MEC-A-1-S-XXX

S C E N E (XXX)

بيروت

KARBALA, 680 ce

“You like your hopeless losing battles? You want to get killed fighting for nothing? You get off on all that hopeless shit,” Yelizaveta once mocked him, mocks him still. “You always have.”

On the way back the Jew stops to have some deep thoughts with a cigarette and look at the sea near the Raoche; the Pigeon Rocks that rise out of the sea. The Corniche continues to hustle and bustle with all faces of Beirut. Sometimes you must fight a lost, if not unwinnable battle. That is basic Shi’a philosophy. But not so alien to the Jews either.

The Battle of Karbala stands as a defining moment in Islamic history, a tragic and pivotal event that has reverberated through the centuries, shaping the beliefs and practices of millions of Muslims around the world. It unfolded on the arid plains of Karbala, in present-day Iraq, on the 10th day of Muharram, in the year 61 AH (October 10, 680 CE). At its heart lay a struggle for power and legitimacy within the nascent Muslim community, following the death of the Prophet Muhammad. The conflict pitted the forces of Yazid I, the Umayyad caliph, against a small band of followers led by Imam Husayn ibn Ali, the grandson of the Prophet and the son of Imam Ali and Fatimah, Muhammad’s daughter.

Imam Husayn, revered by Shia Muslims as the third Imam and a symbol of resistance against tyranny, had refused to pledge allegiance to Yazid, whom he saw as a corrupt and unjust ruler. Instead, he chose to confront Yazid’s forces head-on, even though he was vastly outnumbered, and his followers were suffering from thirst and deprivation due to a siege imposed by Yazid’s army.

On the fateful Day of Ashura, the 10th day of Muharram, the two sides clashed on the battlefield of Karbala. Imam Husayn and his companions, numbering around 72, faced off against a much larger army of several thousand soldiers. Despite their valiant efforts and unwavering resolve, the forces of Imam Husayn were gradually overwhelmed by the sheer numbers and military might of Yazid’s army.

The battle was marked by “acts of extraordinary courage and sacrifice on both sides”. Imam Husayn’s companions fought fiercely to defend their leader and uphold the principles of justice and righteousness. One by one, they fell on the battlefield, martyred in defense of their faith and beliefs. In the chaos and carnage, Imam Husayn emerged as a beacon of resilience and steadfastness. Despite knowing that he faced certain death, he refused to compromise his principles or bow to tyranny. With his family and companions by his side, he stood firm in the face of overwhelming odds, embodying the highest ideals of sacrifice and martyrdom.

The Battle of Karbala then culminated in a most brutal massacre, with Imam Husayn and his followers slain on the battlefield. Their bodies were left to lie unburied for several days, a stark reminder of the brutality and inhumanity of war. Yet, despite the tragic outcome, the legacy of Karbala endures as a powerful symbol of resistance, courage, and unwavering faith. For Shia Muslims, the martyrdom of Imam Husayn is commemorated each year during the month of Muharram, as they mourn his death and honor his sacrifice through rituals of mourning and remembrance. The lessons of Karbala continue to resonate across generations, inspiring believers to stand up against oppression and injustice, and to uphold the values of truth, justice, and righteousness.

On the 10th of October, 680 CE Husayn ibn Ali picked a battle he would certainly lose. The battle of Karbala⁷⁰ pitted about 70 fighters and family members of the grandson of the prophet Muhammed Husayn against 30,000 soldiers loyal to the pretender to the Umayyad Caliph Yazid I. Or, maybe, depending on what side you believe Sunni or Shiite; Husayn led an ill-prepared uprising to die for absolutely nothing important in an illegal insurrection. That interpretation of the alleged usurpation is the root of the schism of Sunni and Shiites today; who did the Prophet Muhammed intend to have led his movement? The Shi’a believe in the blood line and say it is through his son in law Ali, and through Ali’s children Hassan and Husayn the prophet’s grandchildren, or righteously guided califs. The Umayyad Caliph Yazid that sent his army to massacre the prophet’s family and then paraded the survivors though the streets are today accepted by 85% of the Muslims; the Sunni. For many centuries Sunni rulers zealously persecuted the Shi’a.

The Shi’a, however, zealously follow the bloodline of the prophet, venerating the martyred Husayn and his last stand at Karbala. His band of companions (including many blood relatives of the Prophet Muhammed) were slaughtered with him in the dunes of Karbala and the female survivors were force marched, humiliated, and tortured. The surviving women and children were paraded and stoned on the way to Damascus. The centrality of Ali and his blood line is rejected by the Sunni. This is 85% of all Muslims. The Sunni rejects this whole story as adventurism and the Shi’a make it the most central event of the religion just second to Muhammed’s sayings and doings (Hadith). From his bloodline come a lineage of Imams; and the Shi’a (the second biggest branch of Islam) follow 12 of these Imams. They venerate those from the profit’s line the Sayyids.

The Shi’a rule only in true majority in the nation of Iran. Iran became Shi’a around 400 years ago and today following the revolution of 1979 is a Shi’a Theocracy. They have significant plural majorities in Azerbaijan and Iraq. Following the American invasion of Iraq the Shi’a dominate the central and south of the country. The Shi’a have large plural majorities in Yemen, Bahrain, and Lebanon. They found are in significant numbers in Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, and Syria. Today, there is only one Shi’a State and that is Iran, and it takes on the role Israel takes for Jews; a safe haven and protector for its Confession.

Some might say the Jew did not care whether he lived or died, as long as one or both were glorious. Others might say he was “squandering his blessings all the time” and insulting his Yahweh even being out here.

Why would you deliberately go somewhere you might die? Why fight a battle that is inevitably going to be a disaster. And unlike the venerable Husayn ibn Ali, there was nothing riding on his participation in this plot until he fully brought himself to ignore how loved he was by little Karessa back in New York City. How under the normal trajectory of events he might have good comfortable American life as a paramedic or later still as a lawyer. Yet that was not true because his investment in the plot we have not yet fully revealed was quite extensive. It was as if Bashir wrote one phrase in Arabic, and he wrote another one in Hebrew and they invited many others to check the plot points, copy edit the manuscripts, distribute the pamphlets; and sign the declaration of a war to the death.

***

Little Karessa Abe is the Secretary General of the movement in New York. She is probably the second most important leader right after her boyfriend/ partner the President Sebastian Adonaev. She lays out the newspaper, runs the cadence of social media, designs all the flyers and graphics, and keeps peoples’ male ego from flying off the handle. Which in turn has kept the group alive for about 4 years. All of 4 and a half feet tall the little Philippina was the fourth person to join a group that now was now over 1,800 EMS workers. Karessa begged him not to go to Beirut and cried and begged and cried and begged that he does not leave on this journey. But she did not understand the depth of the plot.

