Exodus - Leon Uris [197]
They walked along the trench. Kitty became intrigued by an odd phenomenon. The trench works ran past a few scraggly trees. One of the trenches had been dug close to the root system of one of the trees and the roots were bared. The trench revealed layers of solid stone under the topsoil. Sandwiched between the rock there were thin layers of earth, some only a few inches thick. The tree was stunted from trying to grow in such ground but the roots fought a stubborn fight. They ran over and under and about the rock in thin veins, thickening wherever they found a little life-giving soil between the rock strata.
“Look how that tree fights to live,” Kitty said. “Look how it tries to dig its roots into rock.”
Dr. Lieberman observed thoughtfully for a moment. “That tree is the story of the Jews who have come back to Palestine,” he said.
Ari stood in the high-ceilinged living room of Taha, the muktar of Abu Yesha. The young Arab, his lifelong friend, nibbled on a piece of fruit from a large bowl and watched Ari begin pacing.
“There is enough double talk going on at the conferences in London,” Ari said. “I think that you and I can talk straight.”
Taha flipped the fruit down. “How can I explain it, Ari? Pressure is being put on me. I have resisted it.”
“Resisted it? Taha, you’re talking to Ari Ben Canaan.”
“Times are changing.”
“Now wait a minute. Our people have lived together through two sets of riots. You went to school in Yad El. You lived in my home under the protection of my father.”
“Yes, I existed because of your benevolence. Now you ask my village to exist the same way. You arm yourselves. Are we not allowed to arm ourselves? Or don’t you trust us with guns as we have trusted you?”
“This isn’t even you talking.”
“I hope that I never live to see the day that you and I must fight, but you know that passiveness is a thing of the past for all of us.”
Ari spun around angrily. “Taha! What has gotten into you? All right, then. Maybe you’d better hear it again. These stone houses in your village were designed and built by us. Your children can read and write because of us. You have sewers because of us and your young don’t die before the age of six because of us. We taught you how to farm properly and live decently. We have brought you things that your own people would not give you in a thousand years. Your father knew this and he was big enough to admit that no one hates or exploits an Arab worse than another Arab. He died because he knew your salvation was with the Jews and he was man enough to stand for it.”
Taha arose. “And will you guarantee me that the Maccabees will not come into Abu Yesha tonight and kill us?”
“Of course I can’t guarantee it but you know what the Maccabees stand for just as you know what the Mufti stands for.”
“I will never lift my hand against Yad El, Ari. You have my word.”
Ari left, knowing that Taha meant what he said, but Taha was not the man of the strength that his father, Kammal, had been. Even as they promised peace to each other a breach had come between Yad El and Abu Yesha, just as breaches were coming to all the Arab and Jewish villages that had lived together in peace.
Taha watched his friend leave the house and walk to the road near the stream and the mosque. He stood motionless long after Ari disappeared. Each day the pressure grew and there were even voices of dissent in his own village. He was told that he was an Arab and a Moslem and he had to choose his side. How could he turn on Ari and Barak Ben Canaan? Yet, how could he still the voices around him?
He was a brother of Ari. Or was he? This was the tormenting question. From childhood his father had groomed him to lead his village. He knew the Jews had built the great cities and the roads and the schools and they had redeemed the land and they were the enlightened ones. Was he really their equal? Or was he a second-class citizen in his own land, riding on coattails, picking up the crumbs, living in the shadows of Jewish achievement?
Yes, he had benefited from the Jews. His people had