Three Stories (Story Two- part three)

Three Stories One Middle East 

 Nader Habibi

(Story Two- Part three)

Ronen's  Quest

He returned to his hotel and, later that afternoon, Mahmoud and Salman took him to a meeting with Sheikh Husni Hamudeh. It was clear to everyone that something was distracting John and that he was not fully focused on the interview. The interview took about ninety minutes but going through multiple Israeli checkpoints took well over two hours each way. By the time Ronen returned to his hotel, it was almost seven o’clock. A few minutes after his arrival, his cell phone rang. It was Anatoli. 

“You have to abort the assignment,” he said. 

Then he gave the news that Ronen had feared all day long.

“Just got word from the hospital that Zeinab al-Khalid is dead. She had a second heart attack and passed away half an hour ago.” 

The fact that Ronen had anticipated such a possibility didn’t make it any easier for him to accept. He knew that if he hadn’t talked to Ehud about Zeinab, she might be alive now. He blamed himself for Zeinab’s death and was overwhelmed by guilt and grief. He barely got any sleep that night.

The next morning, Mahmoud called to let him know that Zeinab was dead. “It’s so unfortunate John. You came all the way from London to interview her, and she is now dead. Would you like to talk to her relatives?” he asked.

“I talked to her sister yesterday, and she told me that Zeinab’s daughter, Farha, was supposed to arrive today from Bahrain. Could you find out if she has arrived? If she is around, I’d like to talk to her,” said Ronen. 

“I doubt she can get in from Jordan. The border has been closed for the past three days. They already took Zeinab’s body back to Ramallah. The burial is scheduled for this morning.”

The night before, Ronen had told Anatoli that he wanted to maintain his cover for one more day to meet a few more Arabs before his pretend return to London. He spent the morning in his hotel room, grieving and thinking about Sara, Zeinab and his own predicament. For a few moments, he wondered if he should have told Zeinab that he was her son. He asked himself if this news would have made her happy. Finding a lost son who had grown up, as a Jew would not have been a happy event for Zeinab, he thought.

Ronen also searched deep in his soul to compare his feelings for Sara and Zeinab. He felt a deep affection for both of them and felt as much grief over Zeinab’s death as he had felt when Sara had passed away. Now that Zeinab was dead, he was determined to meet her surviving children, his own biological brother and sister, Omar and Farha.

He got a call from Mahmoud in the afternoon. “Bad news John. Zeinab’s daughter couldn’t cross the border. She might make it for Zeinab’s funeral tomorrow. If you can come to the funeral, you’ll have a chance to meet her. ”

“I’m returning to London tonight. Besides there is no guarantee that she will be able to cross the border tomorrow either,” Ronen knew for a fact that Farha could not cross the border, because he had earlier asked Anatoli to find out how long Israel was going to keep the border closed. It was to remain closed for at least three more days.

John Northon arrived at Ben Gurion Airport two hours before a flight to London. Then he went through passport and security checks like an ordinary passenger before following an agent to a restricted area where he removed his disguise. Airport security escorted Ronen out of the airport and Anatoli drove him home.

The Gulf Air flight 2160 for Manama, Bahrain’s capital, finally took off from Heathrow Airport at 10:30 am, after half an hour delay. Ronen was lucky that it was delayed. Otherwise he might have missed it. It had been a hectic twenty four hours. Immediately after arriving in London the day before, he spent nearly seven hours with several American and Israeli intelligence officers in the Israeli Embassy. They reviewed the latest intelligence about Bahrain’s ruling family and the details of Ronen’s mission to that country. He went to bed a little after midnight and had to get up a quarter after six to prepare his John Northon disguise.

It was no wonder that he slept for more than three hours, as soon as the plane was airborne. Ronen’s boss in Mossad contacted him and General Ben David in May about sending him on this mission and he would have taken this trip in June if it weren’t for his mother’s unexpected death. After Sara’s funeral, General Ben-David had offered him a six-week window for this assignment. So when Ronen found out that his Arab sister Farha lived in Bahrain, he informed the General that he was ready to go. Evaluation of future political leaders of Arab countries was one of the regular activities of Ronen’s unit in Mossad.

This was Ronen’s second visit to Bahrain over the past six months as journalist John Northon. Ronen’s assignment in this trip was to meet with Prince Jassem al-Kowsar, the heir to the ruling King of Bahrain, Sheikh Hadi al-Kowsar. Prince Jassem was the Director of Bahrain’s Tourism Development Board. Several intelligence reports from British and American agents in Bahrain had suggested that Prince Jassem was socializing with a network of Islamic and anti-Western intellectuals and was being influenced by them. 

