Part 3 (1/2)
Beyond this monastery, you'll find Rachel's Crypt, the burial site of Patriarch Jacob's wife. At this holy site, we read these words: ”On the road to Ephratah, which is now called Bethlehem, Rachel died and was buried. So Jacob erected a memorial upon her grave; to this day, Rachel's monument is still there.” The road divides at this place.
To the left, it goes towards Bethlehem; straight ahead lies Hebron.
We took the latter direction. After forty-five minutes, we came to the Three Pools of Solomon. Long before the Christian era, these aqua ducts were constructed in order to supply water to Jerusalem. Even though these pools and the region's small castle hold historical and architectural significance, they have no bearing on our story-so for now, we'll bypa.s.s them.
Of more interest to me is the broad Wadi a-'Arish; midway between Jerusalem and Hebron, a ”caf,” was erected, a place where men and animals can find a place to rest themselves. Don't picture a European-style caf,. Instead, imagine a narrow, low-quality, jagged stone building wherein a rather squalid fellow boils dirty water in a filthy pot as he makes a brew which he calls ”coffee”-a drink that he sells to European pa.s.sersby, all at sinfully expensive prices.
Yet the sin does not stem from the price that he demands. Oh no, he's too sly for that. This might result in a complaint that could lead to cancellation of his license to sell coffee. He works this more cleverly. For the locals, he sets the lowest possible price; but for foreigners, he always says this: ”I'll take what you give me!” In this way, he neither dissuades nor pleads. Since European travelers are almost always well-to-do, having extra money to afford elevated sentiments, the coffee-innkeeper gives them the impression that he's needy-all with the aim that they will pay him a price which is more like a present, or even an excessive tariff. For a very small oriental cup, which contained no more than two or three thimbles- worth of coffee, he held out his hand long enough to receive more than a German Mark-whereas five Pfennig would have been entirely enough. I had always been generous towards him. However, the last time I stopped at his place, I saw how he was laughing at me as I rode away-so today, he shall pay dearly for that.
When we arrived at his ”caf,,” we stopped and climbed out of the carriage. He rushed outside; and with an exaggerated deep bow, he asked about our ”orders.” Mustafa Bustani first ordered five cups of coffee, then five more; for a third time, he ordered still another five. Altogether, that came to fifteen cups. The man melted into a downcast spirit; he knew that Mustafa Bustani was no foreigner and that he often stopped here on his business trips to Hebron. So, he could not treat him like a European. When we were preparing to leave and climbing into our carriage, I took out my money pouch. The shop owner's face completely lit up. I asked how much it cost for the fifteen cups of coffee. ”Give what you wish,” he said. ”I'll only pay the price that you demand,” I declared.
This accomplished nothing. He absolutely refused to set a price.
So when I threatened to pay him nothing if he wouldn't give me a price, he simply answered with this: ”OK, I'll give them to you as a present.” This trick had always worked for him. He a.s.sumed that no European would allow him to give away his coffee. So, I acted just as he expected. Appearing to be overwhelmed with his generosity, I gave him a franc. In Palestine, the franc is the most prized silver coin.
He looked at it, then handed it back to me and said: ”I'm giving the money back to you.” After taking the coin back, I first gave him two, then three francs. Once again, he declined the money and repeated these words: ”I give these as presents to you.” I understood how this man operated; I knew just how far I could take this. His greed for money grew with every increase of my offer. I gave him four, then finally five francs. With this last sum, he closed his hand and made a movement as if he wanted to pocket the money. At the same time, he inquisitively looked at me.
I put on my most good-natured face and raised my hand as if to reach into my money bag once again. This was too much for him; he could not resist. In a tone of voice which made it seem that any payment for the coffee was simply impossible, he handed me the five francs: ”I also give these to you!” Ever so slowly and in a way that would not diminish the pleasure of this scene, I took back the money, put the coins in my bag, and answered him: ”So, I give in to your kindness, and I accept your present. I thank you. Live long and well! May Allah bless you and your house for your n.o.ble generosity towards all foreign guests!”