Probably none, or all but none of his many ambulance comrades understand the degree to which the Jew is a Jew before he is a New Yorker, a paramedic, or a future lawyer. They do not understand the sheer loyalty he has to his people, his blood, his promised land. Because he has not made that known in the nine years since his return from Heller near Boston.

Now, of course the Jew is not a Shiite and his knowledge of the battle of Karbala is primitive and highly limited, but perhaps he can gleam some truth from the basic idea. It was not ever about a victory, inevitable or possible; it was truly more about a bloody statement being made with one’s life that future generations would not be able to ignore. He felt in his heart that Israel and Palestine were on the very brink of total self-destruction. The body count was rising every day in Gaza, and it was only a matter of time before Israel turned North to Lebanon. Which would then suck Iran, Syria, America, and Russia into direct confrontation. Was this different than the Isis Wars of 2014-2018? In some regard it was. The Islamic State was an enemy of all people that would not submit to the Wahabi Salafist vision they carved out. Israel has over 200 nuclear weapons and Iran has 5. The daily rocket fire between Israel and Hezbollah is limited. It is choreographed. But the closer Israel and Hezbollah get to another full-blown war the clock tick faster.

“We just want an excuse to drop an electromagnetic pulse over Tehran and send them back to the Stone Age,” Marty was always fond of reminding him. This was in fact it seems Marty’s top policy recommendation on the strife in the region.

***

On the way back, the Jew stops to have some cigarette and look again at the beautiful blue sea meet the beautiful blue skies. The Corniche continues to hustle and bustle with all faces of Beirut. Everyone doing their best to avoid Syrian gypsy tricks. Women in Iranian Chadors, women in miniskirts; modern and the deeply oriental feeling all are taking a long walk in time of great uncertainty. Some are swimming in the sun and dashing for cover in the hard rain. What strange weather. Like it cannot decide what kind of weather patten to be. Like it cannot decide what kind of country to be as well.

I am standing there when a burly red bearded Shi’a comes up to me. Right on time. They told him to meet near Pigeon Rocks in the derelict restaurant cafe with its windows bashed in from last year’s rioting and protesting.

“I am called Majid Mousli Al Sury,” he says, “welcome to Lebanon.”

“Thank you,” the Jew replies, “I am a called Sebastian Robertovivh al-Newyorki.”

“You look like you’ve been here before,” Majid says.

“Yes, I come every year. At least in my mind.”

“Judging from your suit you must be the Jew of Beirut.”

“That is me.”

“Well, what’s the story this year?”

“I’m looking for a woman.”

“The Jew is always looking for a woman, you think with your, you know, you people like to fuck all the time.”

“Everyone likes to fuck all the time.”

“So, what’s the new part of the story besides you’re looking for a woman?”

“I’m looking for two women actually.”

“Your decadence should show no sign of abatement in light of our squalor!”

“Majid, I’m looking for a way to liberate Palestine.”

“Well, isn’t everyone!”

“Well, I’m looking for a way to empty the 12 camps and create a movement to march right down into the Galilee with everyone; and invade the State of Israel before they can invade you.”

“Have you spoken directly with Hezbollah?”

“Not yet directly. My two partners will in town in a few days.”

“There’s a lot of jurisdictions you’d have to override to move all those Palestinians across everyone’s turf. No one wants those people running amuck freely. They are confined to camps for good reason.”

“What reason is that?”

“Palestinians are troublemakers, everyone knows that.”

“What let you know I’m the Jew of Beirut?”

“I saw you on social media speaking about Zuckerberg’s aquarium. I guess you’re not working low key this year.”

“The CIA will throw my girlfriend out of a plane over the Atlantic if I don’t do what I’m supposed to do.”

“What are you supposed to do?”

“I can’t tell you everything on the first date my friend.”

“But I thought the Jew of Beirut never works for agencies.”

“The CIA wants Israel “re-destabilized”. And they have my girlfriend, so I’m following the orders to the letter this time around.”

“Why does the CIA want Israel restabilized?”

“Antisemites have taken over? Who knows.”

“I don’t think it’s as simple as that. No one hates Jews because they are Jews, people hate Jews for interfering in world events.”

“I think the war in Gaza is dragging and they want to suck in Iran before it’s too late.”

“So, you think the CIA wants to bring us World War three then?”

“I think Hezbollah and Iran have an aggrandized version of themselves if they think they are enough to kick off a World War Three.”

“What about Russia?”

“We are already fighting Russia in Ukraine.”

“Well Hezbollah is not Hamas. No paper tiger. You upset things at the border and a real war might break out, not this Palestinians in a barrel stuff like in Gaza.”

“Enough fun and games you Shiite tricker,” says the Jew, “what say the Party.”

“So, the Party says they are open minded to this plan your Hareekat has come up with as long as you really think the magic is gonna work.”

“Magic, eh?”

“Yes, a Jew magic. They can get you permission to open camp doors and lend you tons of trucks for a southern migration, but they can’t use purple blue smoke to block out Israeli drones and can’t really stop a massacre when you try and cross. The Revolutionary Guards are optimistic that you have brought serious magic this time, being, shall we say a little compelled.”

“The CIA wants chaos on the border, not an all-out World War three. If we keep that in mind all the better.”

“They say you people serve no one but your own plan.”

“Were my girlfriend not a hostage, that would usually be mostly true. Though the more you come to know me, you will see that my plan is not based on ethno-nations, land rights, or the great will of the long unseen.”

“What if your plan has very negative effects for the people of Lebanon? What if we are putting all our trust in the wrong Palestinians and Jews?”

“Then I couldn’t be doing any worse than the combined weight of all your parties and politicians. When the ground shakes in Jerusalem it shakes also in Beirut”

And that was still mostly true. The money was mostly valueless. No one had a good job at all. The Southern border seemed just a few more missile strikes away from World War Three. Iran was trying to take over the country, the Maronites were plotting with the Israelis again. Tourism was a wash. The weather was being more weird than usual; what’s the worst this Jew could do?

“What can you do with this magic of yours that has so impressed the Palestinians, Iranians, and Kurds to sheishbeish with you?”

“They think I can bring back the dead. They think I can turn water into wine. They think I can stop time and rearrange bullets. You all are protecting the blood line of Muhammed, but my people are capable of just as much.”

“So, you think you’re an Isa?”

“Not an Isa, just a Jew from New York Grad, backed into the corner by his government, with nothing left to lose.”

