קינות לזכר יהודים תחת בני דת הישמעאלים

בס"ד

"קינות" לזכר יהודים תחת בני דת הישמעאלים

מלוקט ומעובד על  ידי ניסן רצלב-כ"ץ

קינאנה, סאפיה, ראיחנה, יוסף הנגיד, ועוד אלפי אלפים... בני קורייזה, חייבר, ופאדאק, ואחיי בני תימן, סוריה, צפון אפריקה, ומצריים, ועוד מאות רבות ששמותיהם נחרטו רק עם אל.... גם "על אלה אני בוכיה...."

'רצוני לגרש אתכם'

קם המשוגעא, נביא השקר, ואמר לחייליו: "אל היהודים!" כשהגיעו אליהם, אמר אותו הרודן ליושבי בית המדרש: "אם תקבלו על עצמכם את חוקי האיסלאם - תינצלו. דעו לכם כי כל העולם כולו שייך לי - וברצוני לגרש אתכם מארץ זו."ב

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'אבותינו, חכמים וצדיקים היו'

אותו המשוגע הכריח את היהודים להתאסף בשוק ואיים: "התאסלמו! או שתיענשו כמו רבים וחזקים מכם לפניכם!"

פעם אחר פעם - בבית המדרש ובבית הכנסת, בשוק ובמבצר - להצעה ואיומי המשוגע, ענו היהודים בשלילה, באומרם: "לא ולא. נלך אנו בדרכי אבותינו, שהרי חכמים וצדיקים מאיתנו היו."ג

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'לעולם לא נוותר על מצוות תורתינו הקדושה!'

באו אחיי ונזכור את תחנוני שבט יהודי אחד, בני נדיר, בפני אותו רודן ישמעאלי משוגע, שלא יישפך דמם. הקהילה גורשה, ועיני הצוררים נדהמו לראות את היהודים עוקרים ולוקחים את מזוזות ביתם.ד

ועוד נזכור את בני קורייזה הגיבורים, אשר עמדו במצור חמש ועשרים יום.

אמר קעב, נשיא שבט הקורייזה, לאנשי עמו שבמבצר הנצור: "אפשר לציית לאותו איש וללכת בדרכיו ולהיות בטוחים!"

ענה לו העם: "לעולם לא נוותר על מצוות התורה, ולא נחליפן באחרות!"

ענה להם: "אפשר להרוג את ילדינו ונשותינו, ולצאת אל המשוגע וחבורתו בחרבות שלופות. ואם נמות בקרב לא נשאיר יתומים אשר יסבלו בידי האויב."

ענה לו העם: "וכי נהרוג את המסכנים הללו? מה שווים לנו חיינו בלעדיהם!"

ענה להם: "הלילה ערב שבת. ייתכן והמשוגע חושב שלא נתקוף בשבת. אולי נפתיע?"

ענה לו עמו: "וכי מחללי שבת אנחנו?"

אוי מה היה לנו, בני קורייזה! לא יכלו יותר וחייבים היו לוותר, וירדו מהמבצר לתוך ידי האכזר.

תעלות חפרו אנשי אותו המשוגע, ממש בלב השוק שנשתתק. העמידו את אנשי קורייזה בקבוצות ליד המקום. ובסייף כרתו את ראשיהם, קבוצה אחר קבוצה. נפלו הגופות לתוך התעלות. וקעב ביניהם.

שבע מאות, ויש אומרים תשע, גברים יהודים מצאו את מותם שם, בשוק של בני קורייזה. והנשים והילדים מבני קורייזה הקדושים - לשפחות ועבדים נלקחו ונמכרו. וכל רכושם לבוז.ה

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שפחה, ולא כופרת בדת ישראל!

ובואו נזכור את ראיחנה, אחת מבנות קורייזה, אשר האכזר והמשוגע חטף ללוותו. העדיפה היא להישאר יהודיה ושפחה, מאשר להמיר את דתה ועמה באלה של הרודן. 

"הלא טוב יותר לי וטוב יותר לך," כך אמרה, "אם אשאר בת ישראל!" היא ענתה למשוגע בגבורה.

