Part 9 (1/2)

Prison, however, had changed him. He stopped praying and going to mosque, and he started smoking. He was depressed and spent most of his time just sitting at home watching TV. At least I had beliefs to hold on to while I was in prison. But Jamal was from a secular family that didn't practice Islam, so his faith was too thin to hold him together.

Now Jamal looked at me, and I could tell he wanted to go to the Bible study. He was clearly just as curious-and bored-as I was. But something inside him resisted.

”You go on without me,” he said. ”Call me when you get home.”

There were about fifty of us who met inside an old storefront that night, mostly students about my age of various ethnic and religious backgrounds. A couple of people translated the English presentation into Arabic and Hebrew.

I called Jamal when I got home.

”How was it?” he asked.

”It was great,” I said. ”They gave me a New Testament written in both Arabic and English. New people, new culture; it was fun.”

”I don't know about this, Mosab,” Jamal said. ”It could be dangerous for you if people discovered you were hanging out with a bunch of Christians.”

I knew Jamal meant well, but I wasn't really very worried. My father had always taught us to be open-minded and loving toward everyone, even those who didn't believe as we did. I looked down at the Bible in my lap. My father had a huge library of five thousand books, including a Bible. When I was a kid, I had read the s.e.xual pa.s.sages in the Song of Solomon, but never went any further. This New Testament, however, was a gift. Because gifts are honored and respected in Arab culture, Idecided the least I could do was to read it.

I began at the beginning, and when I got to the Sermon on the Mount, I thought, Wow, this guy Jesus is really impressive! Everything he says is beautiful. Wow, this guy Jesus is really impressive! Everything he says is beautiful. I couldn't put the book down. Every verse seemed to touch a deep wound in my life. It was a very simple message, but somehow it had the power to heal my soul and give me hope. I couldn't put the book down. Every verse seemed to touch a deep wound in my life. It was a very simple message, but somehow it had the power to heal my soul and give me hope.

Then I read this: ”You have heard that it was said, 'Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven” (Matthew 5:43-45).

That's it! I was thunderstruck by these words. Never before had I heard anything like this, but I knew that this was the message I had been searching for all my life.

For years I had struggled to know who my enemy was, and I had looked for enemies outside of Islam and Palestine. But I suddenly realized that the Israelis were not my enemies. Neither was Hamas nor my uncle Ibrahim nor the kid who beat me with the b.u.t.t of his M16 nor the apelike guard in the detention center. I saw that enemies were not defined by nationality, religion, or color. I understood that we all share the same common enemies: greed, pride, and all the bad ideas and the darkness of the devil that live inside us.

That meant I could love anyone. The only real enemy was the enemy inside me.

Five years earlier, I would have read the words of Jesus and thought, What an idiot! What an idiot! and thrown away the Bible. But my experiences with my crazy butcher neighbor, the family members and religious leaders who beat me when my father was in prison, and my own time at Megiddo had all combined to prepare me for the power and beauty of this truth. All I could think in response was, and thrown away the Bible. But my experiences with my crazy butcher neighbor, the family members and religious leaders who beat me when my father was in prison, and my own time at Megiddo had all combined to prepare me for the power and beauty of this truth. All I could think in response was, Wow! What wisdom this man had! Wow! What wisdom this man had!

Jesus said, ”Do not judge, or you too will be judged” (Matthew7:1). What a difference between him and Allah! Islam's G.o.d was very judgmental, and Arab society followed Allah's lead.

Jesus rebuked the hypocrisy of the scribes and Pharisees, and I thought of my uncle. I remembered a time when he received an invitation to attend a special event and how angry he had been that he was not given the best seat. It was as though Jesus was talking to Ibrahim and every sheikh and imam in Islam.

Everything Jesus said on the pages of this book made perfect sense to me. Overwhelmed, I started to cry.

G.o.d used the s.h.i.+n Bet to show me that Israel was not my enemy, and now he put the answers to the rest of my questions right in my hands in that little New Testament. But I had a long way to go in my understanding of the Bible. Muslims are taught to believe in all of G.o.d's books, both the Torah and the Bible. But we are also taught that men have changed the Bible, making it unreliable. The Qur'an, Mohammad said, was G.o.d's final and inerrant word to man. So I would first have to abandon my belief that the Bible had been altered. Then I would have to figure out how to make both books work in my life, to somehow put Islam and Christianity together. No small challenge-reconciling the irreconcilable.

At the same time, while I believed in the teachings of Jesus, I still did not connect him with being G.o.d. Even so, my standards had changed suddenly and dramatically, because they were being influenced by the Bible instead of the Qur'an.

I continued to read my New Testament and go to the Bible study. I attended church services and thought, This is not the religious Christianity I see in Ramallah. This is real. This is not the religious Christianity I see in Ramallah. This is real. The Christians I had known before had been no different from traditional Muslims. They claimed a religion, but they didn't live it. The Christians I had known before had been no different from traditional Muslims. They claimed a religion, but they didn't live it.

I began spending more time with people from the Bible study and found myself really enjoying their fellows.h.i.+p. We had such a good time talking about our lives, our backgrounds, our beliefs. They were always very respectful of my culture and my Muslim heritage. And I found that I could really be myself when I was with them.

I ached to bring what I was learning into my own culture, because I realized that the occupation was not to blame for our suffering. Our problem was much bigger than armies and politics.

I asked myself what Palestinians would do if Israel disappeared-if everything not only went back to the way it was before 1948 but if all the Jewish people abandoned the Holy Land and were scattered again. And for the first time, I knew the answer.

