Cry of Hope Read online

  “The pent-up emotions are too high!” Kahil shouted through the crowd noise as they walked rapidly from one to another. “I just talked to a guy, Majid. Israeli soldiers bulldozed his family home last month in East Jerusalem. He said he’s still for a peaceful demonstration, and the majority of the protesters are. But I’m wondering whether a few hotheads may erupt.”

  The din of stamping feet, loud singing and chanting engulfed any further conversation. Sami tried, but gave up. All he could do was to pray. “Please God, keep this from being an out of control mob.”

  Approaching the outskirts of the first gate, Sami saw a phalanx of nearly fifty Israeli soldiers in front of the wall and checkpoint, with rifles held in firing position pointing toward the demonstrators. His heart raced as they approached the soldiers now only twenty yards away. The singing and shouting intensified with Palestinian flags waving high above the crowd. Popping tear gas canisters suddenly flew overhead dropping a fog of searing clouds causing many Palestinians farther back to disperse into surrounding streets and alleyways. Sami’s eyes teared up with intense burning as he began to cough. But the crowd quickly returned.

  After several minutes of standoff and more tear gas, a few scattered demonstrators started pelting the soldiers with stones. The young Israelis quickly brought up shields for protection, but one soldier fell. A roar went up from the street and more rocks. The soldiers seemed agitated, turning to their commander who yelled something. The crack of rifles began—the rubber-coated steel bullets.

  Sami turned slightly to the right staring at a demonstrator clutching his chest and falling. He turned pale, exhaled loudly and went limp. To Sami’s horror, the young man didn’t move. Momentarily immobilized in fear, Sami felt a sledgehammer blow to his head, intense pain, and then everything turned black.

  CHAPTER 4

  ARIEL FRIEDMAN HAD nearly finished his three years in the Israeli Defense Force. The twenty-one-year-old and his comrades took positions in front of the Qalandia checkpoint with its steel gates joining the six-meter high concrete barrier. He watched the surging and flag-waving crowd approach. The noise became deafening. All young men his own age. Pulse racing, Ariel stared ahead, the air crackling with shouting and singing. Then the flag wavers and a few others moved forward. Only a short distance separated them from the line of soldiers.

  The order came to fire tear gas over the crowd to disperse it. Then the stones began falling. Ariel used his shield, but they continued coming. A lieutenant ordered his men to start firing rubber-coated bullets into the crowd. Ariel lifted the plastic shield covering his face tipping his helmet back, He leveled his rifle, fired and hit a young Palestinian flag waver in the head. Blood burst from his left eye and he fell. Ariel dropped his rifle, shaking. He watched as the young man lay motionless while another rushed to fallen man’s aid. A sign lay beside him, “Justice—not violence.” It was at that moment that Ariel heard a sudden loud explosion in his own head. The daylight went out as he crumpled to the pavement.

  ***

  Ariel lay bleeding and unconscious. His fellow soldiers called for a medic and stretcher. They quickly checked him, trying to stop the frontal scalp bleeding with pressure. Comatose, Ariel was loaded onto a stretcher, and within a minute, a military medical van raced with sirens screaming to Mt. Scopus and the Hadassah Hospital.

  One of the helicopter pilots overhead radioed ground control at the checkpoint as they were in almost continual contact. He saw young men on both sides fall with injuries and shook his head at the sight. It seemed so unnecessary to Ariel’s cousin Chaim Friedman. Thank God he had not received orders to fire on the crowd. He would refuse despite orders. He would never again fire his guns on civilians.

  He wondered who the Israeli casualties were, and switched on his radio. “Captain Friedman in H-257 above you. Please identify yourself.”

  “Lieutenant Goldberg here.”

  “Lieutenant, please let me know who in your platoon they injured. I noted one soldier falling whom you carried in on a stretcher. What’s his name?”

  “Specialist first class Ariel Friedman, sir. He’s on his way to the Mt. Scopus Hadassah ER. Head trauma, unconscious. Apparently from a rock. Got him despite his helmet. The other injuries have been minor so far.”