ועוד אישה יהודייה – כלה חדשה וחסודה – אשר המשוגע לקח גם היא לשפחה. הלא היא סאפיה, אשת קינאנה, ראש שבטי חייבאר.

כאשר בנות דודה של סאפיה ראו גופות בני עמם מוטלים על הארץ, יללו הן ועטרו ראשן עפר ואפר. "הסירו את השדים הללו מעליי!" שאג המשוגע, אך את סאפייה שמר קרוב אליו עצמו.ג

אוי מה היה לנו!

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עינוהו! פקד האכזר

אחר כך בא קינאנה, חתנה של סאפיה. מובא כבול בפני האכזר: "עינוהו עד אשר יגלה היכן נסתרו אוצרות היהודים!" פקד המשוגע ההוא. הציתו הרשעים אש מעל לבו של קינאנה, וכמו חנינא בן טרדיון, לא ולא יצאה נשמתו. עד אשר פקד שוב המשוגע – "כרות את ראשו!" ותו לא.

אחד-אחד נפלו, ונכנעו, ונשחטו, ונשרפו, ונחנקו יהודי חצי האי ערב בפני המשוגע וחייליו.

עד אשר פקד הרשע על עמו: "להרוג לאבד ולהשמיד את כל היהודים, מנער ועד זקן, אנשים, נשים וטף – כי את דת המלך הם לא עושים!"ג

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בכל מקום אליו הגיע סייף הישמעאלים, שם באו הרג והרס על היהודים.  בתי כנסת ובתי מדרשות ובתי יהודים רבים נחרבו במצוות המלכים האכזרים - במצריים, ובסוריה, ובתימן.

פקודות שמד בלשון הערבי פקדו קהילות יהודיות רבות, ולא נשכח אותם לעד. תימן – שניים, בבל – שניים, ומרוקו – שלוש פעמים.

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הנגיד הנצלב

בעשור השני לאחר מות המשוגע, קם מלך ממשיך ואידריס הראשון שמו. בהכנעת מורוקו לדת הישמעאלים הוא החריב קהילות קדושות שלמות בלי להותיר אבן על אבן, וגם לא אחד מעיר ושניים ממשפחה.

ולא שם הפסיק ההרג. מאות שנים אחר מכן, בכל מדינות צפון אפריקה תחת שלטון דת הישמעאלים, הקהילות הנבנות מחדש עוד פעם נחרבו בידי אלמוהאדים אכזרים. בידי בני ישראל הבחירה הבלתי אפשרית: חלל דת אבותיכם או למות בכדי לקדשו.

בשנת ה'רכ"ו ישמעאלים בהמוניהם טבחו באלפי בני ישראל בעיר פאס. השרידים המוצלים מאש - רק אחד-עשרה במספר. תאוות הדם לא שקקה בין בני ישמעאל, ועוד המשיכו מסע הרצח לערים רבות במערב הערבי.

ובין השנים ה'תרכ"ה וה'תרמ"א יתר על שלוש מאות בני ישראל נפלו תחת חרב דת המשוגע בעיר מרקש הגדולה. לפניכן, נפלו מאות מאחינו היקרים לשליט רוצח הנודע, עלי בורזי פאשה, במדינת לוב הקרובה. וגם באלג'יר טבחו תומכי דת הישמעאלים בבני ישראלים הרחמנים, בשנים ה'תקס"ו, וה'תקע"ו, וה'תקצ"א.

ותא שמע, מה אירע ליוסף הנגיד הגדול, על אף שהיה הווזיר לשליטי גרנדה שבספרד. הוא נצלב בידי המון ישמעאלי בשנת ד'תתכ"ז. וכי לא די במוות משונה זה, מיהרו הרוצחים לרובע היהודי, והרסוהו ושרפוהו.

מניין ההרוגים ביום אחד, חמשת אלפים קדושים, ושללם לבוז.

וכי העין תפסיק לדמוע על הדם הספוג באדמת אנדלוסיה הרחוקה?