We would still fight. Over nothing. Over a girl without a head scarf. Over who was toughest and most important. Over who would make the rules and who would get the best seat.

It was the end of 1999. I was twenty-one years old. My life had begun to change, and the more I learned, the more confused I became.

”G.o.d, the Creator, show me the truth,” I prayed day after day. ”I'm confused. I'm lost. And I don't know which way to go.”

Chapter Sixteen

Second IntifadaSummerFall 2000.

Hamas-once the ascendant power among Palestinians-was in shambles. The shattered organization's bitter rival for hearts and minds was now in complete control.

Through intrigue and deal making, the Palestinian Authority had accomplished what Israel had been unable to do through sheer might. It had destroyed the military wing of Hamas and thrown its leaders.h.i.+p and fighters into prison. Even after they were released, the Hamas members went home and did nothing more against thePA or the occupation. The young feda'iyeen were exhausted. Their leaders were divided and deeply suspicious of one another.

My father was on his own again, so he went back to working in the mosque and the refugee camps. Now when he spoke, he did so in the name of Allah, not as the leader of Hamas. After years of separation through our respective imprisonments, I relished the opportunity to travel and spend time with him once again. I had missed our long talks about life and Islam.

As I continued to read my Bible and spend time learning about Christianity, I found that I was really drawn to the grace, love, and humility that Jesus talked about. Surprisingly, it was those same character traits that drew people to my father-one of the most devoted Muslims I had ever known.

As for my relations.h.i.+p with the s.h.i.+n Bet, now that Hamas was virtually out of the picture and the PA was keeping things calm, there seemed to be nothing for me to do. We were just friends now. They could let me go whenever they wanted to, or I could say good-bye to them at any time.

The Camp David Summit between Ya.s.ser Arafat, American president Bill Clinton, and Israeli prime minister Ehud Barak ended on July 25, 2000. Barak had offered Arafat about 90percent of the West Bank, the entire Gaza Strip, and East Jerusalem as the capital of a new Palestinian state. In addition, a new international fund would be established to compensate Palestinians for the property that had been taken from them. This ”land for peace” offer represented a historic opportunity for the long-suffering Palestinian people, something few Palestinians would have dared imagine possible. But even so, it was not enough for Arafat.

Ya.s.ser Arafat had grown extraordinarily wealthy as the international symbol of victimhood. He wasn't about to surrender that status and take on the responsibility of actually building a functioning society. So he insisted that all the refugees be permitted to return to the lands they had owned prior to 1967-a condition he was confident Israel would not accept.

Though Arafat's rejection of Barak's offer const.i.tuted a historic catastrophe for his people, the Palestinian leader returned to his hard-line supporters as a hero who had thumbed his nose at the president of the United States, as someone who had not backed down and settled for less, and as a leader who stood tough against the entire world.

Arafat went on television, and the world watched as he talked about his love for the Palestinian people and his grief over millions of families living in the squalor of the refugee camps. Now that I was traveling with my father and attending meetings with Arafat, I began to see for myself how much the man loved the media attention. He seemed to relish being portrayed as some kind of Palestinian Che Guevara and a peer of kings, presidents, and prime ministers.

Ya.s.ser Arafat made it clear that he wanted to be a hero who was written about in the history books. But as I watched him, I often thought, Yes, let him be remembered in our history books, not as a hero, but as a traitor who sold out his people for a ride on their shoulders. As a reverse Robin Hood, who plundered the poor and made himself rich. As a cheap ham, who bought his place in the limelight with Palestinian blood. Yes, let him be remembered in our history books, not as a hero, but as a traitor who sold out his people for a ride on their shoulders. As a reverse Robin Hood, who plundered the poor and made himself rich. As a cheap ham, who bought his place in the limelight with Palestinian blood.

It was also interesting to see Arafat through the eyes of my contacts in Israeli intelligence. ”What is this guy doing?” my s.h.i.+n Bet handler asked me one day. ”We never thought our leaders would give up what they offered Arafat. Never! And he said no?”

Indeed, Arafat had been handed the keys to peace in the Middle East along with real nationhood for the Palestinian people-and he had thrown them away. As a result, the status quo of quiet corruption continued. But things would not remain quiet for long. For Arafat, there always seemed to be more to gain if Palestinians were bleeding. Another intifada would surely get the blood flowing and the Western news cameras rolling once again.

Conventional wisdom among the world's governments and news organizations tells us that the b.l.o.o.d.y uprising known as the Second Intifada was a spontaneous eruption of Palestinian rage triggered by General Ariel Sharon's visit to what Israel calls the Temple Mount complex. As usual, the conventional wisdom is wrong.

The evening of September 27, my father knocked at my door and asked if I would drive him to Marwan Barghouti's house the next morning after dawn prayer.

Marwan Barghouti was secretary-general of Fatah, the largest political faction of the PLO. He was a charismatic young Palestinian leader, a strong advocate of a Palestinian state, and a foe of the corruption and human rights abuses of the PA and Arafat's security forces. A short, casual man who wore blue jeans most of the time, Marwan was favored to be the next Palestinian president.

”What's going on?” I asked my dad.

”Sharon is scheduled to visit the Al-Aqsa Mosque tomorrow, and the PA believes this is a good opportunity to launch an uprising.”

Ariel Sharon was the leader of the conservative Likud Party and the political nemesis of Prime Minister Ehud Barak's left-leaning Labor Party. Sharon was in the middle of a close political race in which he was challenging Barak for leaders.h.i.+p of the Israeli government.