“You people are dangerous. You have wild ideas about your capabilities, about everyone’s dependance on your prophesies and God.”

“I don’t need them to vouch for me. I know my powers.”

“Fine, then let’s rob a bank on Christmas. Show us you’re Lebanese now. Show us you’re the Jew of Beirut, not the Jew of the CIA or Mossad.”

“You get the getaway car, pick the beneficiaries in al Dibaya and I’ll show you something special for the Christ Mass.”

“Yalla.”

“Let me ask you a question bro?” he says to me, “is it true that 50% of America’s billionaires are Jewish?”

“It is more like 8%. Only about 25% of the richest Americans on the Forbes list are Jewish. Jews are 1-2% of the American population. So, I think you are exaggerating the numbers a little friend.”

“Why are your people so powerful over there. Christians hate you all. Thy think you killed their Messiah. You think you are safer on the Christian side, but they hate you more than we do.”

“Why are allegedly running America? I don’t know if we are. We made ourselves very useful over there. Because Jews have been bred and raised to be entrepreneurial for thousands of years. They were barred from owning land, from trade guilds, from professions. All we could do was be money lenders, peddlers, and merchants. The dumb ones were either killed in pogroms, or the Holocaust, or they were very poor and had only one or two kids. The smart ones prospered and had more kids. Jewish tradition always emphasized the importance of “the book”, study and learning, and getting a good education. So there was a bit of evolution whereby Jews ended up having a disproportionate number of their people good at business. Also, since we were the last to be hired and the first to be fired, we lean towards being independent. Which meant owning our own business. It’s easier to get rich if you own your own business.”

“I cannot believe anyone is trusting you people to be part of this plan.”

“Unless it was all our plan all along,” I continue, “Since we Jews suffered so much in pogroms, slaughters of Jews at the hands of Muslims, Christians, etc., we became somewhat immune to ordinary reactions to risk. If taking on a risky investment didn’t mean that you were going to be killed, we weren’t scared. So, Jews were attracted to riskier newer fields of business activity. We invented Hollywood and the searchability of the internet, i.e. all stored information. We invented smart phones and sophisticated weapons. It’s risky to make a movie or build a rocket. We took the risk. It used to be very risky to develop real estate, putting up big bucks before you knew if it was going to rent and you wouldn’t get caught in a slump, or by higher interest rates by the time you finished your buildings. We took the risk. Jews are disproportionately represented in business that pay off bigtime, such as hedge funds. There’s high risk, high reward in hedge funds. Jews are disproportionately represented in the successful poker players. Where else: high tech Software. Google and Facebook and Oracle are all Jewish owned. Tech pays off bigtime, but it does have high risk.”

“I knew all of this stuff Mr. Jew of Beirut; I am just pressing your buttons.”

“We like to talk. We like to tell people about ourselves.”

“Everyone knows that you are big talkers. Will you be buying any land here should this whole operation not blow up in your Jew face?”

“A little. Jews are also overrepresented in real estate development. You get big payoffs because it is highly leveraged by way of mortgages. So, you get a very big bang for your buck. I’m not sure if I’ve had enough fun yet here to start buying up your property.”

Majid Mousli Al Sury chuckles.

“They said you were a big shot from New York Grad; you’re not such a bad guy. I will make a good report about you to my people.”

“What does your Amal say about this operation?”

“Amal does not belong to anyone buy the working people. Those who strive and struggle.”

“What is you read on what Amal might say about all this, in the name of the working man?”

“That you will get many Palestinians needlessly killed, if not fully massacred at the border. That it might kick off World War Three, and we are not fully sure why we are trusting Kurds and Jews to begin with.”

“What does Hezbollah say?”

“That they don’t know if they trust a traitor.”

“I’m no fucking traitor. When this done Israel will be right where we found it, just with easier borders to cross.”

“As you say!”

“Have you read any of Yousef Bashir’s work?”

“I’ll be honest, we trust Palestinians as little as we trust Druze, Kurds, Christians and Jews.”

“This plan will work. It’s an exceptionally good plan.”

“As you claim. Studies by non-Jewish sociologists and psychologists on global intelligence found that the highest IQ among humans on the planet were: 1) Ashkenazi Jews from Eastern Europe; and 2) South Koreans. I however as a Syrian, think we Syrians are clever too. Right not 2 million of my country people have settled here in Lebanon. We will not leave. I am very aware of what your American backed YPG has done in Syria, is doing in Syria. I may not have the so-called highest IQ to invent Marxism, Freudian analysis, the Atom Bomb! What great things! But I do know we Syrian will come out on top.”

“But high IQ isn’t enough. It’s the motivation, creativity, fear of persecution, that are factors that create the overrepresentation of Jews among billionaires. Among the drivers of change. I personally feel that it’s also a matter of attitude and belief. Because of the Torah, and the unique relationship between Jews and God, I feel that we Jews believe that they have a destiny in the world. It is to survive, thrive, and to heal the world (“Tikkun Olam”).

Majid Mousli Al Sury chuckles.

“Whatever you say to feel valuable! To survive in this world today takes money. To thrive certainly does. To heal the world takes money too. Jews are overrepresented in philanthropy. Well so are the Shi’a. Accordingly, Jews feel that they have a high probability of succeeding. Well so do we. They are also, historically, a “stiff-necked people”, stubborn. That means that they persist. They don’t quit. So, Jews start a business, and they stubbornly persist until it’s successful, partly because they feel that they have a destiny of success which is mandated by a higher power. Is that true Jew of Beirut, Abu Yazan?”

“I will persist until the operation is successfully carried out.”

“I think sometimes we underestimate your people, but Amal does not, and Hezbollah does not. Things are bad now. Any day it could all explode far worse than any time before. Our missiles will rain down on Tel Aviv and Haifa. Your people will have no peace.”

Majid Mousli Al Sury hands Sebastian a Cedar.

Sebastian says, “The late evangelical pastor Robert Schuller, of Hour of Power and Crystal Cathedral fame, once asked: “What could you accomplish if you knew you could not fail!”. I think that that applies to a certain extent to we Jews. Our expectation to succeed helps make that a self-fulfilling prophecy.

“So, CIA will kill your girlfriend if you help us, will kill your whole family, will take away your citizenship, end your whole ass American dream?”

“Something like that. Something along those sorts of lines.”

“I have always wanted to go to Newyorkgrad. It looks like a great place. Tons of fun opportunities. After the Operation you think I can get a VISA?”

“Depends on lot of factors.”

“Such as?”