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עלילת דם מביא דם בארץ המן

וכי נמכרו עמי להשמיד להרוג ולאבד ביום אחד בחודש הראשון, הוא חודש ניסן[ו]. העלילו עלילה, בני המן הרשע, שיהודי העיר משהד לעגו לדתם, בקריאתם לכלב בשם האימאם[ז].

באש העלו בתי הכנסת של העיר בפרס, כשברחוב תקפו ורצחו וחמסו ואנסו. ושבע בנות ישראל, ילדות טהורות, נלקחו ונעלמו ונהיו לשפחות.

ל"ו צדיקים נגדעו באותו יום נורא, מתוך מאה משפחה, כארבע מאות נשמה. 

מנער ועד זקן, טף ונשים, אוי, עם מרדכי, מה היה גורלם?

כשלוש מאות משפחות, משפחה ומשפחה, אנסו הפרסים לקבל את דתם. ולא, ראשיהם ייכרתו, וילדיהם לרשעים יימסרו.

במסירות נפש עילאית, בסביבה קנאית, שמרו יהודי משהד על גחלת ומנהג. דבקותם וסבלם יספרו לדורות עולם.

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ישראל בסוף תימן – ישמע האל את זעקתו

אסמעיל שם השליט אשר שילח את חילותיו לכל ישובי ישראל ברחבי ממלכתו וציוה: הביאו לפניי את ראשי העם כבולים בשלשלאות. הציע להם ההצעה הידועה: לבוא בברית דת הישמעאלים משסירבו, ציווה "להוקיע אותם ערומים נגד השמש שלושה ימים, אולי יפחדו ויתפתו... ולא רצו להתפתות להמיר דתם. ויאסרום בכבלי ברזל ויכלאום תחת הארץ במקום אפל חשך וצלמות מקום סרוח מקום צחנה ובאשה, והיו שם שלושה חדשים."[ח]

ולא די בזה. ראש הקהילה רבי שלמה ג'מל, נרצח בידי המלך הנרגז והנפחד.

ולא די בזה. הגלה את ראשי העם לאי בים סוף ואת יתר העם כלא במבצרים.

ולא די בזה. גזירות שונות ומשונות, ידועות כגזירות העטרות, הוטלו על אחינו בני תימן על מנת להשפיל כבוד ישראל ואלוהיו.

תחת איסמעיל הגיע אחר, אחמד אבן חסן אל-מהדי שמו, שהלך בדרכי המשוגע הנודע, ואת תימן מיהודים ביקש לטהר. גזר הוא על היהודים לנדוד ולנוע, אל מדבר נידח וצחיח. מגיפות, רעב וצמא היו מנת חלקם, ושליש מיהודי תימן לא חזרו מגלות מוזע. ביניהם ספרי תורה חיים, רבנים ונשיאים, וגם ספרי תורה נישאים, כתבי קודש וקודשי תפילה – כולם קבורים במדבר מוזע.

ולא די בזה. אַיֵּה היתומים הרכים? ילדים יהודים נחטפו והוכרחו לקבל את דת האויב. לא אחת זה אירע, ולא שתיים. והיו היתומים למשרתי האדונים מבין בני הישמעאלים.

ומי שעזר להסתיר את האוצר, הלא גם הוא נאסר ונגרר אל אמונת הנבער. ואם לא, למוות נמסר.

כך נפלו גדולים וקטנים, כל הקהילה הקדושה מסרה את נפשה, על מנת להציל את בת עינה – הילדים היתומים מאב ואם.

אויה, איה הילדים הרכים?

איכה נפלו גיבורים ואיכה נפלו קטנים. אל נקמות ה', הופיע. 

[לגרסה להורדה לחץ כאן]

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א. מוחמד, מייסד האיסלאם, ע"פ הגדרת הרמב"ם.

ב. מבוסס על מקור בסיסי של דת האיסלאם, ליקוטי מאמרים ומעשים של מוחמד (ספר אהאדית') "סחיח בוכארי" (כרך 4, ספר 53, אמרה מס' 392).

ג. על פי "סיראת ראסול אללה", הספר הביוגרפי הראשון והמקובל ביותר בעולם המוסלמי שמתאר את תולדות מוחמד. נכתב בערך 80 שנה לאחר מותו, ושוכתב  מחדש בערך 200 שנה לאחר מותו של מוחמד.

