en Nasara, then on towards the road to Jerusalem. There we caught up
with the boy, noting how the mule pretty much obeyed him. From this
path, it was just 400 paces to Abraham's Well; in the corner of the
photograph, note the large, square stone wall. No one knows why this
wall exists, nor whether it was ever expanded. Now, it is simply a
rubble. The blocks are often five meters long, yet they are no
longer joined with mortar. In Baalbek, I have seen hewn stones that
are over nineteen meters in length. Given the era of this wall's
origin, a five meter stone was plenty to manhandle. Nearby is still
another cistern; it's called "The Bath of Sarah," Ishmael's mother's
well. In the nearby rugged rocks, two oil lamps have been affixed.
Not far from the crumbled wall is a large church, most likely the
basilica that Constantine the Great erected at "The Strong Terebinth
Tree of Mamre." To this day, this place is called "The Valley of
Terebinth," a place to search for acceptance and adoption.
When we reached the four-cornered wall, we saw a poorly clothed
Arabic woman and her small daughter sitting in a corner near the
well. As soon as they saw us, they stepped back from the water. After
we dipped up some water for our animals and gave them time to drink,
my wife found a spot to take a photograph. When the Donkey Driver
saw her camera, he immediately removed himself and his mules to a
place of safety-for he believed that only Christians and Jews were
able to withstand the power of photography. Every other creature,
whether man or beast, risked destruction.
Peering from behind a large stone, his curiosity drove him to
see what was taking place. He saw "the eye of the monster," the lens
of the camera, which was pointed directly at me and towards the
corner. He wanted to make sure that this "eye" did not focus on him-
but a shaft of sunlight just so happened to shine on him. Actually,
we no longer needed him and his mules. Since our present location was
only a few hundred paces from the road where Mustafa Bustani was
supposed to wait for us, I told him that we would just walk from
here.
When the photography was finished, I paid him. In my business
dealings with other people, it's never been my nature nor my way to
be a stingy man who haggles over the cost of things. Extending an
open hand goes considerably further than acting like a miser. The
same is true in this land. The Donkey Driver counted the money that I
gave him: "Effendi, that is too much." I insisted: "No, I gladly
give you this money. You have been friendly and polite, so you've
earned the baksheesh."
"Even this tip is too much. Perhaps I can do still more that
will justify this baksheesh. I will not leave this area until you
also depart. I have nothing more to do, so nothing precludes me from
serving you further."
We had thought that Thar would want to take an interest in
photography, but this was not the case. More than he realized, the
exotic Arabic woman and her young daughter held a greater
gravitational attraction than the cloud-black camera. He was looking
for a way to meet them. In the way that boys do, he first meandered
from a distance, then he came ever closer to them. Suddenly, he sat
down between the two and began to talk with uncommon familiarity-as
if he were an acquaintance from long ago, or even a relative of
theirs.
After I had finished taking our photos, he brought the small
girl to where my wife and I were seated on the edge of the cistern.
Her mother remained sitting. The young girl had the most lovingly
sensitive, wholesomely healthy face, with peach-red cheeks and large
grey-blue velveteen eyes. Judging from her appearance, it seemed like
some deep and undisturbed charming riddle was miraculously working
inside of her. Like a fountain, her light brown hair flowed from
under her desert-red scarf. One of her sunburned, delicate hands held
a few long-stemmed Canterbury-bell flowers. She kept her other hand
in the thin pleats of her spotlessly clean dress. I distinctly recall
how her dainty, suntanned feet with miniature ivory nails partly
emerged from elegant leather sandals. In light of this
extraordinarily pleasant first impression of her, an endless sense of
compassion filled my heart for this girl who was as poor as she was
pretty. In my respect for her and her mother, I somehow felt more and
more compelled to be prepared to offer them some great and suitably
timely service. Later on, my wife told me that she too had felt this
instant bonding-at precisely the same moment.
She turned to ask Thar: "Well then, what is her name?"
"I don't know, but you yourself can ask her, right? In talking
with her, I learned no more than these three things: she likes me;
I'm her hero, and I'll fight for her."
"I'm called Schamah," she said, putting an accent on the second
syllable of her name. The fidgeting hand that formerly hid in the
pleats of her dress now directed an outstretched forefinger as she
pointed: "Over there is my mother." Her voice sounded soft and
tender, yet strikingly moving. Its tone had a hard-to-refuse ring.