“Does Iran have a nuclear weapon for instance? How close can we get it to Jerusalem without being intercepted, tortured, or killed? How many people will the Israelis kill at the border during the distraction? Do I have magic powers, advanced spy weapons, or am I just bluffing you all and just fucking out of my mind.”

“I think you have some powers. Being smart alone would not be enough to get you this far. Still might get you tortured though.”

October 22, 2025 0

MEC-A-1-S-XXIII

S C E N E (XXIII)

مطار رفيق الحريري الدولي

BEIRUT, RAFIC HARIRI INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, 2024-ce

***

Nestled along the azure shores of the Mediterranean Sea, Beirut-Rafic Hariri International Airport stands as a bustling hub of activity, welcoming travelers from around the globe to the vibrant city of Beirut and the enchanting landscapes of Lebanon. It is named after the popular Sunni President the Syrians allegedly murdered. It is usually one of the very first things to be blown apart in an Israeli invasion. That’s has not happened since 2006 but has happened enough times to make it predictable. Why there isn’t more international outcry, oh wait there is, and the United States ignores it. Although Israel is capable of some independent foreign policy prerogatives; telling is the concept of the 5 Eyes + I; the U.S., U.K., Australia, New Zealand, and Canada sharing signals intelligence in collaboration with Israel. Is Israel a Jewish Military Colony of the United States? Are its interests ever separate from its major donor? Most assume not. The correct analysis is hard to make. Are Jews such a useful part of America, they get such influence as to prop up their colony? Or is it much more complicated; where the worth of the colony is that of outlying multi-ethnic Middle East intelligence base? What they do with their Palestinians is far more humane than what Lebanon does with theirs. As you approach the airport, the gleaming terminal buildings rise from the coastal plain like modern-day palaces, their sleek glass facades reflecting the brilliance of the departing sun. Palm trees sway gently in the breeze, adding a touch of tropical elegance to the bustling scene.

Inside the terminal, a symphony of sounds and sights unfolds, as travelers from all walks of life converge upon this crossroads of the Middle East. The air is alive with the hum of conversation in a myriad of languages, mingling with the clatter of luggage wheels and the chime of departure announcements. At this moment, the traffic is youth home for the holidays. Thousands studying in Europe and America defying the travel warnings out of familial love and patriotism. Dropping into English but mostly using French to talk about Bourgeoise nothing. But that is subjective. Passengers move with purpose through the cavernous halls, their eyes alight with the excitement of adventure and rediscovery. Families bid tearful hellos to loved ones, while a small cadre of business travelers rush to catch their next flight, briefcases in hand. Yet amidst the hustle and bustle, there is a sense of warmth and hospitality that permeates the air. Airport staff greet travelers with genuine smiles and friendly welcomes, offering assistance and guidance to ensure a smooth journey. And an even smoother welcome home. The background noise; that no airline is flying into the country besides national carrier Middle East Airways. The background noise, like Israel might invade soon. It’s all kept in the background behind a terrific enthusiasm to be back in Lebanon.

As you make your way through the terminal, you cannot help but be captivated by the diverse array of shops and restaurants that line the concourses. From high-end boutiques displaying the latest in fashion and luxury goods to cozy cafes serving up fragrant Lebanese coffee and delectable pastries, there is something for everyone to enjoy. But the most enchanting aspect of Beirut-Rafic Hariri International Airport is its panoramic views of the Mediterranean Sea. As you gaze out through the expansive windows, you are treated to breathtaking vistas of sparkling blue waters stretching out to the horizon, dotted with sailboats and fishing vessels.

As the sun sets over the sea, casting a golden glow over the terminal, you can’t help but feel a sense of awe and wonder at the beauty of this magical place. And as you board your flight, bidding farewell to Paris and London, you carry with you memories of a country that is not just a gateway to the Middle East, but a destination in its own right—a place where the spirit of hospitality and the allure of adventure come together to create an unforgettable experience. And in the background the disconnection that is four hours south is the front.

***

Middle East Airways carrier touches down in Beirut around 8 pm. The airport is like a vast illuminated shopping mall; everything is shiny and new. It doesn’t take me more than half an hour to get through customs, collect my only other bag, and try to find Ali who is holding my name on a sign. There he is. Well, that was all really easy. This airport is almost empty.

Ali the Shiite cab driver picked up the Jew from the airport and brought him to the Biophilia Lofts, which were not exactly the most bang for one’s buck possible in Beirut. A City well known for hundreds of glamorous hotels; this was not that. Ali gives him a Ceder cigarette and declares “we will be friends forever!” There’s something in the air. That something is called dread.

“Nestled within the bustling metropolis of Achrafieh, East Beirut, amidst the concrete jungle and bustling streets, lies a hidden gem: Biophilia Lofts. Here, amidst the chaos of city life, a sanctuary of serenity awaits, where nature and urban living converge in perfect harmony.” That is what the internet description says.

We take the M-51 Freeway North cutting through the Shiite South of the City. As you approach these Biophilia Lofts, you are greeted by a striking facade, adorned with living greenery cascading down the sides of the building like a verdant waterfall. The air is alive with the sounds of birdsong and the gentle rustle of leaves, a stark contrast to the cacophony of the city beyond, downhill, moving back to the West. “Step inside, and you are transported into a world of natural beauty and modern elegance. The interior spaces are bathed in soft, natural light, filtering in through floor-to-ceiling windows that offer panoramic views of the city skyline and the shimmering waters of the Mediterranean Sea beyond.” Absolutely, none of that is true. “Each loft is a masterpiece of design, blending sleek, contemporary architecture with elements of biophilic design. Living green walls breathe life into the space, while natural materials such as wood and stone create a sense of warmth and tranquility.” If they say so.

“But it is not just the aesthetics that set Biophilia Lofts apart; it is the ethos that underpins every aspect of the development. Here, sustainability is not just a buzzword; it is a way of life. Solar panels line the rooftop, providing clean, renewable energy to power the building, while rainwater harvesting systems ensure that every drop is put to effective use.” But the most unique feature of Biophilia Lofts is its rooftop garden oasis. Here, residents can escape the hustle and bustle of the city below and reconnect with nature in a lush, green paradise. Stroll along winding pathways lined with native plants and flowers or unwind in a shaded alcove beneath the canopy of a towering tree. Bathe in the moonlight! As the sun sets over Beirut and the West, city lights begin to twinkle in the distance, first a fast highway, then parkways up hills. “There is a sense of peace and tranquility that washes over Biophilia Lofts. Here, amidst the chaos of urban life, residents find solace in the embrace of nature, and a new way of living takes root—one that is in harmony with the world around us.”