  “Oh no!” Chaim slumped in his seat while the helicopter suddenly shot upward. He recovered quickly, staring blankly at his instruments. Ariel, his cousin, now critically injured. He’d told Ariel to be careful and protect his head from stones. He knew Ariel was guarding at Qalandia that day, but couldn’t recognize individual soldiers. He radioed his commander in Jerusalem. “Colonel Peres, sir, please come on directly. This is Captain Friedman at Qalandia.”

  “Colonel Peres here.”

  “Sir, I am over the Qalandia demonstration monitoring the crowd of Palestinians. I have just learned that my cousin, Specialist First Class Ariel Friedman, was guarding the checkpoint, and has been seriously injured. He is being transported to Hadassah ER as we speak. Requesting permission to land at Hadassah and be relieved of duty for the day.”

  “Permission granted, Chaim. We’ll get another bird up to hover.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Chaim then radioed the ER obtaining permission to land on the helipad near the emergency entrance. He hovered over landscaped gardens and parking lots before rapidly descending. Feeling a wave of nausea, he rushed into the ER to find Ariel unconscious.

  Still in his flight suit, stocky with square jaw, of medium height, Chaim had time only to squeeze Ariel’s hand in an exam room before the imaging team whisked him off for his MRI. Eyes closed, Ariel did not respond. He had a sutured scalp laceration just above his forehead. Chaim sat down to wait and think. Violence he understood, but it seemed frightening in his own family. He used the half hour to call Ariel’s parents in West Jerusalem and his second cousin Ben Ami, in Sderot. He explained Ariel’s injury and suggested they come in this evening when the results of the MRI would be known.

  He had already notified Gavriella from the helicopter. His wife had registered shock, and would leave work immediately. Chaim rose to greet her, olive skin and beautiful with brown eyes and jet-black long hair. He kissed her as they sat down on plain chairs in the waiting area. She looked at her husband, eyebrows raised, eyes watering.

  “How is he, Chaim?”

  “I don’t know. Not awake yet. He’s getting an MRI. We’ll know more soon.”

  “I hope Ariel’s going to be okay. You and he have compassion that’s so rare among soldiers. It brings the trouble close to home—could have been you.”

  Chaim squeezed her knee as they sat. “You know, he approached this Nakba Day with real reservations— but not for himself.” Staring ahead he nodded. “He simply didn’t want to have to use rubber-coated bullets against unarmed civilians. Their commander ordered them to fire. I heard it on the open radio.” He paused and shook his head. “Why should this happen just two months before he gets out of the IDF?”

  After a half-hour a young physician approached. “Captain Friedman?”

  “Yes.” Chaim leaped to his feet as they exchanged greetings and introductions.

  “Ariel’s MRI shows no bleeding in or around the brain. He does have a skull fracture and the laceration of his scalp, both of no serious consequence. But he has a severe concussion, and will probably be waking up gradually over the next day or two. This injury could affect his military assignments in the Israeli Defense Force.”

  Chaim flicked his eyebrows up, grimacing at Gavriella and sighing. “Thank you, doctor. Can we see him when he gets back to the room?”

  “Yes. But we may have to keep him here in the ER for a while until beds open up on the neurosurgical floor, probably later this afternoon, but certainly by six tonight, as one patient is leaving today.”

  Chaim sat still, shaking his head as he grabbed Gavriella’s hand.

  CHAPTER 5

  KAHIL SAW SAMI fall bleeding from his left eye. He rushed over to kneel beside his best friend. “Sami,
Sami, can you hear me?” He repeated it, shouting louder in Arabic into Sami’s ear. No response. The blood continued. Kahil screamed wildly to his nearby demonstrators for help—the few that had not fled. Several rushed to help as Kahil cradled Sami’s head while the others grabbed his arms and legs, walking forward toward the soldiers in front of the checkpoint gates.

  “This guy’s an Israeli citizen from near Nazareth. He needs medical help quickly! He’s still breathing. Help us, please!” Kahil shouted in Hebrew.

  “Bring him in here!” An Israeli lieutenant took charge, leading the way into a room with a bench near the inside second gate. He looked disgusted. “Another casualty, this time an Israeli Palestinian!” A soldier with a Red Crescent armband stepped forward to examine Sami. Kahil stared at his friend, his own heart beating wildly.