In his previous visit, John interviewed Jassem’s younger brother, Prince Hamed. Only twenty-two years old, Hamed was the Director of Bahrain’s Sports Federation. After that interview, John wrote an article about Prince Hamed and the Bahrain Sports Authority in the Peace journal. Prince Hamed was so pleased with this article that when John contacted him a couple of weeks earlier and asked him to help arrange an interview with Prince Jassem, Hamed gladly accepted. When Prince Hamed contacted his brother, he spoke highly of John Northon, calling him a fair journalist with strong sympathies for Palestinians. It was because of Prince Hamed that John had secured this interview.

The plane landed in Manama at 7 pm. It was a very hot summer evening and even for Ronen, who was used to the hot summer temperatures in Israel, the couple of minutes that he had to walk from the airport to the taxi station felt unusually hot. The next morning – Tuesday, June 19^th – a driver from the Tourism Authority took Ronen to the Tourism Office for his meeting with Prince Jassem.

The building was very modern and spacious. Like other oil-rich countries, Bahrain had spent a lot of money on construction projects for large government office buildings, which had far more space than was needed for their limited staff. The tourism board had several British and American consultants who were all working in this building. Although the meeting with Prince Jassem was supposed to start at nine, Ronen had to wait for more than thirty minutes in a luxurious waiting room before the door finally opened and two European consultants left the Prince’s office.

“Mr. John, His Highness will see you now,” said Marvin, a short Filipino man who was Prince Jassem’s personal secretary. He then opened the door and led Ronen into a large and elegantly decorated room. Prince Jassem was wearing a traditional white robe – a  loose, long-sleeved garment – and he covered his head with a Ghutra – a white scarf kept in place by a thick black doubled cord. A large hand-painted portrait of Jassem’s father was hanging on the wall behind his desk. Like his father, Jassem wore a mustache. He was a thin young man of average height. A large ring with a shining brown stone decorated one of his fingers. When Marvin brought Ronen inside, Prince Jassem stood up and walked toward them.

“Mr. Northon, it’s a pleasure meeting you,” said Jassem in English.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” replied Ronen as they both sat on the sofa.

“How was your flight?”

“Very smooth, but I almost missed it,” responded Ronen in Arabic.

“Mashallah, Mashallah. Hamed told me that you speak Arabic fluently. Where did you learn Arabic?” said Prince Jassem as they continued their conversation in Arabic. 

“I took Arabic courses in college, and I also visited Arab countries three or four times a year. I was in Palestine two weeks ago,” said Ronen. He intentionally mentioned Palestine to test Prince Jassem’s response. Arab Princes usually avoided the topic in their initial conversations with Westerners but those with strong opinions never hesitated to express their views on the Intifada and praise the Palestinian resistance. Undercover field officers like Ronen usually used references to Palestine to measure the propensity of these future Arab leaders toward radicalism.

“What is happening in Palestine is a mark of shame on the forehead of all Arabs. Palestinians are the only courageous Arab people. The rest of us are cowards and traitors,” commented Prince Jassem.

Ronen was shocked by this response. Earlier intelligence reports had identified him as a mild radical, but this statement was anything but mild.

“Forgive me your Highness, but what can the Arab world do when Israel is so strong and America supports it?”

“My friend,” said the Prince as he shook his head, “Arabs can do a lot. America needs our oil, and we let them have it. Americans want to sell their goods to us, and we open our markets to them. They support Israel and we just look the other way and trade with them. If Arab leaders cared about Palestinians, would they behave this way?”

Ronen didn’t say anything but he had heard enough to realize that Jassem was very different from his younger brother Hamed. In his more than four-hour interview with Prince Hamed during his previous visit, Ronen tried several times to engage him in political conversations, particularly regarding the Palestinian issue, but all that he was interested in was sports and his plans to build several large athletic facilities.

The momentary silence was broken when a servant – an old man who appeared to be of Indian origin – entered and served them tea.

“Anyways,” continued Prince Jassem, “you are here to talk about tourism in Bahrain, and I’m ready to answer your questions.” Then he took a sip of his tea.     

