The Time of Jacob’s Trouble
The
Complete Trilogy
Chris Hambleton
Smashwords Edition.
The Time of Jacob’s Trouble
“The Complete Trilogy”
Copyright © 2011 by Chris Hambleton
Discover other titles by Chris Hambleton at Smashwords.com:
http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/chrishambleton
“Endeavor in Time – Race Against Disaster” (2008)
“The Cell – Twilight’s Last Gleaming” (2010)
"The Last Aliyah – Book 1 of The Time of Jacob’s Trouble" (2011)
"The Son of Shinar – Book 2 of The Time of Jacob’s Trouble" (2011)
"The Siege of Zion – Book 3 of The Time of Jacob’s Trouble" (2011)
"On the Precipice – Hosea Speaks to America" (2011)
"Ezekiel Watch – Then They Shall Know..." (2012)
"The Castors of Giza – Building the Great Pyramid" (2012)
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Table of Contents
Chapter 3 - The Army of the Levant
Chapter 7 - The Coalition for Peace
Chapter 8 - The Gathering Storm
Chapter 9 - The Magog Invasion
Chapter 10 - The Birds of the Air
Chapter 13 - The Stars of Gilgal
Chapter 1 - After the Vanishing
Chapter 5 - The Rise of Babylon
Chapter 6 - The Sabbath Treaty
Chapter 8 - The Seal Judgments
Chapter 9 - The Stars of Heaven
Chapter 10 - The Locusts of Gog
Chapter 11 - The Passover Lamb
Chapter 12 - Death and Resurrection
Chapter 13 - The Temple Earthquakes
Chapter 14 - The Calm Before the Storm
Chapter 15 - The Abomination of Desolation
Chapter 2 - The Signet of the Prince
Chapter 3 - The Cleft in the Rock
Chapter 4 - Streams in the Desert
Chapter 5 - The Great Tribulation
Chapter 6 - The Gathering Night
Chapter 7 - The Kingdom of Darkness
Chapter 8 - The Fall of Babylon
Chapter 9 - The Siege of Jerusalem
Chapter 10 - The Good Shepherd
Chapter 11 - The Return of the King
Chapter 12 - Gathered in Jerusalem
Chapter 13 - The Great Judgment
Chapter 15 - In the Service of the King
Chapter 16 - Lengthening Shadows
Chapter 17 - The Final Rebellion
References and Recommended Reading
The Last Aliyah
Book
1 of "The Time of Jacob’s Trouble"
Chris Hambleton
Foreword
In 2006, I began writing "The Time of Jacob's Trouble", which was then published in 2008. Several years later in 2010, I visited Israel on a study-tour and saw for myself the miracle of modern Israel.
The brief tour of the Holy Land had a deep impact on my perspective of Israel, the United States of America, and the other nations involved in the lasting Middle East conflict. The guide for our group was phenomenal, and constantly taught us both Israel's Biblical history and her recent history over the past century.
Upon my return to the States, I began reading the modern story of Israel and joined several online Israel pages/groups. I have found that the Israeli people have several characteristics that seem to be sorely lacking in many parts of the Western world today: a strong national identity and a clear sense of purpose.
In the months following the tour, I came to feel a strong connection with the Jewish people along with a deep longing to return to Israel. As a Christian, just being in the very place where so much of the Scriptures took place – and where so much of our future will center around – I could not help but desire to go back to the place often referred to as “the Lord's Inheritance”.
I must admit that at the time of the first writing, I did not fully understand many of the complexities involved with the Palestinians, Israel, the Arabs, and Jordan. It's not as simple as “the Jews should just take the West Bank and Gaza and make it part of Israel” as many evangelicals (along with many Orthodox Jews) proclaim. If it was, I am certain that Israel would have done so after 1967 in the aftermath of the Six Day War.
The people referred to as the Palestinians are predominantly Arabs who were formerly Jordanian citizens, living on the West Bank of the Jordan River. In fact, there was no nationality known as Palestinians before 1967 – though there were large groups of Jews, Jordanians, Bedouins, and Arabs living in the region Britain had called 'Palestine'. But after Israel captured the West Bank in the Six Day War, Jordan refused to allow those refugees to become full citizens of Jordan, interring them into huge camps on the east side of the river, creating the situation that exists to this day.
If Israel simply annexed the land they captured in 1967 and made the West Bank inhabitants Israeli citizens, the Jewish State would no longer be predominately Jewish because of the sheer number and birthrates of the Arabs. And if Israel simply gave them the land (which constitutes the high-ground, the Golan Heights), their national security would go with them and the very survival of the Jewish State would be threatened. Before 1967, many of the northern cities of Israel were frequently threatened by rocket/missile attacks from the Golan Heights, along with the nation's water supply from the Galilee.
In short, Israel is literally in a no-win situation. For their own safety, the Jewish people have been forced to administer large groups of Arabs that they don't want to administer. The people who always had their lands occupied suddenly became the 'occupiers' by a series of surprising victories.
When I reviewed my book after visiting Israel and learning more about the land and its people, I realized there were numerous inaccuracies that I felt compelled to resolve. Several reviewers also recommended that the original book be divided into three and expanded to focus more on the characters than the mere circumstances/settings of the End Times.
For those of you who have read the first edition of "The Time of Jacob's Trouble" – thank you! In this book and in the two books that will follow, you will likely encounter scenes, characters, and settings you might remember from the first edition. However, there are so many differences and enhancements that it's quite debatable whether this trilogy could be accurately called a 'second edition'.