  “He needs immediate hospitalization for a possible serious head injury, sir.” The medic gazed intently at the officer. “I’m not sure what has happened to his left eye.”

  “Could he die?

  “He could, depending on what is going on in his head. Either an epidural hemorrhage or internal brain bleeding can be fatal.”

  The lieutenant stroked his chin for several moments. He found Sami’s wallet and checked his ID card confirming his Palestinian/Israeli citizenship status. “Get Colonel Schulman on the phone,” he ordered to a nearby soldier. The man dialed his cell phone, handing it to his superior. The roar of the demonstrators and the sharp crack of rifles had subsided.

  “Sir, Lieutenant Goldberg here at the Qalandia checkpoint. We have one of the demonstrators here, serious head injury, apparently from a rubber bullet. Demonstrators brought him to us. He’s an Israeli citizen from a town near Nazareth and needs immediate medical attention. I’d like permission to waive some of the security checks and get him into an ambulance for the Mt. Scopus Hadassah Hospital where he could get emergency neurosurgical care. We just shipped out one of our own soldiers with a similar injury.”

  “Look Lieutenant, I’ve got a dozen hotspots to cover right now with the Nakba Day demonstrations all over the West Bank! Your guy is not the only injury. Put your request into the computer and we’ll get to it in the order received!” Kahil could hear the Colonel’s response shouting into the telephone.

  “But sir, with all due respect, the man may die.”

  “So? Palestinians die all the time. So do some of us. Do what I say, Lieutenant, and don’t bother me anymore by phone.”

  Goldberg dropped his arm, holding the phone, and stood looking at Sami. He remained silent, shaking his head slowly. “All right men, back to your posts. We’ll have to leave this guy here until we hear that it’s okay to transfer him to Hadassah.”

  Kahil looked dismayed. He spoke in his limited Hebrew. “But he needs immediate help, sir. He may die right here.”

  The lieutenant shrugged. “I’ve done what I can. When my headquarters gets to his case, we’ll get some help.” He walked over to the computer and entered Sami’s information with a short narrative of the injury and information from his identification card.

  The three other demonstrators had left the room at the orders of several soldiers. One soldier stepped forward to frisk Kahil. Then he told him he could sit with Sami on the bench. Kahil hung his head, shaking it slowly. Their hopes for a peaceful demonstration had been shattered, and now his best friend lay bleeding and unconscious. And the Israelis would not transfer him to the hospital for help. Kahil wished he could pray like Sami did sometimes, but he never felt comfortable talking to Allah that way outside of the prescribed prayers. Maybe God being merciful will do something to get help for Sami, he thought.

  The medic came to check on Sami. The bleeding had stopped under the soaked bulky dressing over his left eye. He remained unconscious and unresponsive.

  “Will he die?” Kahil asked.

  “I have no way of knowing,” replied the medic. “We are waiting for permission to transfer him. I have let them know on the Jerusalem side, to be ready with an ambulance quickly once we can transfer him.” He walked away.

  Several minutes later a senior officer stepped into the room in front of Lieutenant Goldberg.

  Kahil startled, looked up, eyebrows raised at the single star on his shoulder, a brigadier general. Kahil leaped to his feet.

  “I’m glad you happened by, sir,” the lieutenant began. “I’ve got a demonstrator here seriously injured an hour ago, with head trauma. He’s an Israeli citizen, Palestinian from near Nazareth. He needs immediate medical attention and is at risk of early death according to our medic. I called headquarters for permission to transfer him to Hadassah but the colonel there told me to put his information in the computer and they’d get to him when they could. I’m concerned he may die here. We can’t send him back out into the street. The small hospital here in Qalandia is not equipped to handle serious head injuries.”

  “Stupid bureaucracy!” The general jerked his head toward the next gate within the checkpoint. “Get this guy an ambulance now and call the ER at Hadassah that he’s on his way.”

  “Yes sir!” Goldberg saluted as the general walked out. “Soldier,” he ordered the medic, “get that ambulance quickly and bring a stretcher. This guy’s out of here! And his friend can go with him!”