ד. כנ"ל

ה. כנ"ל. הדו-שיח בין קעב לאנשי עירו נרשם במקור.

ג. על פי "סיראת ראסול אללה", הספר הביוגרפי הראשון והמקובל ביותר בעולם המוסלמי שמתאר את תולדות מוחמד. נכתב בערך 80 שנה לאחר מותו, ושוכתב  מחדש בערך 200 שנה לאחר מותו של מוחמד.

ג. על פי "סיראת ראסול אללה", הספר הביוגרפי הראשון והמקובל ביותר בעולם המוסלמי שמתאר את תולדות מוחמד. נכתב בערך 80 שנה לאחר מותו, ושוכתב  מחדש בערך 200 שנה לאחר מותו של מוחמד.

[ו]  ה'תקצ"ט

[ז]  חוסיין

[ח]  "קורות ישראל בתימן" מאת חיים חבשוש. ספונות. ב, עמ' רנד

Chacham, Rasha, Tam, and She'eino Yode'a Lishol

[If you have a problem opening the image below, click here for a print-size PDF version.]

Holding Hands

by Nissan Ratzlav-Katz

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Like the last entry in this blog, the following is an excerpt of a book I am developing called Terror in the Land of the Living. This is chapter 5, "Holding Hands". I felt it was appropriate to publish it now, in the wake of the recent deadly jihadist attack in Toulouse, France - and the global reactions to it. As always, your feedback is more than welcome.

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It was Saturday. David, although not a particularly observant Jew, enjoyed attending the Sabbath services offered at the off-campus Chabad House. The prayers were more like those he was familiar with from back home, from his local synagogue in the Jerusalem neighborhood he was from. The Chabadniks prayed in Hebrew; they prayed at ease with themselves and with their guests – an eclectic mix of different kinds of people, but overwhelmingly college Jews in search of something they just could not find at the campus Hillel House. Besides, all the local Israelis, if they went anywhere at all for prayers, went to Chabad.

The building was a regular apartment walk-up that had served as off-campus housing in the past.

As the Torah scroll was raised high in the air by a young Jew who looked like he was probably enrolled in the campus ROTC, David heard the distinct sound of several gunshots from not too far away outside. It was loud enough that most people paused in their chanting, but not disruptive enough to cause the young rabbi to halt the services.

A few seconds passed. The worshipers exchanged nervous glances. On everyone's mind was the recent terrorist attack on the Jewish community in Montreal. Ten people were killed in the attack, and another fifteen wounded, when a Muslim Pakistani expatriate entered the Meir Panim synagogue, bolted the doors, opened fire with a modified Uzi automatic, and detonated the explosives that he had strapped around his midsection. The event, which had occurred less than a month ago, struck North American Jewry with a force that years of terrorism in Israel and recent terrorist bombings of synagogues in Turkey, Tunisia and Hamburg had not done. Now, they were here. And they were after Jews.

Before he knew why, or what he was going to do, David was out the front door of the building. He noticed that the security guard assigned to the synagogue entrance - a large, imposing African-American man - had his hand on the pistol he kept holstered at his side.

"What's going on?" David asked the guard.

"I don't know," the guard answered, "I heard some shots from that building over there."

He pointed at the Hillel House, just inside the campus grounds. David went pale. His mind raced. The Hillel Sabbath services were underway there now. Billy was likely attending; surely Ruth, as well.

Ruth.

"I radioed in a call to the police," the nervous guard continued. But David was already gone, sprinting towards the Hillel House.

The police were just getting settled in there, as was a special weapons and tactics unit, and some unidentified people in dark suits. Probably FBI, David thought. The police were arrayed behind their vehicles, four cars and a van, aiming rifles and pistols at the top floor of the two-story building. David was kept behind a police barricade with several dozen other onlookers. 'How had the cops and the Feds arrived so fast?' he wondered.

A silhouette moved in front of a window. Police snipers peered through scopes, but it was impossible to discern if the figure was hostage or hostage-taker.

