His words hit a wounded place in Hannah’s soul like an arrow striking its mark. “You could grow a new leg,” Ahmed said, “but you still won’t be whole until you forgive. Bitterness will eat away at you until you stop living, until it destroys you. It is like pouring bitter salt water on a plant. You will slowly shrivel up and die.”
“Did you forgive the soldiers who killed your wife?” she asked bluntly.
“Yes. I had to, for all the same reasons. God sent someone into my life with the same message that I’m telling you.”
“I don’t think murderers deserve to be forgiven.”
“Murder, hatred, and vengeance are part of man’s fallen nature. In the first generation after the fall, brother killed brother. God is as sick of murder and hatred as we are, but what is He to do? Destroy us all? It’s His purpose to redeem the world.”
Hannah looked at Ahmed in surprise. “That’s what Jake always believed.”
They reached the tiny corner store, and Hannah pulled a pound of coffee from the shelf. After she paid for it, they headed back to her apartment.
“I’ve lived through the same wars and conflicts that you have, Hannah, only on the other side. My people lost their freedom. My family disowned me. My wife was brutally murdered. The burden of unforgiveness that I hauled around with me was just as great as the one you carry. I was enslaved to it, crippled by it. I finally grew weary of it. Aren’t you tired of it, too?”
Hannah didn’t answer. They reached her apartment building, and Ahmed held the door open for her. They rode the elevator in silence. When they entered her living room, he was still waiting patiently for her reply.
“Yes,” she whispered as her tears began to fall. “Yes, I am sick of feeling this way. Tell me what to do.”
“Add it all up, Hannah. All that they have done to you. Make an accounting of what it is that your enemies owe you. Tally the debt.” Ahmed sat with her, crying with her as she poured out all of her hatred and anger.
“They killed Jake! They killed Rachel and my grandchild! They destroyed Ari. They stole my family, my life, my future!”
“Now, forgiveness is this,” he said gently. “Not that you forget, not that you say what they did was all right—it wasn’t! Forgiveness is canceling that debt, tearing it up, clearing the account. Only you have the right to do it. The debt is owed to you. You might think that means they’re going free, that they’re getting away with it, and you’re right. Your enemies
don’t
deserve it. But when you forgive, you’ll discover that your enemies aren’t the ones who go free—you are.”
“I can’t do it. It’s impossible. I’m not strong enough or good enough to forgive them.”
“The only way you can find the strength to do it is by remembering that God did the same thing for you. Add up all your crimes, tally the debt you owe Him. It’s what you do every year on Yom Kippur. You come before the judgment seat of God and discover that you also deserve to die.
“When Jesus stood in the judgment seat before the Jewish Sanhedrin, He was innocent. Yet they saw guilt and condemned Him to die. Why? How could that have happened? It was because the guilt they saw was yours. It was as if they pointed the finger of God’s justice at you, but Christ stood up in your place to die for your crimes. He became the scapegoat for you. And so God tore up the accounting of your sin. Yes, the Scriptures say, ‘He does not treat us as our sins deserve.’ That was only because of the sacrifices at the Temple. Yom Kippur balanced the accounts each year. But the blood of lambs and goats couldn’t permanently take away our sin. That’s why animals had to be sacrificed over and over again. God’s justice demands a man’s life for a man’s life. Christ was that man. Read Isaiah’s prophecy. It says, ‘He was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed.’”
“I know I don’t deserve forgiveness,” Hannah said.
“And your enemies don’t deserve it, either. It’s unjust. It’s unfair. But that’s the definition of grace—forgiveness that is undeserved. It always costs the giver everything and the receiver nothing. It cost God His Son. As they crucified Him, Jesus said, ‘Abba, forgive them.’”
Hannah lowered her hands from her face and looked at Ahmed in stunned surprise. “Those were Rachel’s dying words. . . . We were talking just before the bomb exploded, and she asked me if I knew what Yeshua said as they crucified Him. She was trying to tell me the answer afterward. She said, ‘Abba, forgive them. . . .”’
