Free The Devil's Light by Richard North Patterson Page B

Lebanon—”
    â€œâ€˜Stateless,’” Sklar repeated with palpable outrage. “‘Confined’? For over a decade Arafat and the PLO used Lebanon as a launching pad for terrorist attacks on the diminished patch of earth you define as Israel. Only when we attacked them did we eliminate the threat.”
    â€œTo what end?” Now Rahal’s tone conveyed weariness and disdain.“The slaughter of Palestinians—some women and children—at Sabra and Shatilah by Christian militia empowered by Ariel Sharon? Caging Palestinians in refugee camps that serve as a breeding ground for hatred? Helping to empower another threat to Israel, the Shia terrorists of Hezbollah, through the indiscriminate bombing of Lebanese civilians? There is no end, and all our wars provide none.”
    Rahal’s quickness of tongue, Brooke perceived, was enhanced by an intensity of manner that seemed close to aerobic—gestures, nods, swift shakes of her head. But he caught something more: Though roughly Brooke’s peer in age, she seemed older, grounded in a reality harsher than that of the other women he knew. “Don’t mistake me,” she concluded in a level voice, “Israel has real enemies. I’d sacrifice my life for its survival. But our very existence is threatened by a permanent state of war.”
    The student audience, Brooke noticed, seemed to pay her rapt attention. Inclining his head toward Ben, he murmured, “The Israelis need a way out of Palestine—”
    â€œWar,” Sklar was saying, “is the only sane response to terrorists with no regard for human life. The settlers are the Jewish bulwark, our first line of defense. Would you ask my brother to abandon his home?”
    â€œYes, some must leave,” Anit acknowledged. “I know this would be a tragedy for your brother. But if Israel wanted protection, the settlements were a grave mistake. Soldiers leave more easily.”
    To Brooke, she had captured the nub of the problem—a historic error, maintained through two generations, had placed Jewish families in the way of peace. “Whoever asks us to leave,” Sklar said fiercely, “our duty is to resist them—Jew or Arab. Your belief that Palestinians will honor your betrayal is the pipe dream of a child.” His words came as swift as gunfire. “They mean to kill us all. Arafat can’t make peace—his own people would tear him to pieces. Instead they keep on breeding. The most deadly bombs of all are the wombs of Palestinian women. Their children will come for you unless we expel them first.”
    â€œIn cattle cars?” Rahal inquired in acid tones. “That’s not a pretty image. What destination do you propose?”
    Sklar waved a stubby hand. “Australia or Canada. Certainly not the Middle East—even other Arabs can’t stomach Palestinians on their land. It’s only people like you who haven’t noticed.”
    With genuine fascination, Brooke watched Rahal control her anger,the effort bleeding into the chill of her voice. “One notices many things, Jacob, when not listening for the voice of God. One is that the Palestinians aren’t going anywhere. You’d make us and them scorpions in a bottle, bent on consuming each other.” She paused, then achieved a calmer air. “There’s no safety for Jews in oppressing or expelling others, imposing on Arabs the hardships we’ve endured for centuries. Our only hope is to create a place where Palestinians have the joys and challenges of a normal life, and the ability to live it. Anything else is doomed.”
    Ben’s expression, Brooke noted, had become thoughtful and intent. “She’s right,” he remarked at length. “The Greater Israel people are on a suicide mission. The question is who goes with them.”
    At the end, the audience gave both speakers sustained applause, especially Anit Rahal. Though she