Considering the times and the target, David doubted it was a hostage situation at all.

He was right.

After a few minutes, while the commanding police officer was discussing with the men in dark suits what steps should be taken next, there was a loud shout from the Hillel House's upper floor. That was followed by an explosion that shook the whole street and collapsed the Jewish student center in on itself.

"Oh no," David thought during the terrible moment of silence that followed, "not here."

The policemen, medics, FBI agents and David all raced to get to the ruins, to try and save who could be saved. They stopped as they approached the crumbled ruins. Strewn about were dismembered bodies, blood and human flesh. And prayer books.

The would-be rescuers paused and waited for a moment. They hoped to hear cries of agony, screams of fear. But there was nothing. Not a sound but rubble settling.

There were normally over forty people who attended Saturday services at the Hillel House.

The rescue workers dove in. They carefully cast aside beams, concrete slabs, brick walls, trying desperately to find a sign of life. All they found were desecrated bodies and desecrated religious articles. As they searched, every once in a while someone called out for silence, thinking they had heard something. Again and again, their hopes were dashed.

After three hours of painstaking and back-breaking searching, someone again shouted for quiet. All work stopped.

Then, they heard it - a weak cough from deep beneath a collapsed eastern section of the outer wall of the House.

All hands shifted into high gear. Lifting, pulling, pushing. Until, finally, hand touched hand.

"Hang on!" the firefighter said, grasping at the victim's fingers. "Can you hear me? Can you speak to me?"

There was a raspy sound in response, a cough and then a weak shout, "Get me out of here!"

It was a woman's voice. With only one hand free, she was drowning in the smashed concrete and bricks, desperate for relief.

The time passed slowly. The firefighter held her hand. They talked. He told her to hold on, that she was nearly free. She told him her name - Ruth - and that she was a student. He introduced himself as Will O'Brien. Her speech was punctuated with cries of pain and fear. She began to fade in and out of coherence.

"Get going people!" O'Brien shouted.

Seconds later, there was a loud crack and the few parts of the building's western wall that still stood leaned further down to join the rest of the rubble. The rescue workers were forced to stop, for fear of causing further collapse onto themselves. A commanding firefighter ordered everyone out of the wreckage. Quickly, but carefully, they picked their way off the heap that had been the Jewish student center of Dulles University mere hours before.

"O'Brien!" shouted the chief.

Will glanced at the western wall, he glanced at the hand he held in his own. He began to unlock his fingers, already sore from holding Ruth's hand so tight for so long. She didn't respond. She didn't object or move at all.

Ruth was dead.

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Over the next week, the rubble was cleared, the bodies removed and identified, and the administration and students were in shock. Reporters from every state in the Union and from most industrialized states in the world invaded the campus. Dulles University took its place beside the Twin Towers in the collective consciousness of America.

Almost.

Within a week after that, the tune changed. The victims of what came to be called "4/10", nearly all 34 of them, were Jews, after all. And the killer, an Arab. Jews are killed by Arabs because of Israel, went the common thinking on campuses and in newspaper editorial board meetings. Then the Dulles attack wasn't really terrorism, per se, was it?

The newspapers added a new phrase to the American public marketplace of ideas: "Misdirected attack". All that happened at Dulles, the editorialists and the analysts explained, was a "misdirected attack". More forthrightly, many left-wing and a few far-right columnists wrote that the blame for the attack on the American university lies with Israel, with the Jews in government and in the media.

David did not have time, of course, to read any of the newspaper coverage of the "misdirected attack" that killed his friends Billy and Ruth, along with many other fellow Jews. He was too busy attending funerals and visiting houses of mourning on the upper East Coast. He'd been to New York, Pennsylvania, Connecticut, but New Jersey had been the hardest. Ruth was from New Jersey; Teaneck, to be precise.

The town seemed to David to be a fairly conservative, upper class Jewish enclave. He noted that the Margolis house stood out with its "nature look". He couldn't tell if it was simply overrun with weeds and vines, or if it was meant to have that amount of growth all over the front yard. An old wooden sign that said "Nuclear Free Zone" hung from rusty hooks over the front porch.