Ahmed drew her into his arms and held her tightly. “It’s very appropriate, isn’t it? Rachel wanted more than anything else to be like Jesus, to show His grace. I think she meant those words for the Palestinian bomber, too. Jesus’ disciples are to be dispensers of His grace. That’s how we bring Christ’s redemption to completion. The world will never believe in God’s grace until they see it demonstrated in our lives.”
WEST BANK, ISRAEL—1999
W
hen Ahmed finished, Abby knew that his words were also meant for her. She would never be free of her anger and bitterness unless she forgave Mark.
“Where . . . how do I start?” she asked.
“You start by asking Christ to forgive you,” Ahmed said. “Once His Spirit lives inside you, He’ll give you the strength to forgive others.”
“I’m not even sure I can face Mark yet.”
“Do you want to be free from the pain and the anger?” Hannah asked.
Abby nodded. “Yes. I’m so tired of feeling this way. I want . . . I want to feel joy again.”
“Then forgive him, Abby. Even if absolutely nothing changes with your husband—and it probably won’t—the person who will be set free by forgiveness will be you.”
When it was time to leave, Ahmed embraced Hannah and kissed her good-bye. Abby saw the tender love they shared. They were followers of Christ; His cross had bridged the gap between Jew and Palestinian, making them one. Canceling the debt, not settling the score, was the only solution to lasting peace with her enemies. It was Jesus’ solution.
“God’s grace is the most powerful force in the universe, Abby,” Ahmed said. “Once it is spread abroad through us, Christ’s followers, it can defeat hatred and prejudice and sin. It can even redeem mankind.”
CHAPTER 21
THE GOLANI HOTEL, ISRAEL—1999
W
hy not start by trying to forgive Ari?” Hannah asked Abby when they returned to the hotel.
“Should I tell him I know he’s a spy?”
“Yes, I think so. Tell him how you found out.”
The light was on in Ari’s bungalow. Abby could see him through the window, seated at his desk in jeans and a T-shirt, typing on his computer. She knocked on his door.
“May I come in for a minute?”
“Sure.” His expression was neither friendly nor wary.
“I . . . um . . . I need to tell you something,” she said after he’d closed the door.
“Oh? What’s that?”
“I know you’re a government agent. I know that you were assigned to follow me . . . that you work for the same people that Ben did.” There was a long silence as Ari stared at her, his features unreadable.
“Where did this idea come from?” he finally said.
“Marwan showed me the car that was following me home from his house the other night. I didn’t believe him at first when he told me you were a spy. So I asked Hannah to tell me the truth . . . and she did.”
Ari still didn’t reply. He became the cold, unfeeling secret agent she had met at the beginning of the dig, not the fervent archaeologist that had gradually emerged as they uncovered the Roman villa. She understood what Hannah had meant when she said that Ari was lost to her. Abby didn’t like this man that Ari had become, either. She wondered if her own bitterness toward Mark had changed her the same way.
“I know it’s true because I know that Hannah wouldn’t lie to me,” Abby said. “She also told me that you’re her son-in-law.”
He motioned for her to sit, then sat down in the desk chair across from her. He still said nothing.
“I want you to tell me the truth,” Abby said. “Was the break-in back home part of this?”
“I was never given that information,” he said stiffly. “I can only guess that if it was, they were searching for evidence of your involvement . . . or else they wanted to apply pressure to see if you contacted someone.”
“Have you been reading my email?” When he didn’t answer, Abby’s temper flared. “If you’ve done anything to put my children in danger, I’ll—!”
She would . . . what? Retaliate? That’s what Ari was doing. That’s why he had become an agent. If Abby felt this much hatred toward the people who merely threatened her family, what must Ari feel to lose his wife and unborn child? She could understand why he would want revenge. But then Hannah had lost everyone she loved, too, and Hannah had found a force stronger than hatred and vengeance. She had found the strength to forgive.