Ali does not say very much, because he does not actually speak Angliski. I ride shotgun, we smoke some Cedar dark blues and listen to Fayrouz on the radio, how pleasant. “We are now friends perhaps for life,” he tells me!

***

The hotel is a series of still being renovated lofts in an old warehouse. It is like renting a very small studio for $250 a night and it came with absolutely nothing except a lot of privacy and some boutique soap. There is no concierge or any security. You can just walk inside and walk upstairs. The elevator at least had a pass card. But the stairs certainly did not. And how much privacy anyway does your money buy in a place like this? There is no actual address on the building. It’s a warehouse-looking building on the corner of Alexander Pharmacy near the Spinney Supermarket. No actual building number, no door man, no locking front door. No door on the front door really. It honestly was like someone created bohemian loft studios in a broken-down old warehouse; that’s supposedly in the “good part of town”. Achrafieh is the highpoint of the city in East Beirut. Had he not paid $875 up front moving the whole show over to Smallville seemed totally logical. This place didn’t come with any fucking thing besides whispering Ferns hanging above the bed. Was this a slip away to fuck, or did he just have to worst room in the whole place? No, it was a place to slip away for sure. The room isn’t bad at all. It’s clean, the door locks, the bed is comfortable, what more does one need?

“Well, it’s the high point of the city! Christian Achrafieh! There’s holiday energy in the air, in the distance one can hear what is perhaps Christmas caroling in French.”

There is now another Ali, “the night manager”; spindly aged by war, he helps me with my bag. He sizes up the Jew. There is a general manager named Jennyfer who lives down the hall, aloof and slightly bizarre in her looks and movements. Maybe he makes them all nervous. He barely sees her face for 1 minute during check in. So much for the allegedly famous Lebanese hospitality thus so far.

“Tonight, you’re the only guest in the hotel,” Miss Jennyfer tells him, “But tomorrow we have a totally full house! Welcome to Beirut for the holidays.”

The safehouse has one elevator you need a key to operate, the doors are clunky, and the Jew must take a few practice runs to get the key in. There’s a light skinned African maid, maybe Eritrean. The room is clean and upscale; it has “biophilia-like elements”. The Ferns really do whisper at you all night. What are they trying to say? They say, “move your ass over to Smallville or Royal Tulip!” This place has weird voodoo.”

Miss Jennyfer mentions something about payment later in the week because she doesn’t have the cashpoint machine which reads foreign credit cards. She doesn’t look him in the eyes. She might be a pretty and a partly bleached blonde, but the interaction doesn’t go on that long to form any real opinions. It happens so fast Sebastian would be unable to say what she did or didn’t come across like. And it doesn’t matter if he’s paying for the room not the adjacent experiences.

I unpack my two bags. Another man named Ali, a third one, shows him how to smoke out the hotel window. Opens it up for him. This Ali also has war or prison tattoos on his arms including the Zulfaqar split sword of the Shi’a.

I can see right into his neighbors’ apartments across the street when he pulls away the black out curtain. Nothing about the Christian quarter looks very modern besides the supermarket. The supermarket Spinneys looks just like any Western modern supermarket. The rest of it, on first impression looks like a Christian foot hold, dare he use the word “Ghetto”. I pass out on the big, comfortable king-sized bed. I see I have a missed call from Bashir and another from his Vice President Yaelle D’Arrigo. But sleep is the cousin of rest, or death. In my dreams, I fuck her to the beat of fireworks going off. In real life, I would never dare to even ask her out on a date. Just an operationally focused coffee.

***

ADONAEV

“I wake up in Biophilia lofts on the fourth floor to the rustling of the Ferns directly above me. This place is neither particularly bohemian nor truly fancy. But I am paying 4 stars to sleep here. $250 a night is hardly a deal. You can stay at most hotels in East Beirut for $100. The Muslim West Beirut, Ras Beirut a lot less in general, except that is where all the really 5 star looking hotels seem to be. But he is not here to fuck around this time.”

The Ferns are whispering that I could have selected a far better safe house. The Ferns never lie. Marty would be upset by the whole damn thing. Marty would be telling me I really am about to blow my foot off on this little undertaking. Or get forced disappeared. Marty never likes my travel plans. Never approves of anything that involves any level of trusting an Arab with anything. He’d disapproved of the Syria job in 2017, barely made it out alive on that, and he disapproved of this even more.

“In Syria at least you knew who your enemies were.” Knew every other pothole was a mine. At least there you kept your dick in your pants, and didn’t walk anywhere you hadn’t seen another man walk. Beirut is different. She will lure you in and take you alive.’

October 7th had made all the Jews a little fucking crazy, perhaps more blood thirsty than we ever usually are. The State of Israel has one real mandate, and that mandate isn’t really a “Jewish State”; it’s a state that can protect Jews and the ball was dropped. Like it had never been dropped before.

I have a text message from Yaelle, my “Vice President in New York”. She is saying something about “Night of the North ”; an event they’re all going to be speaking at; an ambulance driver unity type club night. Being organized by Lt. David Cook, who may or may not mean us well. Who may or may not have his own agenda for helping us out. But everything about New York Grad has melted away and all that is left; the goal of the mission; the objectives for being here. Moving cautiously step by step. With no back up really to speak of.

“Absolutely no one is coming to get you if they don’t even know where you are,” Yaelle had told him, “Please keep your geotracker on all the time.” But it doesn’t work anywhere and there isn’t Wi-Fi.

I wonder how many weeks it will take for them to implode the whole otriad in my absence. I trust that Yaelle is a tough cookie, and some people helping her are smart. Like my girlfriend Karessa Abe, “the General Secretary”. But I don’t think I really trust “my Treasurer” Big Mike Combs or know why Lt. Cook is really helping us. I think everyone in the ambulance service is bit crazy. Individualistic; primarily tribal. I am unable to play well with others for long periods of time. Whether fighting amongst themselves counts, the group is held together with duct tape. Big Mike Combs hasn’t done one useful or helpful thing in a year and he’s right under Yaelle in the chain of command. More than a year! And others in leadership are the same. Just plain doing nothing without my special brand of leadership pushing, dragging them all along. Dragging us forward. And they often resent me for it. Yet la lucha goes on. Just barely it goes on. I decided to take this “job” because I have come to care very little about my life in New York Grad. I have decided to take this “job” because I would, and can, lay down my life for change. That makes me a zealot, not an operator. It makes me of course not a tourist. It changes one’s perspective on acceptable risks. You might just say you move completely differently and take far more risks. In that you don’t perceive them, or think you are immune from them. Or think you will come back.