The house was filled with people of all kinds - Jews and non-Jews, religious adherents and atheists, locals and people who traveled great distances to console the devastated couple. Kitty Margolis sat on a large, Indian print pillow on the floor of her living room, looking extremely tired and unresponsive. Her husband, Phil, was nowhere to be seen, but David later learned that the day after he heard the news of his only child's death he had retreated to a little art studio he'd built in a shed in the backyard, coming out only to eat.

David hesitated at the entry to the living room. He knew that according to Jewish tradition one does not speak until spoken to in a house of mourning, but this hardly appeared to be a family that was a stickler for tradition. But what would he say, anyway?

Suddenly, as if sensing a new presence in the room, Ruth's mother looked up and toward the door to the room.

(Many years later, Phil Margolis told an interviewer from Art and Artist magazine that the paintings he created in the week after Ruth's death were "the most authentic I'd ever done. But they are also utterly empty, a void - because what else can one feel at such a time? - so I never sold them. I just can't.")

David stayed away from the endless campus "memorials" and "vigils", meant primarily to assuage the conscience of the campus administration. There were no such events organized by the Jewish student community, anyway, as most of its leading activist members were now dead.

Yet, it was the Muslim students, led by Hashim Shak'a, who strutted around campus wearing oppression like it was a new cologne. Every time the bombing was discussed, Muslim students went on the offensive, directing conversation away from the Jewish victims and towards the killer's motivations. They complained about prejudice; about stereotypes; but mostly about what they saw as harassment by Federal investigators.

Practically every Muslim and Arab student was questioned, and some were also paid a visit by INS officials. Even the campus imam, Hassan Shahzad, was questioned at length by the agents. That chat, as Imam Shahzad called it, was just informative, he reassured the students at the mosque the following Friday. He said that he informed the investigators that no one in his community could possibly be responsible for the bombing. "Ask the Zionist activists if they know anything," Shahzad had cordially suggested.

A conservative student journal on campus, The Voice of Reason, was prohibited from publishing for the remainder of the school year by the court of the student union after publishing a cartoon that featured a reporter writing a story on the latest Hollywood action film and telling his editor that Muslims were behind the film. When asked how he knows, the cartoon reporter replies, "Well, it was a bomb." The editor, Michael Goodfriend, called the action of the student union censorship and tried to enlist the help of national civil rights organizations, but to no avail.

Then came the statement issued by Dean Harvey Bouket. It became the email heard 'round the world.

After a half-hour-long meeting with the campus imam, Hassan Shahzad, Dr. Bouket addressed a gathering one evening of Muslim students in honor of the opening of a new wing to the campus mosque. At that gathering, the Dulles Dean praised the Islamic past and expressed hope for a brighter future. He condemned the attack carried out on the grounds of his school, saying that it was the act of one man and not of an entire community. He condemned the "hostile environment" that Muslim students now had to endure, thanks to prejudice and the FBI investigations.

"The Muslim community," Dr. Bouket said, "has become a victim of this terrible attack just as the Jewish community has so become."

Despite the ensuing thunderstorm of emails and letters, phone calls from former students and wealthy benefactors, and visits from state officials, Bouket refused to budge.

No apologies, no retractions.

Neighbors

by Nissan Ratzlav-Katz

The professor had gently urged his students to speak openly about what motivated them to sign up for his course on the Arab-Israeli conflict. Several had already spoken. Some were Arab students from the Gulf states, some were American Jews, some were immigrants to the United States from Iran, and some were even Americans of far more vintage stock.

"I watched the first tower come down. Then I fell down, also. I literally lost the ability to stand. I sat straight down on the floor in front of the television," an Israeli student, David Yitzhaki, told the class of about fifteen people. "That's when I understood," he continued, "the threat we were facing in Israel was the same that the rest of the world is facing today."

Even before he finished speaking, the classroom nearly exploded with vocal, and mostly very incensed, reactions. These were followed instantly by loud and forceful replies. And back again.