With open arms, my wife hugged the girl as she asked me this
question: "What does the name Schamah mean?" So, I briefly
explained: "It's the East Jordanian pronunciation of Samah, which
means 'forgiveness'."
Smiling as she talked to the child, my wife hugged her
again: "Oh, innocently young and dear little soul, you've done
nothing that requires forgiving." With laughter in her voice, Schamah
offered her colorful bouquet: "I bring you bells." She held the
Canterbury-bell flowers to my wife's ear and lightly shook them:
"Now, I'll ring them. Can you hear them?"
"Yes, I do."
"Isn't it so? Quite softly, faintly, gently- like the sound is
falling from heaven. When they grow up, they will be as grand as the
ones that hang in churches; then, the entire world will hear their
ringing."
Thar joined in: "You speak of the church. Are you then a
Christian?"
"Yes, I'm a Christian," she nodded.
"And also your mother?"
"She too."
He then clapped his hands and called out: "That's beautiful!
That's wonderful! I'm glad to know that!"
"Why?"
"It's precisely for these reasons: I'm a hero, and I want to put
up a good fight for your rights. No one can properly perform heroic
deeds for a Muslim girl. Unattractive as a frog, she wraps herself in
fabrics and limps around with wooden slippers on her feet. By
contrast, I can clearly see the Christian girl. That fact is
essential whenever heroes like us are inspired to risk our lives for
others. Do you know how I will look when I fight for you?"
"Like you are dressed today, right?"
"No. What I have on now is not bold enough. Do you know that
certain colors can scare an enemy? For this reason, I put on war
paint as soon as a conflict arises. One side of my face becomes blue,
and the other side is painted green-"
"Phooey, phooey, phooey!"
"You don't like that?" he asked, halfway astonished and
partially disappointed.
"Not at all. I like you just the way you are-not all painted
up!"
Thar was pleased with her answer: "Good, I'll remain who I am.
Now that I think more about what you've said, you're right, very
right. From now on, whenever I struggle with enemies, they may paint
themselves blue, yellow, and green-but not I. I'll bear that in mind.
Our four clubs must have newer and better rules. Foremost, whoever
presents himself in war paint will be judged as beatable. To please
you, I'm ready to bound away from all rules that are good for
nothing!" He then stretched his legs and flexed his muscles so
convincingly that her eyes widened in wonder as she pointed to him
and asked this question: " Yes, I already believe that you're a hero;
but what exactly could be a reason to knock someone down, just for my
sake?"
"A cause can always be found if you look for it. Maybe it's
coming from over there. Look!"
He pointed in the direction of the church ruins, to people whom
we hadn't previously seen-to those who were now coming towards us.
There were ten or twelve men who were riding on donkeys. Behind them
was a column of forty or fifty armed boys who were carrying all
kinds of banners. This was one of those parades for children who
excitedly circled the city on this festival day. "Isn't this a
dangerous situation?" my wife asked. "We should leave quickly."
My answer was one of caution: "Under no circumstances and in no
way should we hurry. This would merely show them that we have some
reason to be fearful, something to hide from. We'll freely give them
the water, but not right away. I hope they will give us some kind of
greeting."
The procession had now arrived at our spot. The men stopped to
talk with our Donkey Driver, asking some questions about us. They
learned that we were Christians- be that as it may, that we were not
bad people. Schamah's mother left her seat and came nearer to us. She
feared the fanatical people of Hebron, so she begged us to pack up
and leave. She was a Christian, a widow from the region called Al
Karak, a city in Jordan that contains a famous Crusader castle. It's
located on the other side of the Dead Sea. She and her young daughter
were on a pilgrimage to the holy cities of Bethlehem and Jerusalem.
Truly, she was a simple and poor woman. Still, I'd like to extend my
impression of her; in every way, her clothes were expressly Arabic
and chic-like those customarily worn by a Middle Eastern woman, or
even by a Bedouin. Her clothing was beautiful yet tasteful, with no
suggestion of melancholy nor fascinating glamour. She was a daughter
of sorrow, not a woman of good fortune. My wife extended her hand to
Schamah's mother, drawing her close to her side. I advised her to put
aside any concerns; nothing was going to happen to them.
