Israel reeks: Omnibus 1. Marzanne Leroux-Van der Boon

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СКАЧАТЬ an Israeli checkpoint for permission to move? They control our electricity and our water supply and our lives, and people still ask why we are rising up.”

      A band of fighters gathering around him as he spoke nodded in agreement. “I am committed to carry out a martyr’s mission to show my rejection of being forced to live under this oppression,” he said to cries of “Allah hu akbar (God is greatest).”

      “My aim is to prohibit settlers from enjoying their lives here. My aim is to force Israeli checkpoints out of my territory. If they leave in peace, I have no intention of following them into their areas. But if they remain here then I shall use the methods at my disposal to force them out.

      “I and many others like me are now prepared and waiting to carry out spectacular attacks against the enemy. We are not afraid and will not cease until they withdraw totally from our areas. You can call us terrorists all you like; but we have faith that justice is on our side and that victory will be ours.”

      Religion was a constant topic of conversation throughout the time I spent with the cell. They also watched videos of past “martyrs”, analyzing operations carried out. Casualties were described purely in terms of numbers, without reference to the gender or age of the victims. There was little room here for sentimentality.

      They recited the names of all the groups, previous attackers and talked about the “courage” of Mohammed Farhat, nineteen, who infiltrated the Israeli settlement of Gush Katif earlier this month, killing five Israelis before he was gunned down.

      A few hours before his attack, he called his mother from his mobile phone to ask her advice. His mother, Um Nidal, told me that she had replied: “Take care, my son, remember God, repeat the verses, pay attention to everything you see, concentrate on the task ahead, pick your moment. May God bless you with success and may you be granted the martyrdom you deserve.

      “Be strong, my boy, in this, your first major battle, and remember Allah in every move that you make. Do not hesitate, my boy, and strike as harshly as you can against the enemy.” She then asked him to switch off his mobile phone for the last time.

      Um Nidal stayed in front of the television waiting for news of her son’s attack, fearful that he might be injured, arrested and denied the “martyrdom” he sought.

      She knew of her son’s selection for a mission a month in advance. “I cried for a whole month every time I looked at him. I would tell him not to let my tears stop him from going on his mission. I watched him like a baby that whole month.”

      “My heart is not made of stone,” she added, but she has been “willing to sacrifice him for something more precious and sanctified than our earthly world”.

      Suddenly a fighter appeared in our group with “very important news”. It was perhaps the most incongruous of many startling moments during my stay.

      “Manchester United five, West Ham three,” he declared, announcing the score of the last weekend. “David Beckham two score,” he informed me in English. “Very good Manchester.”

      The announcement was greeted with unanimous pleasure, amid further calls of “Allah hu akbar”.

      Toe hy klaar gelees het, kyk hy op en besef dat Ruwth hom die hele tyd dopgehou het.

      Hy glimlag flou. “Ek het baie vrae hieroor.”

      “Ek kan my voorstel. Ofer is die man wat hulle vir jou sal kan beantwoord. David waarskynlik ook. Maar nie vanaand nie. Vanaand is politiek nie op ons spyskaart nie. Ek verwag hulle binnekort om my met die laaste voorbereidings te kom help. Shoshana het ook ’n klomp geregte gemaak maar ons het nog heelwat om te doen. Ons wil net ná ses begin, want die ete hou ure lank aan.”

      “Ure lank?”

      Sy lag vir sy verbasing. “Ek het mos vir jou gesê jy sal sien …”

      Die skril geluid van die selfoon wat in sy kamer lui, onderbreek haar.

      Marc haas hom kamer toe en hoop dis nie weer sy ma wat die een of ander ontstellende nuusberig op die televisie gesien het nie.

      “Rivkah!” roep hy bly uit toe hy haar stem herken.

      “Nog by jou grootmoeder?” vra sy.

      Sy hart klop so opgewonde dat hy moet sluk om sy stem op die regte toonhoogte te kry. “Ja, ek gaan meesal hier bly. Ek het nêrens gegaan vandag nie. Sy is besig om vir die seder-maal reg te maak.”

      “So ook elke ander mens in Jerusalem. Behalwe die soldate wat moet diens doen. Re’uven is die hele naweek vas. Hy kon nie eens vir die seder afkry nie. Hy is mos by die spesiale magte. Ons verwag heelwat moeilikheid oor die Pesach.”

      “Waar is jy?” vra hy onrustig.

      “Ek het net by die huis gekom en nou’s ek af tot ná Shabbat Saterdagaand. As daar nie die een of ander groot ellende kom nie. Ek moet sewe-uur terug wees in die kamp in plaas van tienuur Sondagoggend omdat ek vandag en môre af het.”

      “Julle het seker ook vanaand ’n seder.”

      “Wat dink jy!” Sy lag. “Marc?”

      “Hmm?”

      “Ek het gewonder of jy lus het om môre bietjie rond te loop. Daar is nie busse voor ná sononder nie, want môre is die eerste dag van Pesach. Dis ’n Shabbaton. Die stad sal doodstil wees. Ek wil ook nie die gesinsmotor gebruik nie. Maar ek het gedink ons kan so in die laatmiddag te voet in die Ou Stad ’n lekker eetplekkie gaan soek.”

      “Ek sal graag wil, baie graag, maar hoe kom ons by mekaar uit?”

      “Luister mooi, die Haas-Promenade is nie ver van julle af nie, uiters tien minute se stap. Jou grootmoeder sal jou kan beduie. Ek sal jou daar kry. So teen vieruur?”

      “Fantasties.”

      “Die busse ry weer ná sewe. Dan kan jy ’n bus haal huis toe, want dis te gevaarlik om ná donker oor die Haas-Promenade te loop.”

      “Fantasties!” sê hy weer, sy lyf warm van blydskap.

      “Bring jou sketsboek asseblief saam.”

      “Hy is altyd by my.”

      “En jy kom nog Vrydagaand by ons Shabbat vier?”

      “Graag.”

      “Sien jou môremiddag.”

      “Chag sameach!” roep hy haar die groet toe wat steeds in sy kop weerklink.

      “Haai!” roep sy bly verras uit.

      “Van jou Joodse vriend,” sê hy sag, verleë.

      “Chag sameach, Marc.”

      Hy gaan terug kombuis toe waar Ruwth nog besig is. “Ek het die eerste dag toe ek hier gekom het ’n broer en suster by die Kotel ontmoet. Ortodokses, maar nie soos dié in Mea Shearim nie …”

      Sy knik. “Modern-Ortodoks?”

      “Ja, hul pa is ’n rabbi. En hulle het twee jaar in Suid-Afrika gewoon. Hulle is albei in die IDF. Ons het СКАЧАТЬ