The professor leading the course, "Neighborly Relations: The Palestine Conflict", tried desperately to regain order. He banged on the table at the front of the room, trying to get someone's - anyone's - attention. It wasn't working.

This was meant to be a civil, intellectual discourse, with open exchange in a classroom environment, on the Arab-Israeli conflict. As an expatriate Jordanian, Professor Nazim Malik should have known better. "What an idiot I am," he thought to himself, shaking his head in exhaustion.

Because he was originally from an Arab state, yet also a member of the ethnic Circassian minority in that state, Malik was seen as a fairly neutral arbiter by his students. Although, truth be told, his Jewish students were more likely to credit him with neutrality; after all, ethnic minorities were still quite suspect in Arab states. But what the label "neutral" meant in practice was that students from either side of the issue were able to drag out his name in support of their particular point of view, while saying "even Professor Malik says...."

What it meant at the moment was that everyone was ignoring him.

The cacophony had reached a level that Malik started to call names in order to get a little quiet. At least on the written page, the Hebrew, Arabic and English names sat peacefully and quite silently next to one another. Hashim next to Rivka and Jeff. Ahmed below Jonathan, but above Erez. David next to Ayat and Fares, who was in turn next to Mark, Kimberly and Georges. It looked so nice on paper.

As students heard names being called, they suddenly remembered that there was, after all, a professor in the room. Despite his frustration, Malik didn't allow himself to show anything but a smile. And the smile wasn't entirely for show, either, as he genuinely enjoyed watching young minds in combat.

When the students learned - with his help, Malik thought - to muster evidence and formulate intellectually rigorous arguments, the debates among the students appeared to him as elegant as a finely choreographed Tai Chi exhibition. But this? This was World Wrestling Federation stuff - all bluster and no substance.

"Look," he finally said when there was silence in the room, "this is just our second session. Let's leave the debates until later in the course, okay?"

Then it was Hashim Shak'a's turn to speak.

"I am a Muslim, a Palestinian raised in Kuwait," he said, with an ever-so-slight accent, "and, as such, I have a built-in interest in this course." Then, turning in his seat to face David, who was behind him, he said, "And let me tell you about my experience of 9/11."

Hashim turned forward, looked at the professor, and continued, "On September 11, 2001, I was visiting family in Jenin. Now, I wasn't allowed to leave Jenin that day, because if I did, the Israeli soldiers imposing their 'hermetical' closure would've shot me. So, you'll forgive me if, for me, on that day, I felt more threatened by Jewish soldiers than Muslim ones."

Once again, the class erupted in comments, denunciations, cross-talk and finger-pointing.

Professor Malik mumbled to himself under his breath.

--*--*--*--*--

After a few more stormy introductory lessons - on the history of the region and its peoples - the class spent three sessions looking at Arab foreign policy and how it affected the "Neighbors" in question. David was not surprised to hear what most of the Arab and Muslim students had to say. Israel, for them, was responsible for everything that was not right in the Middle East, from Islamist internal terrorism to totalitarian dictatorships to repression of women.

During one class, the paranoia reached new heights when Hashim Shak'a stood up and loudly proclaimed that the blue stripes on the Israeli flag represent the Nile in Egypt and the Euphrates in Iraq, with the Jewish star in the center ruling over all of the Middle East.

"That is not true, Hashim," Professor Malik corrected him, "But let's stay away from polemics."

After the class, David even approached Hashim and explained to him that the blue stripes come from the thread that was traditionally tied onto the talit, the Jewish prayer shawl. To no avail, of course. David heard from a fellow student that Shak'a repeated the same Nile-Euphrates story in another class just two weeks later.

It was non-stop. It was purposeful. And it was relentless. Israel. Israel. The Zionists. Israel. Again and again.

Then there was Mahmoud Ghafour.

Generally, the guys from the Arabian peninsula - Kuwait, Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, etc. - came to the United States to let loose socially and religiously for four years. They partook of drugs, girls and alcohol, flashed around a lot of cash, and made a concerted effort to help each other slide through classes. Afterward, they generally returned to their conservative Islamic states with a framed document testifying to their having spent some time at a quality North American institution. With that in hand, they went on to join one family-run company or another created from oil profits.