The riders now came up to us. They stopped a few feet from us
and climbed down from their donkeys. It was clear that they didn't
intend to greet us. I couldn't tolerate that sort of contempt,
because such insolence involved behavior that I wanted to bypass and
avoid completely. Whenever you want others to know that you hold a
certain air of strength, it's always effective to put on a special
sort of image. I crafted such a first firm impression, and it seemed
to work with the leader of the group. He shifted his weight, held his
hand to his chest, slightly bowed and said: "Salam. Peace be upon
you."
Those words sounded brusque. Just as curtly, I stood my ground
and answered: "Salam." Before I could say more, Thar spoke up: "Here
is my Effendi, the Supreme Secretary of Germany's Chancellor. From
his briefcase flows the complete control of all tax revenue. He
levies a tax on whomever he wants. He has just returned from Hebron
where he sought to buy The Oak of Abraham from the Russians, then
transport it home. Hail to Effendi!"
After he said that, he took his new girlfriend by the hand and
went towards the boys from Hebron. Since I was still so overwhelmed
with surprise that he would meddle and make such fantastic claims
about me, I completely forgot to caution him. Thank God, something
unforeseen did not happen. The men believed he was serious. They held
a brief discussion, then they all bowed deeply as Abdullah said this
to me: "Effendi, you are a great and powerful official.
Unfortunately, you are also a Christian. For this reason, we are not
permitted to invite you to be our guest. The children's games can
only begin when you have left this site."
Indirectly, this was an invitation to leave only our dust
behind. Taking their donkeys with them, the men moved to a more
remote spot. A little more peaceable scene was taking place where
Thar and Schamah met together with the boys from Hebron. The boys
were very excited. Since so many of them were hollering, they shouted
something that we didn't understand. Fearlessly, Thar stood there in
front of the boys. As if protecting the girl, he put his left arm
around the girl and gestured menacingly with his right-we could not
hear what he was saying to the crowd. Schamah's mother was anxious
about the safety of her daughter. I tried to reassure her. We drew
closer to the aroused and animated group.
When Thar saw us coming, he called out to us: "Nothing will come
of their threat. They want to drown Schamah-in the water close to
where you have been sitting. They justify themselves by saying that
she is a Christian who has defiled today's festival. I told them that
I won't allow that, so I'll fight for her. They are now choosing the
ringleader that I'm supposed to deal with. Ah, there he is!"
He pointed to a tall, robust boy who now stepped forward.
Following the customary way that the adults had taught him, he gave
his pre-battle speech. He struck a pose and called out to Thar, as
well as to us: "You are a Christian-dog, and she is a Christian
girl, which is even worse than a cur. We will drown her in the
deepest part of the well, in a spot where she can not touch bottom.
We are true, absolute, and obedient believers of the Prophet. In this
celebration of Ishmael's birthday, we can not endure the sacrilege of
a Christian's feet to touch this ground. So, she must die. But you
want to fight for her, because you claim to be a hero. We are game
for this, because we too are heroes. I demand that you state your
conditions for combat!"
When Schamah's mother heard all of this, her fear reached its
peak. I explained to her that it was probably not a case of violent
rage that would actually be carried out-rather, it would be handled
as a game. After all, today was supposed to be the "Day of
Children's Games." She could rest assured that nothing would happen
to her daughter. So, it was not necessary to take her away from our
boy Thar.
Thar then spoke to Schamah: "You are Queen of the Games; and
before your eyes, they are about to begin. Come and be seated!" She
sat upon a stone bench, and he took his place beside her. Next, he
took his notebook from his vest pocket, opened it, and began to
deliver his counter-reply to the ringleader: "You call me a
Christian-dog. On the contrary, I'm a Muslim from Jerusalem, and that
is far greater that your Hebron sect. Who then are you?" He began to
read the following lines: "You are all Canaanites: Hittites,
Jebusites , Girgashites, Hivites, people of Arka, Amorites,
Sidonians, Phenicians, those from Zemar, Arvadians, Hamathians, and
all others dwelling in Zidon. In the refining process of Islam, you
were found lacking and were passed over-now, you are simply sediment.
If your faith were pure and noble, then your people would not find it
so necessary to keep others away from your places of worship!"
He returned his notebook to its vest pocket and continued
speaking: "You say that my young girl friend is worse than a dog. A
true hero would not say such a thing. By contrast, I'm a hero, I'm
civil, and I oppose you. I'll fight with you, but not on your terms-
all of you against only me. Instead, we'll follow the custom we
practice in Jerusalem-one on one. You will find yourselves
transformed into Lions, Elephants, Hippos, and Whales. From among
you, select the boldest Lion, the most powerful Elephant, the
strongest Hippo, and the largest Whale. I will fight all four beasts.