“It was my job,” Ari said quietly. “I was simply doing my job.”
Abby drew a deep breath to calm herself. “I know you don’t believe me, but I had nothing to do with Ben’s death.”
He shrugged slightly. His arm was draped on his desk as he sat back in his chair, and he toyed with the keys on his laptop computer as he talked. “It doesn’t matter if I believe you or not. I was assigned to follow you, so I did.”
“I’m trying to find the strength to forgive you for invading my privacy . . . for using me that day you held me when I cried—”
“You’re wrong,” he said sharply. He sat up straight and his eyes met hers, refusing to release them. “If I used you that day, it was not in the way you think. I was sent as a professional—to do a job. I was supposed to crack down on you, pressure you, scare you if I had to. I wasn’t supposed to let personal feelings get in the way. But for the first time in my career, I slipped. Ben’s death hit me hard. I needed comfort just as badly as you did that day.” His gaze finally broke its hold on her, and he looked away. “Ben was my mentor and a good friend—as well as Rachel’s uncle. I can’t imagine why Shur even assigned me to the case, under the circumstances. I guess he needed a convincing archaeologist.”
“Wait a minute . . . You work for Agent Shur? You mean that whole little scene where he was questioning me and you arrived in time to rescue me from him . . . was an act?”
“Dov Shur is my boss. He was also Ben’s boss.”
“Do you know why Ben was killed?”
“I can guess.” Ari paused, playing with the computer keys again. “Ben was one of the middlemen in the peace process. From what I gather, he secretly shuttled back and forth between the Israelis and the Palestinians, relaying the terms each side was willing to offer for peace and what concessions each was willing to make. Lately, there have been a lot of setbacks—inside information was being leaked to some of the militant groups opposed to peace. There was even some sabotage. Ben was trying to find the source of those leaks. He must have gotten too close.”
“Listen, Ari, I would like to find Ben’s killer, too. But it’s a stupid waste of your time to follow me. Why don’t you look for the real killer? Ben said he’d found the traitor, remember? Why aren’t you looking for him?”
Ari grew very still. “What do you mean?”
“Those were Ben’s last words before he died. He said he was sure there was a traitor.”
“I was told that he hadn’t said anything before he died.”
“But he did! I told your boss and that other agent who questioned me at the airport what Ben said.”
“Told them what?”
“Ben’s last words. He mumbled something that sounded like tore or torn . . . and he said there was a traitor. He was sure there was a traitor.”
“Any information Ben carried was never found. We assume his killer took it. But I know Ben. If he had evidence of a traitor—and especially after the bomb threat in Amsterdam—he would have made a backup copy of that information and hidden it somewhere. One of the reasons I was following you was on the odd chance that if you had that information, you would try to pass it to someone.”
“But Ben didn’t give me anything.”
“You could have it and not know it,” he said quietly. “But I assume they thoroughly searched your things, right? I know they searched the airplane.”
“You mean he might have planted it on me?” The thought terrified Abby. “What would this information look like? Microfilm? A computer disk?”
“Nothing technological. Ben didn’t have time. If he gave you something, it would have been while you were on the airplane.”
“He was right beside me all that time except for when he—” Abby stopped, too shocked and frightened to finish her sentence. She
was
involved in this. She had been all along.
Ari grabbed her shoulders, his grip almost painful. “Except for what? Tell me!”
“My Bible . . . I’ve been finding strange markings in it . . . and Ben borrowed my Bible when we were on the airplane.”
“Show me!” Ari hauled her to her feet by one arm and they hurried next door to her room. Her hands were shaking as she pulled her Bible from her knapsack.
“The Torah,” Ari breathed. “You said he mumbled tore or torn . . . could he have been saying Torah?”
Abby realized that what she had mistaken for a sigh or a moan at the end of the word was actually the second syllable. “Yes. That’s exactly what he said.”