They were not expected to behave like American students and become "activists" at the slightest provocation. And certainly not for the sake of any cause that would shed a negative light on their home countries.

But Ghafour was different. He didn't seem to know the unwritten rules. Or maybe he didn't care. Either way, his comments in the "Neighbors" class were enlightening, even for an Israeli like David Yitzhaki.

The young Saudi pointed out the failure of his home regime to allow even minority Muslim sects a voice; he criticized the Gulf states' contributions of funds to international terrorist organizations, even as they spoke out vehemently against domestic terrorists; he viciously attacked the repeated Saudi fear of public criticism over their disaster-ridden management of the Muslim pilgrimages to Mecca and Medina.

Ghafour also had a thought or two about the Saudi hypocrisy on Israel. He claimed that even as the Saudi leadership talked the talk - even publishing viciously anti-Semitic blood libels in major newspapers and encouraging Jew-hatred in the mosques - they found ways to do business with the Israelis. They ignored the Arab boycott when it suited them, he claimed, for motivations as base as the desire to stay at a particularly luxurious Swiss hotel, even if it was supposedly owned and operated by the Israeli Mossad.

These comments made most of his fellow Arab students, or at least those from the Gulf, quite uncomfortable. Sometimes, they tried to contradict what he said, but mostly they kept quiet. They knew exactly how much of what he said was true. But truth was not of paramount importance.

"You have to stop bashing Arab states," David overheard Hashim Shak'a lecturing Ghafour after one particularly intense class. "You are hurting your own people."

Mahmoud, Hashim and a third Arab student named Ahmed Tawfik were talking quietly in Arabic, but David caught enough of it to understand the gist of the conversation.

"I tell the truth," Ghafour countered.

"Truth?" Shak'a retorted angrily, "Truth is that our Arab people are dying thanks to Jews and Americans, and you are telling me - and more importantly, them," he gesticulated at the near-empty classroom, "about some minor infractions at home?"

"What has one to do with the other?" Ghafour insisted.

The physically small, but forceful, Shak'a looked Ghafour in the eye, and slowly said, "You are losing focus. You are serving the interests of the Zionists by drawing attention away from their massacres of our brothers, and toward Arab foibles. Some may think," he paused, "that you were doing it on purpose."

Tawfik latched his eyes onto Mahmoud's, with a hint of an impatient smile.

Ghafour looked down at his desk and went silent. He finished packing up his books and, without another word, walked out the door in long, brisk strides. Shak'a and his companion followed close behind at a more leisurely pace.

David remained seated a few rows back. It took him a moment to absorb what he had just witnessed.

And it wasn't over yet.

The following week, as Yitzhaki made his way into the building where the "Neighbors" seminar was held, he spotted Mahmoud Ghafour, Hashim Shak'a and Ahmed Tawfik. They reached the door simultaneously. David reached out and held the door for his classmates, smiled and theatrically waved them inside. They hesitated.

Then, Ghafour suddenly turned to David and said, in a voice loud enough so that everyone nearby could hear, "Listen, David. I am not a Zionist."

"Okay," David said haltingly, unsure what to make of this more-or-less obvious statement.

"Just because I say some things critical of my country doesn't mean I like Israel, or that I'm a Zionist," Ghafour elaborated.

"Okay," David repeated helplessly, still perplexed. His brow furrowed trying to think of a more intelligent retort.

"That's it," Ghafour said abruptly, glanced at Hashim and stepped through the door, which David was still holding open. Hashim and the other student followed right behind.

Yitzhaki was momentarily confused, but guessed that Mahmoud was hoping to prevent any pro-Israel students from getting too friendly with him. Or maybe it was shame. Maybe what Hashim told him last week made Ghafour honestly uncomfortable with how much he was talking about the Arab regimes. Or maybe making a public statement to a Jew about his anti-Israel credentials was a way for Mahmoud to ward off Hashim's implied threat from the week before.

Whatever the significance of his declaration to Yitzhaki, Ghafour didn't have many further insights on the Arab world after that.

On the other hand, Ghafour's last lesson was perhaps the most instructive of all.