When I defeat all four of your fighters, I'll receive-"
"My Canterbury-bells," Schamah called out. Her small hand raised
the flowers upward.
"Yes, your bluebell flowers," Thar chimed in. "Palestinian
Hebronites, sit down in front of her and me, and I'll explain to you
what all of this has to do with Lions, Elephants, Hippos, and Whales.
With pleasure, they immediately obeyed him. For a few moments,
they scurried helter-skelter, crawling over and under each other like
crazed insects. A deep silence then took over, broken only by the
boy's clarifying voice. When they all grasped the picture that he
was describing, they began to cheer loudly. A thing like this had
never happened before. Everyone pressed forward, wanting to be chosen
as one of the beasts. In the midst of these would-be-juggernauts who
strove for revenge, there sat Schamah, "Forgiveness." Without any
fear of harm, she kept a peaceful smile on her loveable face.
Curiously enough, the adult men were just as excited as the boys.
They all flocked around. The Hebron men joined their boys in the
process of selecting and appointing. They marked out the fight-arena.
Abdullah, who was the Secretary of State for the Palestinian Sheik of
Balad, even took it upon himself to appoint security police as part
of the rules for this fight. What more can be said about hate and
disputes among religious people.
The field for fighting formed four corners: Lions to the north,
Hippos to the south, Elephants to the east, and Whales were confined
to the west. Schamah sat on the southern side of her throne, where
she could easily keep her eyes on everything. Guewerdschina the mule
served as her throne, the most protected place that remained on that
site. Musicians sat in the corner: a jar-drum, a tambourine,
trumpets, and a fipple flute. If Thar were wrestled to the ground,
they were supposed to make the loudest possible clamor. With the
victory never tipping to their side, the Hebronite musicians had no
chance to play their instruments.
They had chosen their strongest athletes. The competition's
rules were very simple: the loser would be whoever was thrown to the
ground in the first three beast- matches. The battle of the Whales
would take place in the fountain. The winner had to dunk his
opponent, then publicly spew a mouth full of water in his face.
Before the matches began, the Four Heroes of Hebron were asked
whether they wanted to withdraw their names from the competition.
"For no amount of money!" they replied.
Secretary of State Abdullah then gave the signal for the battle
of the Lions to begin. The Lion of Hebron stepped forward. He was
the same tall, robust boy who first gave a speech. When he saw all
eyes turn towards him, his face took on an overly confident
expression.
Thar stood beside us: "Watch carefully! See how quickly this
happens. The main thing is to give your enemy no time to think." He
then stepped into the ring, bowed to Schamah, and positioned himself
squarely in front of his foe. No doubt he had learned this knightly
behavior from hearing some legend, or from some fairy tale. Abdullah
now clapped his hands three times. In the blink of an eye, it
happened. When his opponent hesitated, Thar lunged. He let him come
quite close, then sprang to the side as he clenched the boy from
behind and completely buckled him under. Just as he had wrestled old
Eppstein down to the ground, he firmly held the young Hebron Lion as
he called out to the musicians: "Now you can sound your notes of
triumph for him!" Of course, they were silent. The loser slowly
stood up; with his head lowered, he slinked away.
Next came the Battle of the Elephants. The opponent was a
cumbersome guy who seemed to have twice the strength as our boy
possessed. With a smile, Thar gave a nod to us. That was a good sign.
He had told us how those in the Elephant Club had to do their
trampling in unison. First here, then suddenly over there, he didn't
simply take the kid down-he bounced him to the ground. When Abdullah
gave the signal, Thar powerfully launched forward, swung himself
upward, and simply sprang over that heap of a foe. In an instant, he
put his knees upon the boy and called out to the musicians: "Loudly,
loudly, now play your song of triumph for him!" All around,
stillness reigned.
Only Secretary of State Abdullah angrily called out: "Oh my, two
are already down. This is not acceptable. Let our Hippo come forth,
and he will stomp him into the ground. The Hippo was a short, thick
rascal who was not endowed with muscles, just a lot of fat.