Ronen had done his homework well and had prepared a set of questions that the Prince would find intriguing. Most of the questions were similar to what the Prince had heard from other Western reporters: What are your long-term visions for tourism development? How much money is the government of Bahrain planning to spend on tourism development? And so on… 

Then Ronen began to ask about more sensitive issues that surprised the Prince. “Your Highness, it is clear that the government of Bahrain is planning to spend a great deal of money on hotels and all kinds of other tourist facilities. Yet, as you are well aware, in the past twelve months, there have been several incidents where some religious people have demonstrated against bars and dance clubs that are popular among tourists. In some cases, they have attacked tourists and set bars on fire. Do you think the majority of Bahrainis support your vision to make Bahrain a tourist and entertainment center for wealthy Saudis, Kuwaitis or even Western tourists?” asked Ronen. The Prince took a few seconds to think about this question.

“Off the record, I think there are some Bahrainis who think the tourists are corrupting our society. They want to ban Western music and alcoholic beverages. I don’t think they are opposed to all the facilities that we are trying to build. I can understand some of their concerns, and I think we should look very carefully at the cultural dimensions of tourism.”

“Are you saying that you will ban alcoholic beverages and dance clubs?” asked Ronen.

“I wouldn’t go that far, but I’ll certainly take people’s sensitivities into consideration.”

“Can you be more specific? What would you do about dance clubs and bars that currently attract so many tourists? As you know, many Saudi men come to Bahrain on short trips to enjoy these freedoms that are not available in Saudi Arabia.”

Ronen could tell that Prince Jassem felt uncomfortable about this question.

“I don’t have any specific plan in mind,” he replied. “Besides, these issues are really beyond my control. These are matters of cultural policy and are decided by His Highness Sheikh Hadi al-Kowsar,” added the Prince as he warmly pointed to the picture of his father on the wall.

Ronen looked at him for a few seconds. “Your Highness…you will be the ruler of Bahrain one day. May I ask what will you do about these cultural policies then?”

Prince Jassem looked at him with a smile. “I’ll invite you back then and explain my policies.”

Ronen was not going to let go. “Will your cultural policies deviate from his Highness Sheikh Hadi al-Kowsar?”

“Why don’t we stay focused on tourism Mr. Northon,” responded the Prince with a mild smile.

“As you wish, Your Highness.”

The interview continued for another thirty minutes, but Ronen avoided controversial issues.

“How long are you staying in Bahrain?” asked Prince Jassem when he felt that he had given enough time to this journalist for one day. He had developed a positive opinion about John Northon based on this brief conversation.

“Three more days, Your Highness.”

“Would you like to join me for a tour of one of our tourist projects that are under construction on Thursday? Have you heard of the Dilmun Water Park project?”

“Yes, Your Highness, I know that once completed, it is going to be the largest water park in the Middle East.  I’d be honored to accompany you.”

“Good then, I’ll see you Thursday…lets say half past five in the morning. I’ll send a driver to get you from your hotel.”

“Yes that’s fine, but can I ask why so early?”

“Two reasons: It will be too hot if we go there in mid-day, and I love the desert in the morning. On our way there, I want to show you some beautiful desert scenery.”

 “I look forward to it,” said Ronen as they booth stood up.

“Your Highness, may I ask for a personal favor before I leave?”

“Yes, sure!”

“During my visit to Palestine, I briefly interviewed a woman who died shortly after the interview as result of injuries that she suffered during an Israeli missile attack. I know that her daughter and her son-in-law live in Bahrain. I’d like to meet this woman, and I was wondering if you could help me find her,” said Ronen.

“Sure! Sure! I should say I admire your sympathy for the Palestinians, and it would be a pleasure to assist you. As you know, the Jews control most of the media in the West, and you are doing a great service to the Palestinian cause by presenting our side of this struggle. What’s her name?”

Ronen gave him the names of Farha and her husband before returning to his hotel. His meeting with Prince Jassem confirmed the earlier suspicions of Israeli intelligence that Jassem was too radical to become a moderate pro-Western leader. Ronen had a feeling the Prince would be even more candid with his political views in their Thursday meeting. Soon these thoughts left his mind as he eagerly began planning for his meeting with Farha.

It was a hot day, and Ronen decided to stay in the hotel until later that evening before going out to talk to people. In addition to interviewing Prince Jassem, he was also expected to socialize with ordinary people as much as possible and get a feeling for the public sentiment. He had just finished lunch at the hotel’s restaurant and had returned to his room when the phone rang. It was Prince Jassem’s Filipino secretary.

“We have found Farha al-Banna’s address and phone number for you. His Highness said that whenever you wish to visit this lady, a driver will take you to her house,” said Marvin.

