On the Hills of God. Ibrahim Fawal

      Ustaz Hakim looked at the blackboard, found it full of algebraic formulae from the previous class, then admonished Yousif with a look for having neglected one of his duties as a prefect. Yousif started to get up, but the teacher motioned for him to keep his seat.

      He cleaned the blackboard meticulously. Then he opened the window to dust off the eraser on the outside wall.

      “This morning,” he began, “I intend to depart from our text and speak on the crisis at hand.”

      The students breathed satisfaction and seemed eager to hear him out.

      “The Manchurian War of 1905 is good to know about,” ustaz Hakim said, “but the UN resolution to partition Palestine is more urgent, more relevant. It’s imperative that you should be well-informed.”

      Silence filled the room.

      “If you read the newspapers and listen to the news,” the ustaz added, sitting on the edge of his desk and wiping his hands off with his handkerchief, “you’d know that the situation here in Palestine is rapidly deteriorating. Both sides are stubbornly opposed to a compromise, and the world’s attempted help seems to be nothing but an irresponsible meddling that will help hasten the eruption.”

      The students cleared the tops of their desks, folded their arms, and sat soaking up every word uttered by their favorite ustaz.

      “Because man has not yet learned how to live with his fellow man,” ustaz Hakim continued, “wars are usually expected to occur, but the world never knows when or where. The Arab-Zionist clash is different.”

      “How different?” Yousif asked.

      “As soon as the partition plan was passed,” the teacher explained, “the whole world knew not only that war was going to happen, but the exact day. That day is steadily approaching and no one is able to stop it.”

      “The UN could’ve stopped it last Friday when it passed that damn resolution,” Amin blurted.

      “Watch your language,” the teacher said.

      “I’m sorry,” Amin apologized.

      “But you’re right,” ustaz Hakim agreed. “The UN could’ve, but it didn’t. And now we have to deal with a new set of realities. I predict the war will start one minute after the British officially pull out of Palestine and thereby end their thirty-year mandate. This they have repeatedly promised to do. According to the UN resolution, they must leave not later than next August. That’s only nine months from now. And for once the Arabs and the Zionists agree that that promise isn’t going to be broken like so many promises before. The historic moment, then, will take place at midnight when the British leave and the Zionists create their Jewish state in a land owned and inhabited overwhelmingly by Arabs. Ever since 1917, when Britain—”

      Mustapha interrupted. “How did the British get involved? What I don’t understand is why they’re here in the first place.”

      Ustaz Hakim waited for a signal from the class to see if the rest wanted him to go that far back. Several students agreed with Mustapha; they, too, didn’t know.

      “Well,” Ustaz Hakim said, seemingly shifting gears. “I’ll tell you, but remind me, Mustapha, to drop your ‘B’ to a ‘C’ for the course. You do well on world history but you don’t know your own.”

      “It’s not my fault,” Mustapha protested.

      The fog descending outside the window caught the teacher’s eyes. He stared at it, trying to sort out his thoughts. “I presume you all know,” he began, “that at one time the Arabs ruled most of the known world—from Asia in the east to Spain in the west—from the seventh century till the end of the fifteenth. Their empire-building began with the Prophet Muhammad, who in the seventh century led his followers and gave spark to the most brilliant series of conquests the world had ever seen.”

      Although Yousif was a Christian Arab, he was proud of all Arab history, even when it was dominated by Islam. Like most Christian Arabs, he considered himself Arab first and Christian second. He had been raised to believe that the Arabs of old were heroes, giants, supermen. And he had the highest admiration for their accomplishments. Sitting in class now, he wondered if the spirit of old would return and save the day for his generation.

      “The Arab Empire, which reached its zenith around the tenth century A. D., was the center of civilization,” ustaz Hakim continued. “Knowledge in every field flourished as never before. All history books will attest to that. But then the empire began to collapse. It was too big, too fat; both rulers and citizens grew apathetic, corrupt. It crumbled. Like everything else in life, it had a beginning, a middle, and an end. The end came in 1492—the same year Columbus discovered America—when the Arabs were finally driven out of Spain.”

      Yousif raised his hand and waited for the teacher’s permission to speak.

      “Didn’t Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain expel the Jews too?” Yousif asked.

      “You’re right, Yousif,” ustaz Hakim added, smiling. “Ferdinand and Isabella did throw the Jews out. But that’s another story—really. It has to do with how abominably the West has always treated the Jews. The West, mind you—not the Arabs. The truth is, the Jews never fared better than they did under the Arabs, in Spain or anywhere else. In Spain they actually flourished, and more than a few rose to the highest ranks of government.”

      “Some of them became wazirs,” Mustapha said. “Isn’t that true?”

      “That’s true,” the teacher said. “But to get back to the events that led directly to the current crisis, let me say this: by the year 1492, when the Arabs were expelled from Spain, the Ottoman Empire—with its seat of power in Constantinople, Turkey—was rising. Soon it was able to occupy most of the Arab world and to dominate it for four hundred years.”

      Here, Yousif thought, was a chance for Ustaz Hakim to answer a question that had always nagged him.

      “How did that happen?” Yousif asked. “It seems incredible that those who ruled the world for eight hundred years would fall apart so quickly. Why didn’t they revolt? Didn’t they crave freedom?”

      Ustaz Hakim got off the table and walked to the window. “That’s still another story. But don’t ever forget that the Ottomans were the worst thing that could’ve happened to us or to any people. They were unenlightened to say the least. Whereas the Arabs spread knowledge and light wherever they went—look at the advances they made in medicine, astronomy, philosophy, algebra, architecture, poetry—the Ottomans did the very opposite. They ruled by setting libraries on fire, closing schools, spreading fear, and creating an atmosphere of darkness and terror.”

      He slid his watch with the silver elastic band off his wrist and began to wind it. “Around the turn of this century, when the Ottoman Empire was reaching its end, it allied itself with Germany for security reasons. At the same time, Britain and France were eyeing it with interest—wanting to carve it up for themselves. That’s when the British sent in an inconspicuous little officer who was stationed in Cairo. This fellow knew archaeology and some Arabic. He tried to interest the Arabs in revolting against the Turks and helping the Allies—Britain and France—win the upcoming war against the Axis—Turkey and Germany. That was around 1915. The war to come was, of course, World War I. The officer was T. E. Lawrence, better known as Lawrence of Arabia.”

      “Well, then,” Yousif said, “did we help the Allies because we hated the Turks? Or was there more to it than that?”

      “We did it because we hated the Turks and loved what the British promised,” the ustaz said, again sitting on the edge of his desk, his hands under him. “We sacrificed thousands of men because the British dangled before us the promise of freedom and independence. They told Sharif Hussein—spiritual leader of Mecca and the father of Jordan’s present King Abdullah—that if he would rally his people to fight on the side of the Allies against the Turks, he would be rewarded at the end of the war by being crowned king and having all the Arabs in the Middle East free and united under