Aliyah (ALYH) "Going up" or "ascent." (plural: aliyot) 1. Going up to Jerusalem, either locally, by ascending the hill on which the city is located, from the plains below or from the lowlands of Egypt, or by extension, by going on a (pilgrimage) to the Holy Land from abroad.
Isaiah 43: 1, 5-6
But now, thus says the LORD, who created you, O Jacob,
And He who formed you, O Israel:
Fear not, for I am with you;
I will bring your descendants from the east,
And gather you from the west;
I will say to the north, ‘Give them up!’
And to the south, ‘Do not keep them back!’
Bring My sons from afar,
And My daughters from the ends of the earth..."
Chapter 1 - Rumors of War
The phone next to his side of the bed rang three times and his eyes shot open. When the phone rang in that manner and that hour, it could only mean one thing: there was a national emergency in Israel.
He reached for the phone just as it began its second ring-sequence. He also knew from experience that if it rang two more sequences, the Secret Service would start banging on the door. He hated getting these types of calls right after he had fallen asleep, but it was all part of his duties.
"Yes?" he answered, rubbing his brow.
"Mr. Prime Minister, I apologize for calling you at this hour, but the city of Haifa is under attack and has just been ordered into the bunkers."
"Hezbollah?"
"We believe so – the missile signatures are all coming from Southern Lebanon."
He didn't recognize the voice at first, but then remembered it was one of the newer directors at the Northern Command. He tried to recall his first name – Gavi? Gadi?
"Is the shield holding?" he asked.
"Yes, sir – but there are so many incoming missiles that the shield is only capable of repelling the larger ones and those that are targeting the more densely populated zones."
"Notify the Minister of Defense and have him prepare a response immediately. This attack will not go unanswered." He smiled slightly – it was time to wake up his old friend Gil Netanya. The Defense Minister liked these late evening phone calls even less than he did.
"Already done, sir."
"Good. Have him call me as soon as he's available."
"Yes, sir."
Ari Bernstein hung up the phone and grimaced. Hezbollah was relentless, and thanks to Iran and Syria, they were very well-armed. At least they didn't have nuclear weapons – yet, he thought with a shudder.
He glanced over at his wife, Nili, who was still sleeping soundly and smiled at her. He leaned down and gently kissed her cheek, careful not to wake her.
He slowly stood up and grabbed the book by the nightstand, and then plodded into the den. When there was one call at this hour, there would soon be more.
It was going to be a long night.
The explosion shook the ground from under his feet and Yaakov Rosenberg pitched forward into the bomb-shelter. With his ears ringing, he recovered quickly and stole a glance behind him. But all he could see were the terrified faces in the dark night.
"Hurry! Go!" he yelled, pushing his young teenage daughter ahead of him down further into the stairwell. Ruth immediately took another two steps downward until she was right behind her mother, Naomi.
Others suddenly pressed in behind him, and he slipped and almost fell forward into Ruth. He scowled back at them as he regained his footing, though most were his own neighbors. He looked forward and saw that the shelter was already over-crowded. Even from the stairway, he could hear the crying of babies and small children in the dim light of the reinforced-concrete structure.
A few moments later, they reached the bottom of the bunker, where two young soldiers were ordering the newcomers to move quickly towards the back to allow others in. Both soldiers appeared to be about eighteen years old – probably just a few months out of basic training.
One of the soldiers shouted at those still on the stairs to hurry down inside, and then barked an order into his walkie-talkie. Immediately the doors above them slammed shut, and the noise of the calamity outside fell silent.
With the sounds of the emergency sirens outside suddenly silenced, everyone in the shelter became quiet, listening carefully for the next round of missiles to strike.
Like everyone else in the bomb-shelter, Yaakov was afraid. But he was also angry.
Once again, his country of Israel had shown herself to be too patient with their enemies for too long, and this was where it had gotten them. He was sick and tired of the rocket and mortar attacks that continued to go unanswered, aside from a retaliatory strike from Israel every now and then. But there was never any decisive strike which would end the missile storm once and for all.
He wasn't alone in his pessimism, and he knew there were many others like him there too. They were sick and tired of trying to make peace with those who wanted no peace. How long could they possibly go on like this?
He brushed away his anger for a moment and looked over at Naomi, who was holding Ruth in a tight embrace with tears in their eyes. They were both still wearing their housecoats, since there hadn't even been time to get dressed.
"We'll be alright – this is one of the best shelters in all of Haifa!" he said, trying to reassure them. But he knew it rang hollow.
At least now Israel had a working missile defense shield, Iron Dome, but it had been designed for the larger classifications of rockets and missiles. The smaller rocket attacks were less deadly, but more random. And unfortunately, more frequent.
Like most of those who lived in northern Israel, he and his parents had made regular escapes to the bomb-shelters, but that had been in the early years of the State. And now it was he and his children who regularly sought their protection. How many other First-World cities regularly ducked into bomb-shelters?
"I'm sorry I pushed you, Ruth," he apologized, remembering what had happened on the stairs. "Are you alright?"
She nodded and squeezed his hand. This was the second time this week they had been forced to go into the shelter, and he was beginning to realize that this latest wave of attacks from Hezbollah felt somehow different than others they had experienced in the past. These didn't feel quite as random or haphazard.
He had the distinct sense that the latest rocket attacks had a purpose other than merely raining terror upon the Jewish citizens. It was almost as if the northern defenses – perhaps even the missile shield – were being tested.
