Part 2 (2/2)
With his use of the word ”limits,” the father had again set something in motion-just like this morning when he wanted to take Thar across his knee. In spite of this threat, the boy had to laugh as he answered: ”No thoughts? In there, we find all of the People of Israel, King Pharaoh, and all of his Egyptian soldiers!”
Incredulous, the father inquired further: ”How so? On the contrary, I see nothing of them!”
”That's because they're in the water! This picture shows the Children of Israel's pa.s.sage through the Red Sea. Don't you see the Red Sea that is right in front of you? And over there is the blue air; directly above your head is the yellow sun, because the time of day is exactly noon. Here to the left, the green land, that is Egypt; and the house, that is the Palace of the Pharaoh. And here to the right, this green land is Palestine; the King of the Jebusites lives in the house that stands there. In between there lies the Red Sea.
The Children of Israel were slaves in Egypt. Moses helped them break away. He fled with them into the Red Sea. Even now, all of them are stuck in there. With all of his armies, Pharaoh hurried after them.
Look here! The last one of them has just now disappeared. You can still see his heel which is still above the water. On the other side over there, the Children of Israel are just now coming out of the water again. Already you can see the first one's toes which are half- way out of the water. As soon as all of them are high and dry, I'll paint in my sharks; then you'll see that Pharaoh and all of his soldiers will be devoured-not a single one of them will remain. More or less, aren't those the approximate ideas?”
He stretched himself out in front of his father and watched his dad's face as he thought about these explanations. Behind us rang out the reproachful voice of their African cook. She was standing next to the door with her wind-lantern. She had heard everything: ”It was my hand that produced the entire green land of Egypt and all of Palestine's greenery. Tomorrow, I'm painting Jericho!” At that moment, the good Mustafa Bustani could no longer control himself. All of his temper burst forth. His voice thundered at them: ”Tomorrow, you will learn what you can paint. March! Come away with me into the house!”
His angry voice shocked the African cook. She let loose of the lantern which shattered and extinguished-running away as fast as her feet would carry her. Realizing the impact of his wrath, the merchant immediately tried to take back its harsh impact. He addressed us in an apologetic tone: ”Forgive me. Such anger is never the right thing. Please allow me to accompany you.”
We understood and gladly embraced him. He led us towards the gate through which we had come. It still stood open. There, he said this to us: ”We'll keep our plans to travel early tomorrow morning.
I'll pick you up at seven, European time. I don't yet know whether I'll bring my son along.”
My wife then asked about his son whom she had grown so fond of: ”Will you punish him very severely?” Mustafa answered with an unusually solemn tone: ”In this situation, I'll have to think about who deserves the punishment here. With both of you here, it's as if a light has come to me. Since this morning, it seems as if I now have entirely new eyes and ears. How did it happen that you, without any kind of perceptible reason, came along the same path leading to the heights of the Mount of Olives-the one which I daily climb-precisely at the same time?” I gently tossed out this word: ”Coincidence!”
”You say that without personally believing it. I know all too well that you consider the word ”coincidence” to be an embarra.s.sing fabrication. However, for now that's unimportant. Above all else this evening, I have to think about my son. I would like to be alone this evening. And without feeling ashamed, I can say to both of you that I must pray. This thought has come to me: I have placed the soul of my child upon the wrong path. Allah alone knows the hidden depths of our hearts. He wants to show me what is correct and what is false.
Please, do not concern yourselves about the boy. He won't receive punishment which he doesn't deserve. Good night.” Extending our hands to him, we also said ”Good night.” We were eager to see how tomorrow's affairs would develop.
II. Towards Hebron!
Oh what memories are connected to the name of this old and famous city of kings and descendants of Levi! Located just twenty miles south of Jerusalem, Hebron may be the oldest city in the Promised Land. It existed three thousand years before the birth of Christ. According to the traditional teachings of the Middle Ages, it is in this vicinity where G.o.d created Adam.
Seventeen miles southwest of Jerusalem, there's the city of Kirjath-arba, where mythical giants once lived. Later, Hebron was the capitol city of the Hitt.i.tes, whose princes resided there. After the Children of Israel's conquest of Canaan, the city fell to the Family of Caleb. Later, King David spent the first seven years of his reign here. At the city gates, David's General Joab murdered Abner, the Commander-in-Chief of King Saul's army. Upon David's orders, it was here that the men who a.s.sa.s.sinated Saul's son Ishbosheth were hung. From Hebron, Absalom launched the rebellion against his father, King David. During the Israelites' captivity in Babylon, the city fell into the hands of the Edomites, Esau's people-which Judas Maccabaeus drove out. The Romans destroyed the city and sold its inhabitants into slavery. The Crusaders made Hebron their Bishop- City. It has also become ever more holy to Muslims, because it was the dwelling place of the Patriarchs. In the past, Abraham lived there, and Jacob's caravan to Egypt began at Hebron. The Muslims call Abraham the friend of merciful compa.s.sion; from this t.i.tle, Hebron received its current Arabic name, El Chalil.
So, Hebron is highly revered-but unfortunately, the city is not friendly toward strangers, particularly Christians. In the entire land, Hebron's population is the most bigoted. There are approximately nine thousand Muslims and five hundred Jews, who in fact want to earn as much money as possible from a Christian-yet they consider him to be inferior and even an unclean enemy whose mere touch can make them dirty. Through Hebron's lanes, a Christian pedestrian gets along OK if he tries very hard to avoid looking into the eyes of ”the true believers.” Otherwise, trouble can easily happen. At the least, youth who follow him will not just shout out curse words-they will also throw solid objects. The most p.r.o.nounced expression of this hostile relations.h.i.+p is evident in the fact that Hebron's inns are not open to Christians-even though the city's well- traveled roadway connects to Jerusalem. Today, it may be different; it was in the year 1900 when I last visited Hebron.