  CHAPTER 6

  KAHIL FOLLOWED THE ambulance medics as they wheeled Sami into the Hadassah ER. The place smelled of antiseptic. The dark tile floor led to a main receiving area with bright lights and several desks. People everywhere, walking and waiting. Down the hall they entered a small glassed-in room with machines, wires, tubes and cupboards. They stopped Kahil at the door. He’d have to wait outside. One of the young doctors turned around to ask whether he was part of Sami’s family.

  “No, but I’ll call his father right now.” He forgot in the stress of the situation to notify Sami’s parents. “Oh, would you bring Sami’s cell phone so I can call his father?”

  “Of course.”

  “Asalam alekum, Rafiq? This is Kahil, Sami’s friend. I’m in Hadassah Hospital on Mt. Scopus with Sami. He’s been injured in the demonstration.”

  “Oh no! What kind of injury? Is it serious?”

  “Yes, it is. Some kind of head and maybe eye injuries.”

  “Is he conscious? Can he see?

  “No, he’s unconscious. Only the left eye is injured. I don’t know about his vision. The doctors here are just now examining him. His vital signs seem okay. But we had to wait at the Qalandia checkpoint to get permission to bring him here.”

  Kahil waited while he heard Rafiq call to Farah. He then talked to Sami’s mother as well, trying to explain the situation. Rafiq returned to the line, replacing Farah who could no longer talk through her tears.

  “Kahil, I’ve got to get on the bus to Jerusalem now. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I have my cell phone. Call me while I’m on my way if you hear anything more.”

  Kahil sat for hours in the waiting area of the ER wondering what the doctors had found. Wandering around the room, he saw an international award displayed. Hadassah hospital, along with its medical training and research activities, gave excellent care to all people regardless of race, country, or religion. They had certainly received Sami without question.

  He suddenly recognized a familiar young man with a bandaged hand hurrying through the ER toward the outside door. Ishaq lived in Beit Jala near Bethlehem in the West Bank. He called to his cousin. After the greetings, Kahil inquired about Ishaq’s injury. He looked pale and seemed agitated.

  “It’s nothing, Kahil. Just a cut from a saw on my construction job here in Jerusalem. The boss made me come here to get it fixed. But…”

  “Oh. You are working here?”

  “Yeah. Two days a week only. I’d like to work more but there are no jobs at home, and they need Palestinian labor here. It’s not every day. But that’s not…”

  “Don’t you have trouble getting through the checkpoints in the wall on the way to Jerusalem?

  “Yeah. Usual hassles an
d three-hour waits. But they need us, so we can come. I need to get…”

  “How’s is your family, Ishaq?”

  “Not well. That’s the real problem, and why I need to get back to them. My wife is pregnant, and she and the two kids are in shock. Our house was demolished today.”

  “Oh no! Really? Are they all right?”

  “They’re safe in my sister-in-law’s small house with her husband and kids. But we have no home left. Everything destroyed by an Israeli bulldozer. I just found out by cell phone. That’s why I’m in a rush to get to my family.”

  “I’m so sorry, Ishaq.” Kahil shook his head. “Did Israelis put demolition orders on your home?”

  “Yes, our house and two others in our area received them three weeks ago. We don’t know why except they seem to pick out houses randomly to destroy. We did nothing against the soldiers. Our homes have been in the family for generations. Same for others in a nearby neighborhood.”

  “Did you try to stop the bulldozers from coming.”?

  “Oh yes. I collected 3,000 shekels from friends to go to court in Jerusalem, scheduled for…tomorrow.” Ishaq shook his head and sighed. “That was the earliest time I could get in.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But the bulldozer came before we had a chance to try to get an injunction to stop it.”

  Kahil reached out to hug his cousin, who continued. “Why can’t we be free to live in peace? They treat us like animals. They have all the power in the occupation and we have none.”

  Ishaq trembled, and tears flowed onto Kahil’s neck. They released from the hug, Ishaq whispered his thanks and bolted out the door. Kahil sat stunned at Ishaq’s news, not moving. He felt a knot in his stomach. Troubles seemed to come in bunches. First Sami and now his cousin. Why did all this have to happen? It seemed so cruel, so unnecessary.