Aside from the Katyushas and Qassams that Lebanon and Gaza had been lobbing at them for decades, Israel had not been attacked by her neighbors in a long time. The Lebanon War of 2006 against Hezbollah had shown the Israeli army to not be quite as effective in a large-scale ground war as it had once been, and the tactics of the IDF had quickly been re-evaluated and revised to avoid future mistakes.
Within six months of the Second Lebanon War, Hezbollah was fully re-armed, and with better weapons than they'd had before Israel had invaded. The Israelis felt that very little had been accomplished by the month-long war, other than cause a brief ceasefire of the missiles. Israel had not even been able to retrieve the hostages that Hezbollah had snatched from within their own borders.
Though Israel had typically managed to stay one or two steps ahead of their enemies, the fact remained that even after sixty years, the tiny nation still maintained a fragile existence. With Iran now having nuclear weapons at their disposal, the unspoken fear was that the entire State could be destroyed in just one strike. The Israelis could handle missiles of tonight's variety, but nuclear warheads were something entirely different.
A phrase came into Yaakov's mind that was always felt, but rarely uttered in Israel: "It's only a matter of time."
Yaakov heard the roar of fighter jets overhead and opened his eyes. The ceiling of the bomb-shelter shook and the steel girders above them rattled. He could hear tremendous explosions that he hoped were much further away than they felt. But the sound of the jets meant that Israel was probably fighting back and that the rocket-attacks would soon cease.
Two hours later, at nearly one o'clock in the morning, the IDF soldiers guarding the shelter received word that Haifa was no longer under attack and that the citizens were free to return to their homes.
Yaakov pulled the dark sport-coat from its hanger and trudged downstairs, heading directly towards the kitchen. He had smelled the fresh-brewed coffee just after he had gotten out of the shower, and it had motivated him to finish getting ready for work.
He hadn't slept very well last night after they had returned home from the bomb-shelter, but he'd been too stubborn to let himself sleep in. He had a day full of meetings ahead of him, and the construction business didn't slow down for missile attacks.
"Good morning," Naomi said as he walked into the kitchen. She was already several pages into the newspaper.
"Boker tov," he replied, though not with much enthusiasm. He sat down at the table and immediately reached for the coffee. He had never been much of a morning person, but fortunately his wife was. After a few sips, his mood began to lighten and he felt more talkative.
"Is Ruth up yet?" he asked.
"I think so. I heard her shower running just after you started yours."
"That's good. What's new in the paper this morning? Did they mention last night's attacks? "
"No, they were probably too late to make the morning edition."
Naomi passed him the breakfast fruit-salad and he took a large helping for himself. He felt hungrier than normal, which usually happened when he was tired. It was going to be a long day, and he needed the extra energy.
"Are you going to call the real-estate agency today?" he asked. "You should try to find out if they have any other bids in too."
"Yes, I was going to call them after they open at 9. Shoshanna said she'd call later this week, but I'm sure it wouldn't hurt to check first."
"You sure you still want to go forward with this flower-shop? Starting your own business takes a lot of time and effort."
Naomi looked up from her paper and smiled at him. "I'm sure – unless you want me to go back to working with you," she offered.
He grimaced and shook his head with a wry smile. "Did you decide on a name for it yet?"
"I have it narrowed down to four or five, but 'Carmel Roses' is the one I like the best."
He nodded and looked up as Ruth hurriedly strode in. She was a full-fledged teenager now, as he had noticed from her clothing choices recently. He frowned at the skirt she was wearing, which fell well-above her knees. But they were still in the hot season, and he figured that was just the style now.
"Good morning, Ruth," Naomi said.
"Hi Mom. Good morning, Dad," she replied.
"Hello. Coffee?" he suggested, though he already knew what her response would be.
Ruth wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "No thanks!" She took a small spoonful of salad and then began peeling an orange. "I'm tired. Why didn't the missile shield work last night?"
"Who knows? The military says it does, but we still get hit," he replied. "Hopefully we won't have to go back to the shelter for awhile."
"Have you heard from Shai yet, Mom?"
"No, we probably won't until Shabbat. Are you going to be late for school?" Naomi asked, looking up at the clock.
"Oops! Yeah, I'd better go," she said, hastily taking two bites of her salad. "Thanks for breakfast, Mom! Bye, Dad!" Ruth stood up and took the orange with her, rushing for the door.
Yaakov smiled after her – even though she was getting older, she was still their baby. Shai, their second son, had just entered Tironut (basic training) two weeks ago, and they hadn't heard from him yet. New recruits didn't get much free time to call home, at least for the first month or two.
"Ahban should be calling soon too, I suppose," he said. Their oldest son was away in Europe on vacation, touring many of the famous architectural sites.
"Yes – it's ironic that one son is entering the service just as the other has gotten out," Naomi mentioned, putting down her paper.
"Yeah, but he'll still be in the reserves for the next twenty years. At least he and Shai probably won't be in the same brigade. Are you worried about him?"
"Not as much as when it'll be Ruth's time to go. I just can't imagine seeing her with a gun."
Yaakov grinned. "I'm sure she'll do fine."
"I know, but just the thought of her fighting –" Naomi said, letting her worries trail off.
He nodded and looked up at the clock. "I'd better be going before I'm late too," he replied, wiping his mouth with the napkin. "Have a good day."
"You too – I'll call you if we need to raise the bid."
Yaakov stood up and quickly kissed her as he left.
Bashir Abdullah's phone buzzed and he hastily picked it up from the table. He immediately recognized the number – he had been waiting the last two days for this call.
"This is Bashir," he answered.
"The shipment has arrived. Tunnel 4, Khamsa gate," the voice stated, and then the call abruptly ended.