“You’re a local! You are a natural! If you die, you’ll come right back.”

Now lest you just think the Jew of Beirut is a total mad man, who talks to ghosts, talks to the moon, and talks to possibly dead ex; the Ferns don’t talk as much as hum, and a whole array of dangling Ferns do hang above the bed. It’s part of the so-called “Biophilia Motif”. To put you in touch with nature. The architecture or design that connects you with nature or other living things. I should move my ass to a real hotel over on the Muslim side, thinks the Jew; his handlers all have biases he doesn’t share. Marty hates Iranians and doesn’t trust Arabs. Souheil doesn’t trust Muslims of any stripe. Bashir doesn’t trust Shiites. Marcy trusts everyone in her own naive hippy way. Yaelle doesn’t know a Sunni from a Shiite, doesn’t know the plan. Not even one letter of the plan. What would little Karessa Abe say, “You told me Shi’a are the good guys!”

I look around the room and see a big glass shower box and a very small TV. An empty mini bar. No ice. Huge black out curtain windows. How did I get here? Why am I doing this again? This is such a bad idea to be flying so far out with no back up. How did I end up thinking this was a good safe house and not just ‘rent out a hotel and hope for the best’.

ADONAEV

“But you are going to rent hotels, two more to be precise. With each Lira you spend and each place you show face; you are doing your little part. Tourism, the war kept behind the mountains.”

“No one cares about your comings and goings here.” The whole city sits in a daze between paralysis and endless party time. No one is expecting you or looking for you. You’re just a tourist, maybe the only tourist here. You are a ghost.

I’m very-very jet-lagged. That is for sure. I remember not sleeping very well in the Paris safe house, so called safe house, in the gray. Staying up too late talking to that young anarchist Luka about things that don’t really matter in Rojava. He’s at an age where he wants to go fight for the revolution somewhere, anywhere. He’s getting arrested in Parisian Street demonstrations. He probably has to go see the revolution and sit around waiting to kill people before they kill you. Council communism in languages you really don’t speak. He probably has to learn that a revolution is bloody, not magic, not transformative. He must see the light go out from some one’s eyes, choking them to death. With his own hands before he grows out of whatever the left is peddling these days. Anyway, the Jew hadn’t slept in Paris and its fucking with his motivation.

“Your main target is either the Guest or the Host,” who said that to me? Aren’t I “the guest” capable of hosting? Which handler or adviser said that to me? Yes, who said something crazy like that, say the Ferns all at once as he lies in the bed. Get your shit together Man, get some real sleep! says Yaelle in his head. “You’re a fucking tourist act like a tourist and don’t get into unscripted shit no one needs you to do. Don’t make us look bad.”

“Take a deep breath and remember the face of G-d”, Bashir once told him. God has no face, he has no hands, he has no actual gender, he is all knowing and all seeing; he is beneficent and merciful and has written a destiny for you, for us all”. Bashir is no zealot; a wife and kid does that to you; even for a Hamas sympathizer he still has too many real-world attachments; such as a wife and newly born son. Yet, the new Palestinian Nelson Mandella will be here in seven days’ time. Whatever he believes in, he also believes in destiny.

I think it was Marty; it might have been Marcy. Gruff old war weathered Marty. Marty was a retired spook, maybe. Which agency didn’t matter. A cigar smoking Israeli who didn’t even think I should be here in Beirut, not now, not ever. It wasn’t him that put the zealous ideas in my head. With his stories of melting dismembered Fatahniks in bathtubs, or “the impending EMP attack on Tehran”. No night with Marty was over without a threat, or the impending threat to send Iran back to the Neolithic age.

“The place is one big Jew death trap,” Marty warned him. “Every single conversation could just about get you tortured or killed for what? For nothing.”

Marty is a slowly dying, proud old man with war stories to offload. Ashkenazim can live for 120 years. His world was the old world. A world where Zionism meant hope and freedom, at least to him. Was he also bitter? No one could tell. He lives well. Clinging to all the things he isn’t allowed to say, ready for the bombs to fall on Tehran. Telling the same old anecdote about “they need to love their kids more than they want to kill our kids.” Telling stories about meeting Golda Meir and Yasser Arafat.

“Well, if you’re going to be there anyway boychik, maybe you could do a job for your people,” Marty told him right before. “The Guest or the Host could die, either one. Whoever you can get closer to. Only if it’s supernatural looking. No air strikes inside the City right now.”

No one at all anywhere actually thought the Jew should be in Beirut for any reason at all. No one besides Bashir had given him any good rope to work with besides maybe Suheil; but Suheil Tajer gave him tourist rope and Bashir had a whole city plan. Well, it was both their plan, wasn’t it, but without Bashir and the Lion’s Den it could never work. It also probably will not work unless the Israelis invade Lebanon, which could happen any day now. That would make all the factions desperate. Every day Hezbollah fired a few rockets at Israel and Israel fired a few back; and Gaza was now again hell on earth. The body count could get as high as 50,000-100,000 by the time it was all wrapped up. Maybe even more. From the Otriad, no back up except Kaveh Ashuri and an Austrian woman named Karen Gruber, coming in near New Years. He didn’t count on Bashir in the same way, not in the make it our alive same way. Marcy says this is all “destiny”. Hezbollah was firing dozens of rockets a day into Northern Israel from Southern Lebanon and that too might end very poorly. Thats what Marcy had said.

Marcy is some kind of Jewish witch. A sorceress friend of his mother. Maybe “shaman” is the right word. A tricky fourth dimensional scam artist?” She often hypothesized about the “end of times”, or “beginning of a new time”. She often hypnotized the Jew, at least several times and helped him see certain things. And that’s why, or should I say where, the Jew of Beirut turned for advice; to a retired spy, and a Witch descended from Adam Luria, the Rabbi who wrote the Shulhan Arukh. And the gentleman Trader of course. But the Jew was working with and for Yousef Bashir. Working for the cause of Middle East Confederalism. Even now ten years on he remembers the words of Bashir at the 5th Congress in Western Massachusetts woods;

“The territory is just too small, too small for the lives and aspirations of 16 million Judeans and Palestinians; it is as small as it is all illegitimate. The borders of the Middle East are shaped by Sykes-Picot not us; the answer is not one state, two state; it is to birth a Middle East Confederation that stretches from the Maghreb to the Indus River; and delivers us all from warfare fueled by the foreign power after the resources under our sands.”

Bashir and Adoneav wrote that together in the Heller School and then spent ten years laying the groundwork that would soon be tested.