Since we didn't want to hurry and thereby lessen the great effect of our departure, we slowly stood up and watched the expression on his face. Acting as if he wanted to keep us there, he held up his outstretched arms. His mouth gaped open. Upon his face lay an expression of confused dismay, one which bordered on outright shock. He was speechless, uttering neither word nor sound. To make up for lost time, the horses fell into a trot. When we came to the next curve in the road where we looked back, the man still stiffly stood there in the same spot. What followed was whole-hearted laughter-even the Arabic coachman joined in the fun.
The rest of the trip provided a lot of historical points of interest, which at the time seemed to have no connection to the former events. In Ain ed Dirwe, there is a beautiful hewn-stone fountain where the 8th chapter of Acts describes how the Christian Apostle Phillip converted and baptized the Ethiopian Queen Candace'
royal treasurer. Farther on, we came across the ruins of Beth Zur, the ”house of rock,” just southwest of Jerusalem. Chapter 15, verse 58 in the Old Testament Book of Joshua notes the importance of Beth Zur in the time of the Hebrew hero Judas Maccabeus. Chapter 3, verse 16 of The Book of Nehemiah also cites its history.
A half hour later and perhaps 400 steps on the left-hand side of the roadway, we came to the large stone structure of Abraham's Cistern, more commonly called ”Abraham's Well.” At this place, we still had a lot to keep us thoroughly busy. Regarding this famous site, I offer one of my wife's photographs. There in the corner, I am sitting on the edge of the Cistern, clothed like an Arab-except for my bare head. Forward and to the right, is the Arabic Donkey Driver, whom I will introduce later on.
Before reaching this place near the city, imagine long ago when there were vineyards and gardens that even in olden times had a reputation for their good fruits. For example, it's said that this is where Moses' military scouts visited Hebron's Brook of Eschcol and cut the gigantic cl.u.s.ter of grapes which they carried back to the camp of the Israelites as a proof of the fruitfulness of the land (Numbers 13: 23). From here to the city, it takes only a half hour.
In earlier days, whenever I traveled to Hebron, I called on my venerable and extraordinarily agreeable old acquaintance, Jew Eppstein. Since he comes from Germany, he speaks German exceptionally well. Regarding the local hatred of Christians which every German a.s.sumes to be the case, he very weakly subscribed to that prejudice.
Since I was following Mustafa Bustani's travel plans, today I was unable to visit Eppstein. By stopping at a Jew's place, Mustafa would have forever damaged his reputation.
So we drove on, arriving at the address of one of his business friends, a place that had enough room to accommodate the horses and carriage. Was it also possible for him to accept my wife and me?
Fortunately, he was a man who was among the few broad-minded, tolerant believers who live in Hebron. After some hesitation, we were taken in- but separate from Mustafa and his son. For us, there was a small, four-cornered room that had no windows. In order to have light, we had to leave the door open, which also let in the stinky, filthy air from the farmyard. If we were bold and daring enough, we could sit upon the room's single piece of furniture, a straw mat.
After spending a half hour in there, someone brought us an old pitcher of stagnant water that was not drinkable.
When we sought answers to our questions, we could learn nothing more than this: due to the fact that we were Christians and not Muslims, this was the only kind of water that he was permitted to offer us. Besides, no one else would be permitted to drink from our pitcher, because it would now be considered ”unclean.” So, this was the hospitality of a so-called ”tolerant” Muslim. How would we have fared with one who was intolerant? I asked Mustafa Bustani to come to our room. He came and brought along Thar. He apologized. The man told him that we had been well taken care of-befitting our social standing. We informed Mustafa that we now preferred to go to Jew Eppstein's.
Right away, Thar was determined to accompany us. His father didn't object. As much as Mustafa wished, he couldn't do otherwise.