Bashir rose from his chair and walked a short distance down the hall to the security room, where a guard was monitoring the various tunnel entrances. The guard instinctively reached for his sidearm until he recognized the intruder.
"Switch to Tunnel 4 and do a full sweep of the Khamsa entrance," Bashir ordered. "A shipment will be arriving here shortly. Make sure we are not detected, is that clear?"
The guard nodded quickly and switched one of the displays to Tunnel 4. Bashir leaned forward and watched as the camera scanned the tunnel. It looked secure. He hated daytime shipments like this, but the equipment had been delayed and was critical for their operations later that evening.
Satisfied, Bashir left the room and quickly assembled his team to retrieve the shipment from the tunnel's exterior entrance. It took a few minutes longer than he had wanted, but it was to be expected since they were all spread out in the bunker.
The six men checked their weapons and left the security of the bunker as they entered into the dimly-lit tunnel system. All the men had memorized the intricate tunnel routes months ago, along with most of their hidden passages and switchbacks.
They found a small pickup truck waiting for them at the inner entrance of Tunnel 4 and piled into the back, with Bashir riding in the passenger's seat. He glanced up at the slightly depressed roof above him. This was one of the fortified pickups, in which a swiveling machine gun could be quickly mounted to the roof and manned from behind. But since they were underground, the gun wasn't mounted.
As they approached the entrance, Bashir checked in with the security monitor, who responded with the 'all-clear' signal. The sentry at the entrance flashed his LED signal four times to acknowledge their approach and allowed them to pass.
Four men jumped out from the back of the pickup and took their positions next to the entrance as the driver carefully turned the truck around. Once all was ready, Bashir left the coverage of the truck and motioned for the sentry to activate the gate.
The light in the tunnel suddenly grew brighter as the gate opened, which was little more than a heavily reinforced garage door. Bashir swore as he hastily put on his sunglasses; fortunately, the men guarding the entrance were already wearing theirs.
Three of his men in the forward positions emerged into the blinding sunlight and rushed towards a large cluster of brush. A moment later, they signaled that they were ready, and the driver quickly backed the pickup towards the brush and stopped.
Bashir motioned for them to hurry, and the three forwards pushed aside the brush to reveal four camouflaged wooden crates.
"Load them quickly," he ordered, and then relieved one of the other guards so the crates could be moved by two teams of two rather than one team of three.
The crates were stowed into the truck in less than a minute and soon they were back in the safety of the tunnels. Bashir hopped back into the passenger seat and ordered his men to return to their posts. With the shipment occupying the entire pickup-bed, they would have to return on foot.
"Go to the hospital," he ordered the driver, who promptly nodded and began driving back into the depths of the tunnel.
Bashir felt a measure of relief as they approached the bunker entrance and then abruptly turned right into another tunnel. He despised having to move about in the tunnels; it made him feel like a rat in a maze. But underground transportation was the most secure way to move contraband in Gaza – especially contraband of this variety.
They moved slowly along the makeshift road. Within five minutes, they approached a tunnel branch and turned right again, and then drove for another five minutes.
The tunnel soon narrowed and they stopped at another armored gate. Bashir notified the security monitor of their location and the gate was soon opened. At this entrance, two guards stopped them and looked over the payload in the truck before waving them through.
He had hoped they would be taking the shipment to a bunker under one of the elementary schools, but the hospital bunker would have to do. Hospitals were larger targets, and the Israelis had been known to strike at nearby locations, but they typically left schools alone. Particularly elementary schools in the more densely populated neighborhoods.
Two minutes later, they approached another entrance and the driver was directed towards the right side of the parking area, where their payload would then be handed off to another team.
This equipment would be used in a series of joint exercises with the Islamic Brotherhood teams in Southern Lebanon later that night. Bashir had been a member of Hezbollah for more than fifteen years, and had recently been transferred to Gaza to help coordinate their efforts against the Jews.
Their objective over the next few weeks was to not merely lob rockets at the infidels, but to systematically test the response and weaknesses of Israel's missile defense shield. Once the shield was adequately tested, they could begin the final phase of the operation.
Then they would begin planning attacks with their brothers in the West Bank to finish off the Jews once and for all.
Ruth stared at the chalkboard at the front of the room and let her mind wander. It was mid-afternoon, and she couldn't wait to be out of school.
The English class had always bored her, though she usually received above-average grades in the course. Her family frequently spoke English since her mother was American, but they usually spoke in Hebrew, especially when around friends and other relatives.
She stole a glance over her shoulder at her best friend Rina, who appeared to be as bored as she was. Ruth rolled her eyes at the instructor and Rina silently agreed with a smirk. They had been best friends for the last two years, and thankfully had most of their classes together.
She toyed with one of her dark brown curls to pass the time while the teacher droned on and on, instructing the class in verb tenses. Would this day ever end?
Rosh Hashanah was only a few weeks away, and she was already looking forward to the break. And less than two weeks after that was Yom Kippur. She loved the Fall holidays, which were always a welcomed vacation from school.
The boy behind her tapped the back of her chair and she slowly leaned back. He silently slipped her a note, which he often did when it was 'safe'. However, they were never from him, but usually just from Rina.
She glanced up at the chalkboard where the instructor was still writing, and then quietly unfolded the slip of paper.
"Field trip next week," it read. "Can't wait!"
Ruth glanced back at her and grinned with a nod. She had almost forgotten about that – they had an all-day field trip up to Jerusalem next week! Their history class was going to Yad Vashem, the Holocaust Memorial. She and Rina would have most of the day to themselves, even though they were technically still in school.
