The Disinherited. Ibrahim Fawal

you didn’t witness the killing, how did you come to know the details?”

      “The Stern Gang claimed responsibility and bragged about it that same night on their underground radio. They meant it as a warning to any Jew who might harbor any sympathy with an Arab.”

      Yousif nodded knowingly. “My mother used to tell me that in Jerusalem, where she was born, new immigrants always discouraged Jews from mixing with so-called ‘natives.’ But I’ve never heard of Jews killing Jews.”

      “Your mother was talking about the 1920s. I’m talking about 1948. Things became a lot rougher. Jews killed Jews in Iraq to force them to leave and fight in the upcoming war. And to settle in the land of milk and honey.”

      After a long pause, Hanna added: “Our experiences qualify us to be legitimate members in Basim’s Amana,” Hanna said.

      “Our Amana,” Yousif said.

      “I stand corrected.”

      Hanna bought a pack of cigarettes from a young refugee with a badly damaged eye, perhaps from a sniper’s bullet. His tray of trinkets was strapped around his neck. They lit their cigarettes and jostled their way through the crowd in silence. When they were about to go their separate ways, they looked at each other, their eyes full of gloom.