Now that he was already there, he pointed out the necessity of the meeting and the visit; this situation placed a demand upon him, but these matters didn't obligate his son. Thus, he was thankful that we wanted to take Thar with us. First of all, Mustafa suggested that he go to the Arab who had wanted to sell the saddle. It was on account of this saddle that he had made the journey, so it was readily understood that this matter had been settled earlier. At this time, my wife spoke up: ”Since it is Friday, are you allowed to buy and sell?” Mustafa answered: ”In this case, yes. We don't live here, so we are considered pa.s.sers-by and customers who can't wait.”
My wife reasoned further: ”After all, we too are part of the hospitality reserved for pa.s.sers-by, courtesies for those who can not wait. Why are Muslims pliable when it comes to making money, yet harshly inconsiderate whenever it comes to showing love and kind- heartedness to those same foreigners?” Mustafa Bustani pleaded his case: ”According to Islam, hospitality belongs to those who are virtuous, and no one is released from this obligation.” She pressed him further: ”Also when it comes to other religious faiths?”
Unequivocally, he answered her: ”Yes, this is true for Christians, Jews, and heathens.”
She pressed him for more: ”If the residents of Hebron then claim to be Muslims, yet they don't practice this commandment, how then can they be true confessors of the Prophet Mohammed?” Our friend conceded: ”Arguably, no one can answer this.” Here, I joined in: ”On the contrary. Our Thar has already answered. Earlier today, he spoke with the Ferik-Pasha.”
The boy had been listening to us. When he now learned that he had answered a question that his father believed to be unanswerable, he felt very important: ”Yes, that's correct. I always know more than other people! Thus, our cook and her husband always call me 'The Chosen One.' Effendi, please tell me what I said.” I recalled his description: ”Figuratively speaking-but not without reasonable cause-you labeled Hebron's inhabitants as Canaanites.”
”Oh yes. I always have reasons. Only on the surface are they Muslims-on the inside, they will always be Canaanites. In the process of refinement during Moses' time and that of Islam, they have been pa.s.sed by, and now they are at the bottom of the barrel. Effendi, now I remember that I was the first to figure this out. I haven't forgotten the history of Moses' time, nor the origins of Islam. So, just how do we actually identify all the Palestinian people in Canaan? They go by these names: Hitt.i.tes, Jebusites, Girgas.h.i.+tes, Hivites, people of Arka, Amorites, Sidonians, Phenicians, those in Zemar, Arvadians, Hamathians, and all others dwelling in Zidon. You will probably not retain this information.” I agreed: ”Here is my notebook. Please write them for me.”
From the inner pocket of his vest, he took out a small notebook and gave it to me. I was happy to see what it contained. What he had recorded was quite accurate and concerned fairly serious things. I noted the eleven names, then gave the small journal back to him.
Right away, he began to read through the list, as if he were memorizing the words. In the meantime, his father went to the innkeeper, expressing our thanks for the hospitality. When he returned, we went in search of the owner of the saddle.
The trader picked it up and showed it to us. Without announcing the cost, he explained that he would sell it for a price that I would judge to be fair- not excessive. The object was really magnificent, and according to him, a bargain. Mustafa made the initial mistake of saying that I was the buyer, not he. Immediately, the Arab explained that he wanted nothing to do with me, a so-called infidel. It would be a sin to sell a Christian this saddle which a Muslim Pasha had owned-so, we must leave without achieving our purpose.
Mustafa Bustani was extremely outraged at this kind of treatment. Nevertheless, we were calmly determined to put this incident behind us. Mustafa wanted to accompany us to the Burial Site of Abraham, yet here too we had no luck. In every narrow and dirty alleyway through which we traveled, people looked at us with hostile eyes. Since we wanted to avoid running into danger and being mistreated at the hands of these people, we simply had to turn around at certain places and stations. On such an important occasion as today and as a Muslim, Mustafa Bustani should have felt ashamed to be leading two Christians to this holy site.
Never before had I personally experienced such intolerance.