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.

Actually, it was always the opposite case; I had been guided to the inner sanctuary, although I never went inside. Mustafa asked someone about the importance of today, so now we learned that this was both a birthday celebration and a commemoration of the expulsion of Ishmael, the eldest son of Abraham. Sarah had insisted that her husband banish his servant-maid Hagar and their son Ishmael to the desert. Now, we better understood the source of our inhospitable treatment from the bigoted saddle-merchant and from the mosque's fanatical officials.

The commemoration of their national ancestor's exile had absolutely doubled their existing abrasiveness. Jews were put on notice that they were not allowed to be seen-and the same was true for me. Given the fact that my wife was with me, this could easily have been taken as an act of defiance which would have heightened hostilities rather than minimize them. Thus, I had to give Mustafa Bustani my word that I would now go straight to Eppstein's home and eat at his house. I was to avoid the city streets, following only the outlying paths to Jew Eppstein's house. There were still two sites that we wanted to visit: Abraham's Oak of Mamre and the Sacred Heights of Hebron. As I've mentioned, the latter route is approximately 400 hundred paces from the road to Jerusalem. So we set the exact time when we would stop the carriage and leave Mustafa and Hebron behind us, thereby starting our journey to Eppstein's place. At the agreed upon time, we parted company. Thar was exceptionally happy that he was allowed to go with us. Without further words from his father, I didn't overlook the evident trust that his father had placed in me.

With all of his most generous hospitality, my brave and old friend Eppstein received us into his home. What is most commonly known as the home's "best room" was ours. It was a relatively airy room that was located on the flat roof top. In my wife's journal, wherein she happily noted such details, she wrote the following lines: "It was a very hot day. We were given a beautiful, cool, domed room that had two broadly curved arches. Three of the walls had windows, and the door was on the fourth. Conditions there were simply splendid. The room's furnishings consisted of two beds. To the side of one was a reconditioned couch with three antique pillows; next to it was a table with four wooden chairs. The other had a white- ruffled canopy bed. In the corner was a water pitcher that probably dated to the time of Christ. The walls were tinted with a bluish white-wash. A bra.s.s wash-service sat upon one of the chairs. I won't say a word about the pictures on the walls. We were served excellent Hebron wine, a bottle of which cost one franc. We dined on food that had required a great deal of preparation, all of which certainly was worth the effort." Considering the generous hospitality that we had received, we didn't need to send for the food that Mustafa Bustani had brought along. Those items were packed away in our carriage and would come in handy when we turned towards home.

In the course of the meal, Eppstein told us about today's big Children's Fitness-Festival, a birthday celebration in honor of the boy Ishmael. The children were drawn to the city's open s.p.a.ces, where they were invited to take part in all kinds of peaceable and war-like games; adults were lining up to help supervise them. Since so many stories are told about the expulsion and the injustices that were sustained, no person from another faith should even want to be a bystander. When Eppstein heard that we had the intention of riding to the Oak and on to Abraham's Well, he immediately advised us to cancel those plans. There could be trouble if a procession of children were to pa.s.s by these holy sites.

Filled with indignation, Thar yelled out: "Keep our distance?

Flee? That is never the case with us. As for Effendi and me, we fear nothing. Regarding the Mrs., she too is not afraid, because I have told her that I'm a hero, and she can always call upon me in a time of need. Chuckling to himself, Eppstein considered how this child could have such self-esteem: "A hero?" With that remark, he came down on the wrong side of the boy. Thar rose from the table, came towards him, and answered that question: "You laugh at me? I will not tolerate that. My name is Thar, and woe to you if I should ever take revenge against you."

Jew Eppstein kept on joking: "Well, would that be really bad for me?" Thar was irritated: "So, you continue to laugh at me? Mind what you say! In truth, I'm just eleven years old, but in all of Jerusalem there isn't a single fourteen year old that I haven't wrestled to the ground!" Still smiling, Eppstein pressed further: "Do you also consider me to be such a fourteen year old?"

"No. Well then, how old are you?"

"Let's say sixty."

"For all I care, it's the same to me if you're a hundred. Now pay attention!"

Thar quickly slipped behind him, forcing his arms behind him.

With a jerk and a squeeze, Eppstein ended up sitting on the ground- where previously he had stood. Naturally, this was the result of the boy's quickness and the way he managed to take the man by surprise.

Even so, the boy had physical powers that exceeded the usual strength of an eleven year old. With a satisfied nod to Jew Eppstein, Thar returned to his place at the table: "At first, you laughed from above-now you laugh from below!"