Knowing that people in the Arab world like to rest and possibly take a nap after lunch, Ronen anxiously waited until four o’clock before dialing the number.

“Allo?” said a child’s voice. Ronen asked the child in Arabic if her mother or father were home.

“Moooom, Phooooooone,” shouted the child. Ronen could hear a female voice gradually getting closer to the phone.

“Who is it?” she asked.

“Who are you?” asked the child but, before Ronen had a chance to say anything, the child had passed the phone to her mother.

“Allo?” asked a female voice.

“Hello. Is this Mrs. Farha al-Banna?” asked Ronen.

“Yes.”

“My name is John Northon. I’m a British journalist.”

“Yes?”

“I was in Palestine two weeks ago, and I met your mother in the hospital before she passed away.”

“You met my mother?”

“Yes. I spoke to her briefly in the morning on the day she died.”

“She didn’t die. She was martyred,” said Farha with a trembling voice before she broke into a cry. Ronen quietly listened.

“The occupiers didn’t even let me enter the West Bank to attend her funeral. I…couldn’t attend my mother’s funeral.”

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” said Ronen.

“How did you find my phone number?”

“I also talked to your aunt in the hospital. She mentioned your name and said that you lived in Bahrain.”

“Why did you visit my mother?” asked Farha. Ronen could sense that she was very skeptical.

“I was collecting material for a report on a former Palestinian village called Ferdous near Tel Aviv. I knew that your family lived there originally, and I wanted to interview your mother about this village and its residents. The night before my interview, your mother got injured in an Israeli attack and was hospitalized. I went to the hospital to see her, because I had to return to London in a few days,” said Ronen.

“The Israelis forced us out of Ferdous when I was only three years old. If you want to ask me about Ferdous, I don’t have any memories of that place except for the stories that I heard from my parents when I was growing up.”

“I’m not just interested in Ferdous any more. I’d also like to write about what happened to your mother. Do you mind if I visit you and your husband for an interview?”

“Are you in Bahrain right now?” asked Farha with an anxious voice.

“Yes, I arrived two days ago on a different assignment, but I wanted to use the opportunity to visit you as well, if that is possible.”

Farha was quiet for a few seconds. “You have to talk to my husband about that. Can you call back later tonight?” she asked.

Ronen agreed to call back in a couple of hours.  When he called again, a man picked up the phone and introduced himself as Yousef Taher. Ronen had prepared himself for a skeptical response and lots of questions but, to his surprise, Yousef was very courteous and invited him to join them for dinner the next evening.

At Ronen’s request, Prince Jassem arranged a meeting for him on Wednesday morning with one of his deputies to learn more about Bahrain’s grand ten-year tourism development plan. Ronen had requested this meeting to make his visit as realistic as possible. The meeting was uneventful, and Ronen was back in his hotel by two in the afternoon. He had a few hours before coming face to face with Farha. He knew that seeing Farha could be a very emotional experience for him, coming so soon after the death of Zeinab.

Ronen was not superstitious but somehow he was worried that his meeting with Farha might cause her some harm. His feeling arose from the fact that ever since Zeinab’s death, Ronen blamed himself for what happened to her. He tried to assess all the possible ways that the meeting could pose a risk to Farha and her family. He knew that Bahrain’s intelligence office would follow him everywhere he went but that was not a problem since he had already informed Prince Jassem of his desire to meet Farha.

It was a little past seven thirty when Ronen walked up to the third floor of the three-storied apartment building and rang the bell. Yousef opened the door. He was a tall man in his early forties with a short beard and a short haircut. He was wearing a long-sleeve blue shirt and a dark-blue pair of trousers, which, in combination with his beard and hairstyle, gave him the appearance of a typical devout Muslim.

“Mr. John welcome! Welcome! You have blessed our house.”

Well familiar with Muslim culture, Ronen took off his shoes. It was a small apartment, and the entrance door opened directly into the living room. A small dining table with six chairs was placed on one side. A dark color leather sofa, two armchairs and a glass coffee table filled the other side. A large flag of Palestine and a large picture of al-Aghsa mosque in Jerusalem were attached to the wall across from the entrance door.

As Yousef and Ronen were walking toward the sofa, Farha and her two small children entered the living room from the narrow hallway next to the kitchen. Ronen heard the voice of one of the children and turned around before he had a chance to sit. Yousef was also standing.

“This is my wife, Fahra, and these are my children, Akbar and Mona,” he said.