Marty ultimately said, “you probably won’t make it out in one piece”, and Marcy said it was “fulfillment of my destiny” to be there. Not just my destiny, but perhaps a pivotal moment in a spiritual journey I was bound to undertake. A celestial pivot point.”

“Whatever you do, please don’t go to their newly renovated synagogue,” little Karessa Abe had told him.

“Why would I poke my head in there?”

“Because you’re a tourist, not a terrorist, you gotta take pictures of stuff, you gotta go on sightseeing tours. And ask dumb questions about history. But don’t go see the new synagogue please. No one needs to really know you’re a Jew. Why run that in anyone’s face. Why test them?” The trouble is, the Jew isn’t just dumb, he’s dundunbanza; and he doesn’t like taking pictures of things. He likes living a free life. Which often means doing whatever he feels like, if it doesn’t trample the rights of others. A key ideological element of the Abdullah Ocalan “Free Life” concept is that “it is better to live every day as a free person and meet the end when it arrives, then live a very long life like a slave”. Back in Newyorkgrad there was a suicide each month in the ambulance service. Back in Newyorkgrad your bank account was empty or near empty each time you paid the stupid motherfucking evil Jew rent.

Yousef Bashir once said, “If you do this job with us your bank account will never be empty, and you will have friends all over the world.”

Well, if that wasn’t a valuable preposition, whatever it would be more than enough to try and keep going. To keep sticking to a well-made plan. None of that matters to the Jew. So, there was a 1-day layover of sleepless agony in Paris, and it was there that he realized this was probably it; he was probably not ever coming back. He spoke by satellite phone with not Marty the possible spy, or Marcy the shaman, Witch whatever. He lights up a Cedar smoke and dials up Yousef Bashir, his old friend from the Strip called Gaza.

ADONAEV

What’s a Jack knife to a swan?

(Went the words of code from a song by the Mighty Mighty Bosstones)

YOUSEF BASHIR

What’s a hero to a hooligan not afraid to cross the line? Good to hear from you, glad you arrived safely.

ADONAEV

I hate airplanes. Everything about them.

BASHIR

How’s the hotel?

ADONAEV

It’s fine. I’m gonna rent another one tomorrow. I don’t like the energy on the Christian side.

BASHIR

Well don’t get kidnapped.

ADONAEV

How’s your son doing?

BASHIR

Fatherhood is very time-consuming. But extremely rewarding.

ADONAEV

That is what I hear.

BASHIR

You need to go to an address in District Chiya. In the southern suburbs, Al Dahiya. I’ll provide it to you. See an old, trusted friend of ours from Graduate school. I’ll message you on Telegram with a phone number to call. It’s a Tea House right next to Shatila Camp where I’m sending you. Here you’ll find people to help us. Ask for ‘the Host’. I’ll be in Beirut in seven days, Kaveh is coming sooner.

ADONAEV

I hope this all works out.

BASHIR

Why would this not work out? Do not have any useless Jewish doubts. We have the numbers; we have the will. The Party is with us! No doubts needed! You are the best man we have for this job.

ADONAEV

I’ll do my best.

BASHIR

You need better than your absolute best to pull this off. You need something extra special. But the pieces are all in place man. So, just stick to the plan, and all will be okay. Everyone is ready, and you, my Judean Friend, are the tip of the spear. You use that Jew magic for Allah, and everyone will be your ally. We have spoken about this for years. This is the only way forward. So do not get kidnapped!

ADONAEV

I will do my very best, Allahu Akbar my old friend.

BASHIR

You stay alive man, and I will be there quite soon. Go recruit some local talent, you are always such a people person. Everyone you meet will be willing to help us; I can feel it. The people are with us! Allah is with us! Every one of our many comrades is with us! We will not fail this time. Yalla⁵⁴.

September 29, 2025 0

MEC-Act-I-S-I

S C E N E (I)

بيروت

BEIRUT, 2024ce

***

“Let me begin by saying that the Jew of Beirut is kind!”

So, if anyone ever accused this man of madness, hijackings, robbery, or vice, or immoral acts of cavorting with criminals and whores, all would be fast to say, it is not true. That is not this man! And, they would say, “Go throughout our city asking questions because this man came to us at a tough and strange time with a giving of his whole self.” He employed, deployed his whole heart and naked soul and opened his pockets on the streets of Beirut for us to see into him. He was in some ways the finest of his kind, in other ways, a crude foreigner, but he was indeed filled with “old soul” and we saw what he said and did; clearly. Well, he has loveable madness.

They say here, that “the Roots of the Righteous will grow like a cedar in Lebanon” and he did immediately. He flourished, he wilted, and he died three whole times in just forty days for us, to impress us; or almost impress us. Or just to impress upon us that his soul is an old soul, his roots, are from here. Or at least next door.

The Jew of Beirut has a name of course and that name is Sebastian Adonaev. His Kunya is “Abu Yazan,” because at some time during the Isis Wars, he took on the name of the illegitimate half-Druze son of his ex-romantic partner Polina Mazaeva. He also has a Kurdish name if you can even believe such robust internationalism: Kawa Zivistan; the blacksmith of winter; from his time serving in the YPG¹⁴. A Kurdish militia he served with in Syria. But we trusted and mostly still trust him. Though not completely with marrying our daughters, unless of course, he converts to Islam or Christianity depending which faction he wants to marry into. He is not wealthy or internationally famous to marry a Druze. Even if he were, we would all trust him even less, and kind of frown on those kinds of unions. Those people think they all come back, that makes them a little fancy if you ask around.

As we tried and recalled the speed of it all in an existential moment, he fell out of the sky into our laps and eventually hearts. Yet, this man was coming to know us, in our hardest times since the civil conflict. He sought to know not only about our current dire straits, but our epic past and a possible, yet improbable glorious future! He was not pursuing “unique experiences” instead he pursued a life he did not get to lead, at least not yet. An old saying of Kahil Gibran: “If I was not born Lebanese, I would have pursued it!”

The Jew of Beirut is a paramedic by trade. Which means at least he is good with his hands when it matters the most. Existing somewhere between a doctor and a bandit. That causes him to want to help anyone and everyone all at once, as well as have an eye for certain details. And so, he encountered us too, as a partly trained lawyer and a full-blown poet, a partisan commander of sorts in his left labor movement, a painter and a life lover; a hustler, a lover, a wide talker; in multilingualism so basically already in a sense fully Lebanese!? No, of course not, but he exudes the energy we have in us as a people surely. A laugh in the face of terrible odds, a free life with style.