"Tell me now, where did you develop such knack and quickness?"

Thar answered: "From the Lions Club."

"What is that? How and where?"

"It's in Jerusalem. We boys have four clubs where we can practice. The Lions Club meets in front of the western Jaffa Gate.

At the northwestern Damascus Gate, you'll find The Elephant Club.

Just outside of Stephen's Gate, The Hippos play. The Whales claim The Pool of Siloah as their practice grounds. As you know, these are strong and n.o.ble animals. With their speed and the power of their leaps, The Lions triumph, just as I've done here. As you already know, The Elephans trample together. The Hippos run with their heads linked together; in this way, the strongest roots himself to the spot while the others collapse inward. The Whales do battle only in the ocean. One ducks under the opposition, and with a mouth full of water he spews it into the air, just like whales do. Therein lies the victory! I'm a member of all four clubs; and to this day, no one has beaten me. Hey, do we want to work together like Hippos?

Thar lowered his head and prepared to ram Mr. Eppstein, but he immediately stepped to the side and called out: "Leave me in peace. I am not one of those beasts! I only wanted to warn you about today's dangers-never considering that I would be treacherously ambushed.

Should I contact a reliable rent-a-donkey business for the trip you're planning?" I answered: "Yes. Preferably one that does not

Mr. Eppstein was glad to help: "There is only one, so I'll ask him to come. It saddens me to acknowledge that today is such a Day of Hate. I'm sorry to say that your wife was only permitted to see the outside of the mosque. I have always said this, so I'll continue to repeat it: If the faith of these people were pure and n.o.ble, then they would not find it necessary to keep others away from their shrines."

He excused himself and sent for the donkey-lender. Thar pulled out his notebook and thoughtfully recorded this quote from Mr.

Eppstein. For him, those words seemed important enough to remember.

In a short time, the donkey-driver arrived and heard our requests. As our photograph shows, he looked Moorish, but he seemed to be good- natured and not a person to inconvenience us. He had no horses whatsoever; not even one donkey was available. On account of the festival, all animals had been reserved ahead of time. However, there were three mules that he could lend us. We could honestly say that they were only suited for pulling a cart, not for riding. One of them had an especially stubborn temperament, but we had to be thankful that these dear animals were still available. So we closed the deal with this merchant and asked that he bring the mules without delay

Whenever a Middle Easterner, and particularly a donkey-driver promises to turn up without delay, this may mean that he will arrive one or even two hours from then. Yet this fellow was true to his word; in just thirty minutes, he showed up. He claimed that he would have come even sooner if he hadn't found it necessary to clean the animals before he delivered them to us. I don't care to describe them, so I'll simply confess that the sight of them was no minor fright for us.

They consisted of skin and bones. For well over a month, they had neither seen a washing, a scrubbing, nor a curry-comb. What was supposed to pa.s.s for a saddle and strapping was a sheer hodge-podge of things that didn't fit. The lady's saddle was such a boldly sad afterthought of improvisation. In light of the donkey-driver's freethinking and artistic invention, I paid him an extra baksheesh-an act for which he solemnly a.s.sured me that I had his everlasting love, loyalty, and devotion.

Needless to say, we wanted to provide feed for the poor animals.

They fed on everything edible, including all the bread that we found in Eppstein's house-and still they were not full. The prettiest parts about them were their names. Mine was called "Guewerdschina," which means "dove." Naturally, I managed to pick the one that seemed to be the most ornery-and it proved to be true. In both a good and bad sense, we would have quite an experience with this one. After we paid the rental fee, mounted our mules, and prepared to ride away, it became evident that Guewerdschina didn't want to go along. She would not budge from her s.p.a.ce.

I now applied all of my equestrian skills. The Donkey Driver himself gave it his best effort, and Eppstein's servants did the same-but all their efforts were in vain. They knew the stubborn nature of this dumb animal, so they were sure that it would rather die than take just two steps from its spot. What was I supposed to do? Like the Donkey Driver, should we too just walk along beside her?

No! Once again, I mounted the mule and ordered the Driver to lead Guewerdschina. Of course, she followed him. Once we had left the city behind us and we had reached open fields, I had hoped to convince her to ride on-and I partially succeeded. Kind words and caressing didn't help at all, and whipping the animal accomplished even less. So I tried something with my thumb; from the side of "the dove," I pressed hard between the first two vertebrae. She shot forward and obeyed me for a little while, but not for long. I was convinced that I had to experiment from a new angle. During the entire journey, I agonized about what I should do with this contrary beast.