In light of Christians' common veneration of the patriarch Abraham, Europeans visit this city of historical names-in spite of its unfriendly population. When his wife Sarah died, Abraham purchased the double burial cave called Machpela; the Hitt.i.te Ephron sold him this grave site. Thus in a burial chamber, she was transformed. Some say that the following famous six are entombed here: Abraham. Isaac, Jacob, Sarah, Rebecca, and Leah. Among the Greek-speaking Jews, some say that the Byzantine Emperor Justinian lies here. Above this spot, a church was once established-which the Muslims converted into a mosque; unfortunately, Christians are not allowed to visit this site. Christians are only permitted to come near the outer perimeter of this shrine. In order to go beyond that limit, one must be a high-level, princely person-especially one that holds a firman, a royal decree from the Ottoman Empire. In this same region, upon Der el Arba'in, one finds the grave of Jesse, King David's father. A half hour from the city stands Abraham's Well, where some claim that this is the scene where once the Oaks of Mamre stood. [ Mamre was the Amorite chief who gave his name to the plain where Abraham dwelt, Genesis 23: 19.] Almost every place in the surrounding area is intertwined with some memory of the patriarchs.
So for this reason, it was also a desire of mine to visit Hebron as often as I was in Jerusalem. So it is now. (Photo, 148 KB-Jpg. The Apostles' fountain: on the road between Jerusalem and Bethany, which tradition says is the place where Jesus rested with his disciples.)
At exactly 7 o'clock the next morning, a comfortable, fully covered four-pa.s.senger carriage arrived at our door. Therein, sat Mustafa Bustani and Thar. When my wife saw them, she said: ”So, he's allowed to come after all.” I too was pleased about this. The boy sprang out of the carriage. He was festively dressed: golden shoes, white stockings, white pants, and a white Bedouin-s.h.i.+rt with a red vest that had Hungarian Hussar gold-braided cords. Upon his head sat a red fez, to which a white, silken neck-scarf was fastened. Today, the boy looked exceptionally distinguished. ”We are here. Father bids you to come,” said Thar. His voice had an official and powerful ring to it. In a softer and more confidential tone, he officially put forth this question: ”Yesterday evening, did you also think that I would receive a good thras.h.i.+ng? No? I've thought a great deal about it. I wish that he had whipped me.” For a moment, he pondered over this-then he repeated these words: ”Yes, yes, I wanted it that way!”
”Why?”
”If the beating were over, my father would no longer be angry and sad. It would no longer be painful for me either. As long as I have to await punishment, even as I do right now, he still has the sad eyes-and that causes me twice the pain.” I wanted to know the reason: ”In what way is it doubled?”
”First, I'll tell you about his eyes, then secondly about the thras.h.i.+ng which is yet to come. Due to the fact that the punishment usually never happens, I ceaselessly and hopelessly feel this way in advance. So today, it will perhaps be the same. Since yesterday evening, his sad eyes have hurt me. Mostly, he doesn't say a word-not a single thing. Early today, he personally woke me up and helped me get dressed. When he stood so silently in my room, I could no longer bear it; I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him, begging him to punish me-soundly and vigorously. He just gently smiled and shook his head. Do you think he is doing the right thing?”
I gave him this advice: ”At all times, what your father does is the right thing. You must come to understand this.” Thar questioned me: ”Even when I regard his actions as wrong?” Here was my reply: ”Then too! When you grow older, just as he is now, you will have an experience that will convince you that he was right. Oh well, come on! Your father is always so punctual-we shouldn't keep him waiting.”
”Now just a moment,”he pleaded. ”I still have something to tell you; today is Friday, a holiday. It's forbidden for me to get dirty.
For that reason, I didn't bring along any colors. Nevertheless, I am a hero. You see, it isn't required that a hero be painted up when he wants to conquer his enemies. There are also cases in which-” At that point, my wife jokingly added this line: ”-the victor actually has no paint at all. Yesterday, you told us that you wanted to paint the first storming of Palestine's City of Jericho. Didn't you think about that project on this special Friday?”
The boy answered her: ”Anyway, nothing could be done about Jericho. I lack the means to capture the necessary noise. I can paint the trumpets and also the walls; but how am I supposed to insert the loud racket when I can't portray that part of the picture?
It's really too bad-just a crying shame. So, now I'm ready. Let's go.”
We broke off our conversation and went to the carriage. Just as we were climbing in, Lord Pasha Osman Achyr interrupted his morning excursion and came riding upon his fat donkey. For a moment, he reigned back on his steed, gave us a friendly greeting, then directed this question to the boy: ”Well then, which hero are you today?”
With his usual presence of mind, Thar answered: ”I'm Joshua the Conqueror. I'm going into the Land of the Canaanites in order to show them that we are not afraid of them.” The Pasha played along: ”Where does this land lie?” The boy replied: ”In Gilgal.” The Pascha cautioned him: ”My boy, be careful then. Without asking first about your reason for being there, the people will cut you down.” With that parting advice, he rode off.
Regarding what was necessary for our journey, Mustafa Bustani a.s.sured us that he had taken care of everything. Thar leapt onto the seat beside the coachman where he felt more free and higher than in the deeper part of the carriage beside us. The horses then began to pull forward. Our steep path went from the Jaffa Gate into the Hinnom Valley, which carries the Jewish and Islamic references to ”h.e.l.l.”
We traveled farther to the Sultan's Pool; and from there, again upward to the high and level Bethel. Thereon lies the Cloister of Rabbi Elijah, from which we could admire a broad and outstanding view. This monastery is a.s.sociated with the Prophet Elijah, and nearby is a spring where the Holy Family reportedly drew water.
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