School was such a bore – she couldn't wait to graduate. Sadly, she wasn't even in high school yet, but she would be next year.
Shai Rosenberg straightened even more as the commander slowly approached, meticulously inspecting the new recruits and making them sweat even more than they already were. As he passed every six or seven recruits, he would pause and glare at one or two, but none had buckled under the pressure yet.
It was a blistering day and no one wanted to run that afternoon. They had learned on their second day that if one soldier made a mistake, the entire platoon usually suffered. His chest and arms were still sore from their last round of extra pushups. Of course, there were always a few who couldn't help but smart-off to the commanders.
He had thought he was in reasonably good shape, until the drill instructors had proven otherwise. He knew their objectives were to break down all the new recruits so they could remake them into soldiers. But just having that knowledge still didn't make it any easier.
Like most of the other young men in the Tironut training camp, Shai had turned eighteen earlier that year. And though he had known beforehand more or less what to expect (thanks to his older brother Ahban), he had still been scared when his parents had dropped him off at the bus station in Haifa. His mother had cried as she gave him one last hug and his father had heartily shook his hand.
He was enlisted in the Rifleman-03 basic training course, which was the prerequisite for entry into one of the tank brigades. He hadn't been particularly interested in either the IAF (Israeli Air Force) or the paratrooper divisions, and since Ahban had entered the armored division, he figured he might as well go that route too.
The commander was now only three recruits away, and Shai fixed his eyes straight ahead of him and focused on the camp fence in the distance. Sweat rolled down his back and it was all he could do not to squirm. The commander passed by and fortunately didn't pause in front of him or those on either side of him.
Shai allowed himself to relax, but only very slightly. He could feel the sweat already soaking through the lower back of his dark olive-green uniform. He'd better get used to sweating, he realized, since only the newer tanks had air conditioning, and the rest were frequently compared to furnaces in the middle of the summer.
When the inspection was finished, they would have officially survived their integration days and would be issued their weapons. The new recruits had been given their standard IDF uniforms immediately after they arrived on base, and had then all been ushered off to get the standard #2 haircut.
He had been terrified for most of the first day or two, but then began to adjust after he realized that everyone else there was probably just as scared as he was (regardless of whether they showed it or not). Ahban had said it was all just a bunch of mind-games: play by the rules and obey everything from your commanders – even the stupid stuff – and it wouldn't be that bad.
The commander continued the inspection and several minutes later, returned to stand in front of the lines with his senior officer. He still looked at them harshly, and fortunately no one moved.
"Congratulations, you have all passed your entry into Basic Training. You will now be issued your rifles. You will become intimately familiar with it. You'll sleep with it, eat with it, and maybe even shower with it! Your weapon will be your constant companion for the next several months here. You will carry it at all times unless otherwise instructed. Is that understood?"
"Yes, commander!" the recruits all shouted.
He paused for a long moment and gave the recruits one last glare before issuing his final order of the afternoon.
"Dismissed!"
Shai let out his breath and let his shoulders slump and congratulated those around him. After a few minutes, the new soldiers made their way over to the armory and lined up to receive their weapons.
Shabbat was only a few hours away, and all the recruits were looking forward to a full day of rest even though they couldn't go home. Also, they would finally be able to call their loved ones, which had not been allowed since they had entered the base.
Next week, they would be starting their moreshet krav ('battle heritage') course, in which soldiers were instructed in Israeli military history and past IDF operations. In a few weeks, they might even go up to Jerusalem and spend a long day there, learning about the Old City from a military perspective and visiting the various battle sites and memorials.
"If you don't know where you came from, you cannot learn where you're going!" was what the recruits had already been told several times as they had begun their training. He had been surprised to learn that there would also be brief studies in the Tanakh to study how their ancestors had fought on the land.
Shai saw that one of his bunk-mates, Shlomo, was already in line at the armory, and he walked over and took his place about twelve recruits behind him. Each one would receive detailed instructions, a manual, and then training concerning their rifles (which were really Israeli-made automatic weapons). True rifles in the traditional sense had not been issued in the IDF for years.
When it was finally Shai's turn, he was pleased to receive one of the Galils. He knew that some others had gotten Tavors, but evidently most were being issued Galils. As he briefly looked over his weapon, he realized he couldn't yet tell the difference between the two.
Now that he actually had a weapon, he was starting to look forward to becoming a real soldier, but this was just the first of many steps. He couldn't wait to get back to the tent and begin learning about his new companion.
Ramzi al Din took one last drag from his cigarette and then tossed it on the ground, crushing it beneath his boot. From where he stood on the edge of the roof, he could clearly see the tall, barbed-wire Separation Wall that cut across the landscape of the West Bank.
He hated the Wall; it made him feel like a prisoner in his own home – in his own land. No, it made him feel like he was back in the refugee camp he had spent much of his childhood, except on a much larger scale.
Off in the distance, he could just make out one of the gates of the Wall, where his enemies patrolled unceasingly. The Brotherhood and their allies had made numerous attempts to slip through the gate without detection, but had not been successful. There had been others who had, but they had not gotten far. The Jews were just too strong.
He hated them. Every time he saw the Wall and the gate, he was filled with sheer loathing. The Jews had taken everything from them: their homes, their land, their livelihood, their dignity. At times, the humiliation was nearly unbearable.
But soon they would pay. The century-long struggle would be over, and he and his brothers would be victorious.
His phone rang and he immediately answered it.
"Yes?"