They say the Jews are a people with no roots, a drifting trickster people. But as his tribe is known for, he tried to make himself valuable. And valuable we would certainly later declare him to be. A real Bonafide “Middle Eastern gentleman;” “one of us.” Though which faction could claim him?

No one knows precisely how many Jews are left in Lebanon. Maybe ten, maybe forty, maybe just one. But they are certainly one of eighteen classified and protected identities. So, all of them are welcome here in some form! If they are not part of a Zionist invader plot. Preferably if they convert to any of the 17 other confessions before marrying anyone. That would be preferred.

They say, “he is writing something about us.” Trying to translate some shall we call it Eastern-Western-Middle Eastern poetry? Something about a “confederation from the Maghreb to the Indus”; talk of a noble mad man.

When they finally arrested the Jew wandering around the working-class Shi’a neighborhood called Chiya he did not know where he was, did not even know what he was. He certainly did not have any “so-called EMT program” in mind at that point.

“A promising idea for a vacation was somewhere with a beach, and they do not hate Americans openly and do not want to immediately kill Jews. A bad idea is a place where just being you makes you a threat to a potentially considerable number of the natives, to several of the population; where being you could get you in trouble. Troubles such as when a citizen patrol stops you and an off-duty cop puts you in handcuffs. And natives are going in pockets for papers.”

“You’re making us look bad!” Yells Yaelle D’Arrigo in his head. Yaelle is his “new Vice President back in the States” and his voice of reason and constraint out here via a portable. Her role as “acting President” while he travels to Lebanon speaks to who he thinks he can trust, and “Sicilian Puerto Rican also Israeli” Yaelle D’Arrigo is stone cold tough, she had been in the service and he mostly trusts her instincts. But she cannot help him now.

They cuff him from the front, which means they don’t really think he’s an actual threat and they go in his pockets and take out his wallet which sort of proves he’s a well-meaning tourist and not an ill meaning spy; since the wallet confirms he’s a paramedic from the city of New York, and an American not an Israeli.

“Is he drunk?” the off-duty cop asks in French.

“I cannot believe you got arrested already,” says Yaelle in his head, “In Chiya of all places. Making our team look terrible!”

“Why are you here?” the off-duty cop asks. A small crowd had formed, “why are you here in Beirut?!”

“You’re making us look bad,” says Yaelle in his head. Then there is another voice inside his head, where it comes from and who it speaks for no one knows yet:

“If you want to save Yaelle’s life you have to ROAR! KUJUCHAGULIA! and throw this law man across the very pavement; and beat his fucking ass!” Then: “do something really extra fucking crazy so they have to tie you to a chair and disregard you, long enough to escape”, says a voice in his head.

“That is if you want Yaelle to live, if you do not care about the lives of your friends then just go quietly. They are gonna throw little Karessa of a plane with no parachute and splatter her on Martyr Square.” And then you fight your way through the unbreathing gloom!

In his head he wonders if everyone here is just an actor, gathered at dusk, watching him in hand cuffs. He is in one of those sensitivity training villages like in Jordan filled with actors playing Arab civilians. A teaching movement. The off-duty cop slaps him, “Why are you knocking on people’s doors man!”

In Chiya, Beirut the Shiite part of town. He sees a mental of the CIA pushing his little Asian girlfriend Karessa Abe out a plane cargo for and she explodes on the ground of Martyr Square like a red pasta coconut. Of course he does not want anything to happen to his friends.

He yells” “!KUJICHAGULIA!” And throws all his weight at the off-duty copper knocking them both on the ground then he takes off running down the poorly paved street, unlit boulevard howling into the night.

“You’re definitely making us look bad!” shouts big breasted Yaelle in his head.

“Why are you going to Beirut!” Karessa cried the night he left. She begged him not to go. She knew it was potentially a one-way trip. As he runs through the Beirut night, still in cuffs down the unlit streets of Chiya, all he can think about, all he can picture is that there are different layers to the world, and he is crossing over into an uncharted realm. As if, as if, in this world of layers you could take a deep breath, and drop yourself into a subverted reality, a whole other plane of being. And in the movement, in the passing through to the other side if you retained your perspective, you could learn something, even teach something to people that see and live in only one reality of their own creation. And it was if, almost if, you could look into the very eyes of G-d.

***

Yousef Bashir arrives in Beirut and checks into the seedy, but not ever dirty Lancaster Hotel in Raouche, Beirut right on the Corniche.

Why did he pick that hotel; it has good sized bathtubs, a working generator, tubs with warm water and truly minimal security. No working lobby or hall cameras. And it is close to the 3 camps they will liberate, or, open up first.

Back in 2013 Sebastian gave a lift to Yousef Bashir in a white Honda civic. It was a small courtesy but also a chance to engage. It was fall and the two of them were in graduate school. Yousef, to author the greatest defense of Palestinian statehood so far written as essay, pamphlet, and film, and Sebastian to redeem Zionism by shedding its ethnic particularism and focusing on its tactics applied to wider humanity. Yousef was shot in the chest as a boy by the IDF, saved at Hadassa Hospital and went to Seeds of Peace Summer programs, but you will never forget who shot you in the chest. Sebastian had discovered a Jewish identity through the Holocaust and had later traveled to Palestine and Israel 5 times, the second one to work on a Palestinian Ambulance, the fifth time to be arrested and deported for having too many Arab friends.

When they met at Brandeis it was neither the first rodeo, small talking, and big plotting with the imagined enemy. Yousef considered Sebastian incredibly unique in that he despised the Israeli Oligarchy with the same venom as Bashir despised the occupation, but both arrived in the end at a plan.

It was not big enough to cut up Palestine, hardly bigger than 2 hours across and 8 top to bottom. There was no room to divide a single Dunham. They instead should look across the region and question the validity of any of the borders. Was not Jordan 70% Palestinian, therefore also Palestine? Was Egypt Unable to part with Sinai? Were Lebanon and Syria still whole states? Why not then have all of them as one Confederation; that was all Grad school taught either of them.

An old Palestinian saying, “Patience in a catastrophe. If someone displaces you. Pushes all your people off their lands. Ruins your homeland and renames it in a foreign script. Coverts olive fields into a citadel of war. Put your people in camps and cages. Then shoots you in the chest like a child. You never forgive and you never forget them, how much you hate them, even if they put your ass back together from bones and ash. You wait. Wait nine generations if you must. Then you murder their child in front of them. You make them fear you more than they have the will to cling to your soil. As long as that all takes.”

“Are you talking about my people or your people,” Sebastian once asked him.

“I am talking about my people,” Bashir replies.

“But it takes more than two people to dance in a circle.”

July 20, 2025 0