Ronen felt a burst of excitement and anxiety as he looked at Farha’s face. The shape of her eyes, nose and lips were so much like his own that he immediately noticed the resemblance. Fortunately, he had dyed his hair light brown and grown a short beard and a mustache, which made it difficult for Farha and Yousef to notice this strong resemblance. At that moment, there was no doubt in Ronen’s mind that she was his biological sister. He quickly managed to hide his excitement and politely nodded his head with a mild, closed-mouth smile.

“Hello, Mr. John. Welcome,” said Farha without any smile. Her son Akbar, who looked about nine or ten years old, also said hello, but her daughter Mona, who was younger, just stared at Ronen until Farha looked at her and quietly told her to say hello. She remained silent.

Farha was still in mourning and, as such, was wearing a long black dress and a dark scarf. Ronen knew not to shake hands with Farha.

“Hello. It’s a pleasure meeting you. Your children are lovely, masha’allah masha’allah.”

Sorrow and grief were clearly visible in Farha’s face. They all sat down around the coffee table. Farha and her daughter shared an armchair across from Ronen. 

“I’m very sorry for your loss. I know it must be very difficult for you,” said Ronen.

“It has always been difficult for me. The Israelis killed one of my brothers last year and now my mother and uncle,” said Farha.

Ronen reached into the shopping bag that he had brought with him and pulled out a red gift-wrapped box as he looked at Mona.

“This is for you, my dear,” he said and then put the box on the coffee table near Mona.

The little girl looked at the gift and looked at her mother. Farha offered her a mild smile. She and Yousef thanked Ronen simultaneously as Mona picked up the gift. Ronen pulled out another box and gave it to Akbar who was watching Mona open hers.

This offering went a long way in lifting Farha’s spirit. They certainly didn’t expect such generosity from a Western journalist. Mona’s gift was a doll in a long red dress and Akbar’s was a small remote control car. After a minute or so, the children went to their room and then Farha served tea and sweets. For a few minutes, they casually chatted about life in Bahrain. Yousef did most of the talking and Farha only occasionally broke her silence with brief comments.

“So when would you like to interview Farha, before dinner or after?” asked Yousef.

“It doesn’t have to be a formal interview so I’d say before, during and after,” answered Ronen with a smile.

He was using every chance to look at Farha and every glance increased his feeling of attachment and affection toward her. Since he had never had a sibling, these intense feelings were a unique experience for him.  

“I’m ready but, as I told you, what I know about Ferdous is limited to what I heard from my parents and other relatives,” said Farha.

“I’d be grateful for any information that you could give me. Did your parents talk about their lives and how they were evicted from Ferdous?” asked Ronen.

“I personally don’t have any memories of Ferdous but, based on what my parents told me, it was a beautiful valley with a population of a little over five hundred. My father, God bless his soul, was a farmer, like most residents. He was a strong and hard-working man. Our farm was small, but he managed to build a house and provide for us. When the farm work was light, he worked in nearby towns as a construction worker.”

“Were your parents related to one another?”

“Yes, they were distant cousins. They were both born and raised in Ferdous. The Al-Banna clan was the largest clan in Ferdous, and we had many relatives living there and in nearby villages that are now scattered all around the world.”

Ronen continued the conversation with more questions about Farha’s relatives and well-known people who lived in Ferdous. He wanted to leave the more important questions for after dinner.

After talking for about 20 minutes, Farha went to the kitchen to prepare the dinner table. Ronen and Yousef continued the conversation and, not surprisingly, their conversation was about the intifada. Yousef was very optimistic about the victory of the Palestinians and proclaimed that they had no option but to continue the intifada at all costs.

“They can kill five or even ten of us for every Israeli that is killed, but it doesn’t matter. We will liberate the Ghods al-Shareef (Jerusalem) with the help of Allah.”

When Ronen and Yousef walked toward the dining table, Ronen noticed several portraits decorating the wall. Before taking his seat, he stood in front of them as Yousef stood next to him. Ronen immediately recognized the picture of Zeinab, although it was a picture of her in her youth.

“This is Farha’s mother, God bless her soul,” commented Yousef.

Then Ronen looked at the picture below it, which was a large wedding picture of a couple.  “This is Farha’s brother Omar and his wife. They live in America now and have two kids.” Although Omar was wearing a mustache in this picture, Ronen could easily see the strong resemblance between Omar and himself.