"We're ready. Prepare your post immediately. Tonight we will begin."
Ramzi acknowledged the masked order and put the phone back in his pocket. His clothes were filthy, but he didn't care. He had work to do.
He lifted the field binoculars to his eyes and carefully scanned the Wall, then the streets below him. A moment later, when he was certain that no Israeli patrols were in the area, he called the rest of his team and ordered them to bring up the equipment. And then he returned to his surveillance.
Like many Arab young men living in the West Bank, he had rarely missed an opportunity to throw stones at the IDF patrols, and he had the scars to prove it. He had never been shot with anything more lethal than rubber bullets, but there were others he personally knew of who had. Many others – his fallen brothers.
He didn't enjoy having to launch missiles from the roofs of primary schools, but that was what his people had been reduced to. They must win no matter what the cost. The Jews must pay. The Jews would pay.
One day the Wall would be torn down, and he would be there to see it.
Chapter 2 - The Royal Family
Nidal Rabah deactivated the secure satellite connection on his laptop and sat back. The operation would proceed as planned.
He looked away from the screen and out the window, toward the Raghadan Palace. The King of Jordan, Abdullah Akbar, was away on state business, but would be returning to the Royal Court late next week. He didn't know the full details of the King's schedule, of course. But he knew enough.
He had killed several times before, but it had been over a year since his last operation. But he had never been involved in an operation so intricately planned and of such importance as this one. And never on such a high-profile target.
If he succeeded – and he had no doubts that he would – he would be catapulted to the top of all the Most Wanted lists in the Arab world. He doubted he would ever be able to make the Hajj to Mecca again, nor would he ever touch the sacred Ka'aba.
But in the end, he would be forgiven and likely rewarded for his faithfulness to Allah, the most merciful.
He disliked this operation, but he was determined to see it through. He had always liked the King and his Court, and even more-so now that he had lived among them for as long as he had. But clients were clients, and money was money.
He knew for certain that there were others in the Court who were spies and assassins like himself, though they had never spoken nor been in contact of any kind. His client had assured him of complete secrecy. Each operative had his own target and would be told specifically when, where, and how to move on them.
And though he didn't know any more of the plan than what directly involved him, he knew enough from experience to glean his client's end objectives:
To permanently overthrow the monarchy of Jordan.
Ahban Rosenberg heard his phone chime and pulled it from his pocket, muting the hotel-room television. It was a text from his father.
"Where are you now?" it read.
He grinned and replied 'Auschwitz', and then checked his other messages along with his email. His parents had bought him a new phone right after his three years of national service had ended, and it had proven to be one of the best gifts he'd ever received, especially while he was abroad.
Five minutes later, he put the phone away. He was trying to stay 'disconnected' on his trip, and had determined to only check his messages in the morning and the evening. He had heard of the attacks on Haifa and the northern border from the news, but he hadn't been called back yet for emergency reserve duty. None of his platoon had yet either and that was a relief.
He had been backpacking (more or less) through Europe for the past three weeks, and had just under another month left before he was to return home – only two days before Yom Kippur. It would be the first Rosh Hoshanah he ever missed with his family, which had upset his mother. He had flown into London and would be returning there for his departing flight. Until then, he had a lot of kilometers to travel.
He sat back and sank into the plush chair and closed his eyes. Though he was still in relatively good shape after his service in the IDF, he had been hiking more than he was used to and had been keeping long hours out and about.
Ahban glanced down at the crest embroidered on his hotel bathrobe. If this wasn't the life, he didn't know what was, he thought with a smile. He would be staying one more night there at the Regent, and then it was back to the tourist hostels. He was watching his trip money carefully, but had decided to stay at a nice hotel for a change. The hotel had decent laundry facilities, and it was wonderful to have clean clothes again.
While touring, he did his best to travel by the Book, both for safety reasons and to patronize Jewish businesses. The 'Book' was typically a simple notebook or ledger found at many of the smaller Jewish (or Jewish-owned) hotels in which former travelers wrote where they were from, where the good restaurants, hotels, and shops were, along with places that were safe (and places to avoid). Typically, the Book was only available by request, and it had proven to be invaluable several times already.
Shai was still in his first month of basic training, and he had thought of his younger brother quite often while he had been traveling. Shai was thinner and more wiry than he had been at his age, but his three years in the IDF would probably change that. But the IDF preferred stamina and endurance in their soldiers like runners, as opposed to raw muscle strength.
In Israel, it was said that the Bar Miztpah declared that a Jewish boy had become a man, but it was largely the IDF that was responsible for that transformation.
His little sister Ruth had just had her Bat Miztpah two months before he left, and that had been their last big family celebration together, since he had left two weeks before Shai had reported for duty. He was certain that his mother had cried when they dropped Shai off at the bus stop, just like she had for him when he had first left home. He hadn't wanted to go either, but he hadn't had much choice in the matter.
He gazed out the window and watched the street for a moment as four long tour buses headed east. He knew where they were going, and feelings of anger and terror crept over him once again.
He had visited the extermination camp Auschwitz-Birkenau two days ago, and was still emotional about it. Yesterday, he had toured Krakow and several of its museums, but his mind kept returning to what he had seen at Auschwitz. Walking through the main gate along the railroad tracks had given him some of the most ominous feelings of death and hopelessness he had ever experienced.
He couldn't remember ever having such a mixture of emotions as he'd had as he walked through those cramped, dark barracks and the cold stone corridors. Seeing the gas chambers and human incinerators firsthand had shocked him even more than he had thought they would. His emotions had alternated between feelings of intense fear, grief, and rage, and sometimes a mixture of the three swept over him simultaneously.