Fearlessly, he rolled his eyes; he had good courage. As the time drew
nearer for the start of the match, he put his head down like a
runner. Letting out a colossal hoo-ha, the Hebron Monster then lay
down on the ground and stretched his legs into the air. He held his
head with both hands and bellowed as if someone were planning to
roast him on a grill. Thar just stood there erect; with a laugh, he
teased the musicians: "You guys don't need to play your drums nor
blow your horns, because he's making his own music."
Now the giants of the ocean would show what they could do. The
former four sides of the ring now collapsed. Everyone headed to the
deep well, wherein the final judgment was supposed to take place.
Thar was the first to arrive at the cistern; he stood ready to
descend into the water. The Hebronites came less quickly. Slowest of
them all were the Whales. The very last one to arrive was the guy
that was supposed to fight with Thar. With a very embarrassed look on
his face, he came to the brink of the well, then looked away as he
said: "I don't want this job anymore!" Abdullah responded: "You've
already accepted the position, so you must go through with it!" As
the boy turned and hurried away, he called out: "Not for any amount
of money! I'm leaving!"
"So, we must choose someone else!" said Abdullah. From out of
the throats of the remaining Whales, this chorus rang out: "You
couldn't pay me enough money! I'm going-I'm leaving-I'm out of here!"
One after another, they disappeared, until there were no more to be
seen-except one in the distance. Without saying "adieu," the Lions
followed those who had already left. In much the same way, the Hippos
and the musicians made the same kind of exit. Most of the Elephants
ambled off in single file, but some left in twos and threes. Without
saying a word or grudgingly waving good-bye, the adults finally rode
away.
Thar turned towards Schamah: "Now do you believe that I'm a
hero?" She handed him the Canterbury-bells: "From the very beginning,
I believed you. You've won, so here are your flowers." He accepted
the prize, then he gave the bouquet to my wife, asking her to take
care of them; she could do this better than he would.
In the distance, we now saw another considerably large
procession, and it looked like it was coming our way. With their
sharply trained eyes, our adversaries had already seen this
approaching caravan. For that reason, they hurried away. They didn't
want their disgrace to be discovered by the incoming crowd. We too
no longer had a reason to stay, because the time was drawing nearer
for us to move on and keep our appointment to meet Mustafa Bustani.
Schamah's mother said that she and her daughter were headed towards
The Oak of Abraham; from there, they wanted to travel to the Russian
Hospice and spend the night. The Arabic widow had heard that
penniless pilgrims could stay there free-of-charge. Our friendly
Donkey Driver declared that the mother and daughter didn't have to
walk that distance; since his return to the city would be the same
route that they were traveling, they could ride with him.
When Thar heard this, he quietly asked me: "Effendi, do you have
a 20 franc coin? Please, give it to me, but don't let anyone see
it." I suspected why he wanted the money, so I said "Yes," and
secretly slipped him the coin. Schamah and her mother climbed upon
one of the mules, and the driver rode upon another. Thar vaulted onto
the back of Guewerdschina and said: "I'm riding with you. Once we
reach the Oak, I'll walk back. Before my father arrives, I'll be
there."
He tugged the dove's tail high into the air-she let out a loud
hee-haw and shot down the road. My wife gave the widow our name and
our address in Jerusalem and invited her to make every effort to
visit us there. We would genuinely and whole-heartedly like to see
her and her young daughter. She promised that she would assuredly do
her best to visit us. So giving her word, she said good-bye as they
rode away and tried to catch up with Thar. My wife and I then took a
short walk on the surrounding area, making sure that we avoided any
further encounters.
When we reached the rendezvous, Thar was already waiting
for us: "They're so very poor. They only know that I was concerned
about them and that I wanted to accompany them to the Hospice."
"Do they know your name?" I asked.
"Yes."
"And your father's name?"
"No. You may have heard that the Prophet tells us this: 'Whoever
gives to the poor should give everything-only not in the name of his
father.' Anyway, I'll see them again in Jerusalem. You can count on
that."
Soon thereafter, Mustafa Bustani arrived with the carriage. He
was very glad to hear that the local citizens did not harm us nor his
son. He shared the fact that there had been several clashes between
Muslims and Jews. In light of the fact that he personally was so
angry about the rude reception from his business colleague, he had
even refused to share a meal with the man. Now, he was hungry. As
soon as we climbed in and were once again moving, we brought out the
food that we had packed earlier. So, our on-the-go evening meal's
setting was atop four rolling wheels.