It was, however, the photo to the right of Zeinab’s picture that took him by surprise. Sani had told him that Karim al-Banna resembled his father but he had no idea how strong this resemblance was until he saw this picture. It was as if he was looking at a picture of Aaron, when he was in his early forties.  The shape of his eyes, nose and lips were almost identical. The only difference that Ronen was able to notice was that Karim’s face was slightly longer.

“This is Farha’s father when he was in his late thirties,” said Yousef after he saw Ronen examining the picture carefully. The comment snapped Ronen out of his deep thoughts, and they all sat down.

The conversation over dinner was casual, but the roles were reversed. Now it was Farha and her husband, and occasionally their children, who were asking Mr. John about his life and work. Ronen was well prepared for such questions and was able to offer a convincing and consistent account of his life as John Northon.

By the time they finished eating and returned to the other section of the living room, it was a little past nine o’clock. Ronen slowly directed the conversation back to Ferdous.

“Could you talk a little about the final days of your family in Ferdous? I know you were very young back then, but did your parents ever talk about how they left the village?” he asked.

“They were forced out by the Israeli soldiers. It happened in late spring, only a few days before the 1967 war. The soldiers were always harassing the people in Ferdous and other Arab villages east of Tel Aviv. Since most families refused to leave despite these pressures, about five hundred Israeli soldiers entered Ferdous with tanks and army trucks one day. They forced all the men out of their houses and gathered them in front of the village mosque. They gave them two weeks to leave Ferdous,” explained Farha and then quietly looked at Ronen.

“I guess they had no choice but to leave. I can’t imagine how painful it must have been for your family and the others,” said Ronen.

“For us it was even more tragic because my mother was pregnant and, two days after this ultimatum, she gave birth to a baby boy who died a few days later. I was too young to understand what was going on,” said Farha and then looked at her husband who was sitting next to her.

He wished he could walk across the room, hold Farha in his arms and tell her that her baby brother had not died. He sat quietly and looked at Farha as tears gathered in his eyes and a drop slowly slid down on his left cheeck. His rational, ever-calculating brain was overcome with sadness. More tears were visible on his face. Yousef was surprised by such an intense emotional reaction from this English journalist.

“Allah-o Akbar,” said Yousef in a soft voice as he stroked his beard a couple of times and looked down at the coffee table.

His words suddenly interrupted Ronen’s thoughts, and he felt the tears on his face. He quickly ended his long stare at Farha and used a napkin to wipe the tears off.

“I can’t imagine how your parents must have felt. This is so tragic … losing an infant and having to leave your house and livelihood all in such a short span of time.”

It was only after making this comment that Ronen regained some control over his emotions and tried to put this revelation into perspective. Why did Karim and Zeinab tell their children that he had died as an infant? Did they voluntarily give him up for adoption? Did they know that he would be adopted by a Jewish couple?

Since he could not learn the details of his adoption from Zeinab or Sani, he had come up with two possible explanations for how he had ended up living with his Israeli parents. One possibility was that he was kidnapped and the other one was that he was adopted with the consent of his biological parents. What Farha told him made it more likely that somehow his biological parents gave him up voluntarily; otherwise, why would they have tried to hide the kidnapping of their infant from their other children, even after they had grown up? It was not unusual for poor Arab families to occasionally give up a child for adoption because of poverty. But Ronen knew that no Palestinian family would have ever consented to giving a child to a Jewish couple. These questions were racing through his mind, but he tried to suppress them for the moment and focus on Farha and her family.

“Had your parents already named the baby before this happened?” asked Ronen.

“His name was Ismail,” answered Farha.

So if all this had not happened I would have been Ismail today, thought Ronen.

“That is a beautiful name. May God bless his soul,” said Ronen and then redirected the conversation to Ferdous.

Farha explained that, based on what she had heard from her parents, her father was so angry that he got into a fight with a couple of Israeli soldiers and they gave him a severe beating. A few days later, the nearby well that was the main source of fresh water to the village was destroyed and they had no choice but to leave. Ronen was listening and pretending to be interested in these issues, but his thoughts were fixed on how he had been transferred from Karim and Zeinab to Aaron and Sara.

Their conversation after dinner lasted about an hour. The tourism ministry driver who had brought Ronen to Farha’s house earlier that evening was waiting for him at ten o’clock. Ronen tried hard to control his emotions as he said goodbye to Farha and her family. The encounter with his sister had caused such an emotional upheaval inside of him that he couldn’t fall sleep until one in the morning. The driver was coming to pick him up at five am for his early morning tour of the Dilmun Water Park resort, in the company of Prince Jassem. 

Continue to Story two- Part three