Back home, he had been through Yad Vashem two or three times before – once or twice in school and once during his first year in the service. However, he had been surprised to find that he was much more affected by the sights, sounds, and smells over the last few days than those at the Holocaust memorial. Here, he felt like more of a 'stranger in a strange land' than he ever had in his life.
'Never again!' was the phrase that had often come to his mind as he had toured the death camps, where millions of his fellow countrymen had been slaughtered. Those two words were frequently uttered (or at least felt) among his people after conversations involving Hitler or the Holocaust. They would never stand by and watch as their fellow Jews were slaughtered. They would never allow themselves to be exterminated again.
Never again!
"Rosenberg! Hit the ropes – NOW!" the drill instructor shouted.
"Yes, sir!" Shai yelled.
Shlomo grinned as he watched Shai shoot from the line and sprint to the long rope that hung ten meters in the air. As he neared the rope, he jumped and grabbed on about a third of the way up and began quickly shimmying up to the top. Not bad, Shlomo thought.
"Wow – look at him go!" Yossi muttered to him, just loud enough for him to hear but not for the commander to (which would mean more pushups)."He's scaling that rope like a monkey!"
Shlomo smirked and nodded in agreement as Shai reached the top, hooked his legs around the rail and began scooting quickly towards the rope net on the far end.
"What's his nickname?" Yossi asked when the commander wasn't looking in their direction. He didn't want to run again – there was no such thing as free speech in the army. They had been learning that the hard way.
"He doesn't have one yet."
Yossi grinned. "Yeah? He does now – let's call him 'kufi', for 'monkey' in Hebrew."
"Kufi? Nah, it sounds too much like 'coffee' or 'cafe', and that just makes me hungry."
They watched as Shai latched onto the rope-net and began pulling himself across while hanging upside down.
"Man, he does like those ropes!" Yossi muttered.
"Yeah. What about 'spidy'? You know, like from those movies."
Yossi nodded and they continued watching Shai as he reached the end of the rope-net and then swung his legs over to the wall and quickly climbed down. As soon as he hit the ground, he sprinted over to where the rest of the platoon was standing.
"Nice climbing, Spidy," Shlomo said as Shai joined them.
"Spidy?" Shai asked, trying to catch his breath.
"Yeah, congratulations – it's your new nickname," Yossi chimed in.
Shai grinned at them, resting his hands on his knees. "Whatever you say, Gvina!" Shlomo had received his nickname the week before when one of the other recruits from their unit had caught him scarfing down a massive block of cheese that someone back home had sent him.
"Hey, so I like cheese – you got a problem with that?" he replied with a semi-threatening tone.
Shai shook his head and pushed Shlomo's shoulder, keeping an eye on the commander, whose back was still turned. Over the last three weeks, he and Shlomo had become good friends, which was to be expected since they and the rest of their unit spent nearly every moment together.
Shlomo sneered with a nod and flipped him an obscene gesture with his right hand, but then quickly hid it. Yesterday, the commander had caught him doing that and had sent them all running for two kilometers. Then last night, just to make sure the lesson would be remembered, he had woken Shlomo up at 3 am to do several sets of gravel pushups. His hands would be raw and bruised for the next week (at least).
After almost a month, the loudmouths in their platoon were starting to shape up. Or at least hide it better – like Shlomo. He'd play their games, but Shai figured he was determined not to be broken.
Nidal entered his quarters and immediately locked the door behind him. After settling in, he opened his laptop and activated the secure satellite connection.
After the connection was established, he checked his communiqués. There was nothing new. He muttered a curse under his breath and checked again. Still nothing.
He leaned forward and then sent his client a message indicating his preparations were finished and that he was awaiting further instructions. And then he sat back and waited for their response. His client was usually very prompt.
Though he was originally from one of the small villages near Amman, he did not consider himself to be a Jordanian, nor an Arab, for that matter. In fact, he didn't think of himself as being a citizen of any country, though he could certainly pass for one in any of the countries in the Middle East.
He had been recruited by the PLO in his mid-teens while the group had still been allowed in Jordan, before King Abdullah had banished them for good. He had moved with many of them to Lebanon, where he had then learned most of the skills of his trade. When the Israelis and the Southern Lebanese Army finally gained the upper hand, he decided to cut all ties with the PLO and work for himself. And in the Middle East, his line of work was always in high demand.
A flicker on the screen caught his attention and he glanced up. His client had responded even faster than usual.
"Commencement in nine days unless otherwise instructed. Will send final authorization before then."
Nidal closed the window and deactivated the connection. The operation was still on, just as he'd figured. He felt a momentary pang of sympathy for the King of Jordan and the Royal family. Abdullah was a good man, but business was business.
He would have preferred not to have taken this assignment, but the money was just too good. Besides, the King and his advisers should have known the precarious circumstances they were in, especially with the Iranian reaction to the latest peace treaty.
Jordan was just too close to Israel these days. There were times when even he had difficulty seeing the King as being a true Arab. He seemed to be acting more Jewish than anything else lately.
As the king of an Arab country in the center of the Middle East, Abdullah should have known better than to make alliances with their sworn enemies.
Ruth stepped off the bus with Rina following right behind her. They had sat next to each other on the bus and talked nearly all the way from Haifa to Jerusalem, just over 100 kilometers. The three buses had left from their school immediately after attendance had been taken. This was their first field trip to Jerusalem, though both had been to the Old City several times before with their families.
As they had entered the western suburbs of Jerusalem, their home-room teacher repeated her instructions for how she expected them to conduct themselves at the Museum, and to pair up in groups of two to four people and then when and where to meet after the tour was finished.
Ruth had never been to Yad Vashem before and wondered what she would feel. The rest of her family had visited it in the past, though not all together. Her brothers had toured it in school and Ahban had again while in the service, and she presumed that her parents had when they were younger.
Leaving the parking lot, Ruth noted the verse from the Tanakh etched in block letters upon the entrance to the memorial complex. It was one of those her teacher had assigned for them to write down, so she pulled out her phone and took a picture of it.
"I will put my breath into you and you shall live again, and I will set you upon your own soil... (Ezekiel 37:14)
She figured she might as well use her camera-phone while she could, because her instructors had emphasized several times that cameras were not allowed in the museum. The students had also been asked to find out the origin of the name of the Yad Vashem Holocaust Museum, but she had already found that from a quick Internet search the day before:
"And to them will I give in my house and within my walls a memorial and a name (a 'yad vashem')... that shall not be cut off." (Isaiah 56:5)
Ruth turned and snapped a couple of pictures of the Visitor's Entrance and the tall arrow-shaped building behind it. The mid-morning sun gleamed off the metallic sides of the memorial; she tried to capture it with her camera, but there was too much glare.
"Come on, Ruth – they're going in! I don't want to be at the back of the group!" Rina exclaimed impatiently.
"I'm coming!" Ruth replied and hurried to catch up to her friend. That was one of their few differences: Rina hated to be last, while Ruth couldn't care less.
Their class was already filing into the main entrance, with the instructor waving them through, counting them as they passed by. Ruth and Rina caught up to them quickly and were able to settle in at about the middle of the class.
The instructor told them to gather as a group just inside the entrance, where they would then start their tour with one of the guides. There were three buses with about forty students each.
Their first stop on the tour was at the Garden of the Righteous Among the Nations, which was the memorial dedicated to the Gentiles who had helped save or otherwise assist the Jews during the Holocaust. Most of the 'righteous' were honored with plaques, while others had trees planted in their names to commemorate their sacrifice and courage.
While there at Mount Herzl, they stopped at the graves of Theodore Herzl, the founder of the Zionist movement over a century ago, and also at the tomb of Yitzhak Rabin. Ruth had been born a few years after Rabin had been assassinated, but she had heard her parents mention him every so often, usually with regret. The assassination of Rabin after the Oslo Accords had left a deep wound in the heart of the nation that had never completely healed.
As they entered the narrow hall that led to the Galleries, sunlight streamed down from the skylights in the narrow roof, where the two walls angled sharply upwards to meet at the top. Rina offered her a set of headphones, which were being passed out by one of the museum attendants just outside the first exhibit, but she declined.
Yad Vashem was designed to chronologically show visitors the vibrant Jewish world as it had existed throughout Europe in the early Twentieth Century, and then chronicle the spread of anti-Semitism throughout the continent, culminating in the rise of the Third Reich, the ghettos, and then the Holocaust.
The tour wound back and forth from one side of the narrow, naturally-lit hall to the other, giving the visitors the feeling of trudging through a camp, and seeing the persecution and horrors inflicted upon the Jewish people grow worse and worse.
As they toured the first few exhibits, Ruth began feeling uncomfortable and wasn't quite sure how she would feel as they continued onward. She just couldn't comprehend so many intelligent, educated people becoming so brainwashed and cruel to others, just because they were different. Just because they were Jews. She just couldn't imagine it.
They continued walking through the Galleries, where the visitors grew more somber as they walked further down the hall. Rina was listening to the audio-tour on her headphones, and Ruth noticed that she almost began crying once or twice.
Nearly two-thirds of the way through, Ruth stopped by a display of aging items that had been saved and preserved for the exhibit. They were an assortment of shoes, both of adults and children of various sizes. One of the smallest shoes caught her eye – it was a single, solitary baby shoe with a long crack on the front.
Suddenly, the grief welled up within her as the horror of the tour became overwhelming. Tears began streaming down her cheeks and she bowed her head. Though she had known it before, the shoe had made it all-too-real to her: the Nazi's hadn't even spared the babies.
And in that moment, the brutal reality of the Holocaust struck her. These shoes, these clothes, these books, and all the other items in these exhibits had belonged to real people at one time, and everything – even their very lives – had been torn away from them.
She just couldn't comprehend what had been done to her own people, let alone begin to understand it. It was just too much to take in all at once.
Then she thought of their recent evacuation to the bunkers only last week and the dozens of missiles that had rained down upon them. Were the Arabs and Islamic terrorists trying to repeat the same events that had taken place in Europe?
Why did everyone seem to hate the Jews?
Naomi heard Ruth come down the stairs and she looked up from setting the dinner table. Her daughter walked in and greeted her as she checked what was being prepared (not that she had much choice in the matter).
"So, how was your field trip today?" Naomi asked.
Ruth shrugged. "It was okay, I guess. The bus ride was long, but we had fun and it went by quickly."
"Did you get to sit next to Rina?"
"Yeah – that's why it was fun!" she laughed.
"What about the memorial tour – how did that go?"
From her hesitation in replying, Naomi knew her daughter well enough to see that she didn't quite know what to say.
Ruth shrugged her shoulders again and watched as her mother finished setting the table.
"It was alright, but very sad. Most of us were quiet on the way home, at least at first. I liked the Hall of Names, and the Children's Memorial was interesting, but it felt – I don't know – I can't describe it."