In the morning, the fourth day of Hanuka, I felt much, much better. Dr. Murphy told me that he had received the special permit from the king that any rescue mission by sea or air might land to take me home, and that the king was informing all the island patrols.
“Thank you so much for you trouble,” I replied. “Tell me, please, do you have a telephone?”
“No, there are no telephone lines on the island. I’m sorry.”
“So you don’t have internet, either?”
“What is internet? Anyway, we have everything we need. Life is better without them.”
I was not going to argue with my kind and generous host.
“Tell me, Dr. Murphy, how may I help you? I’m feeling much better and my wounds have almost healed. It would be my honor and privilege to help you and your family in some way.”
No, no, you are our honored guest. It’s fine.”
“Please permit me to help you – I would consider it an honor and a privilege.”
“All right, then, if you insist. My son, Ḥassan, is building an extension to his home. Maybe you’d like to help him? I’ll walk you over and introduce you.”
I readily agreed.
We walked a few minutes to Ḥassan Murphy’s. He was busy spreading cement over a low row of stones.
“My friend, Tal, insists on coming to help you. Tal, meet Ḥassan, Ḥassan, meet Tal.”
“Insharafna – happy to meet you,” and Ḥassan took my hand in both of his.
Dr. Murphy left me with Ḥassan.
“Look, after I’ve spread cement on the stone, you can place another stone on top of it, like this…” and he showed me exactly how to place what would be the next row of stones.
A lanky teenager was pouring a sand-colored substance into the cement machine. Ḥassan introduced me to Abd-el-Raḥman, his son.
At lunch-time, Ḥassan’s wife, in a long, white robe edged with blue embroidery and ḥijab in the same shade of blue, brought pita, olives, houmous and salad for us and we sat on the stone wall to eat.
“Saḥtein W’hana – how do you say that in English? Bon Appetit!” and she turned towards the door of her home.
We worked until dusk and heard the muezzin’s chants in the nearby mosque at noon, in the early afternoon and again at sundown.
Ḥassan accompanied me back to his parents’ home and as we walked I suggested that I come again to help him the next day, if I hadn’t been rescued yet – and the chances seemed slim. He happily agreed: the work went so much faster with my help. We paused after we finished each layer of stone, seeing our progress before our eyes. He knocked on his parents’ front door. Dr. Murphy opened it and gave his son a bear-hug.
“How’s it going, son?”
Ḥassan beamed at his father. “Good! Very good. Tal’s coming to me tomorrow, too.”
I realized they were talking in English for my benefit, and I appreciated their courtesy.
Ḥassan returned to his home and Dr. Murphy led me to the dining room. “Tonight, we have another special Arabic dish: s’fiḥa – you’ll like it!”
S’fiḥa turned out to be thin slices of vegetables and fried onions wrapped in flaky dough and baked.
As we sat around the table eating, Dr. Murphy said, “Usually, s’fiḥa is made with meat too, but since I am vegetarian, my wife cooks it without.” He turned a loving glance to his wife. “It’s good, right?”
“Yes, it’s really delicious!” Thank you Siti, for such delicious food.”
After we had finished eating, Siti turned to me, “Last night you lit four lights, so tonight you light five, right?”
I nodded, “Yes, that’s right.”
“Come upstairs to the roof.”
We all followed Siti to the roof where a row of five metal cups filled with olive oil with wicks floating on metal rings were ready to be lit.
“Please,” she said, handing me the box of matches.
I held the box in my hand as I recited the blessings before I struck the match. I didn’t want to burden my unstinting hosts with asking them to provide me with a shamash as well and felt it might be rude to ask them how many metal cups they had.
Dr. Murphy, Siti and the two grandchildren stood silently as I blessed and lit the wicks. Again I said “Hanerot Hallalu…” by heart and sang “Ma’oz Tzur;” tonight, to my astonishment, Dr. Murphy sang along with me.
As we stood gazing at the five slightly flickering flames, I said, half to myself half to my hosts, “Is it possible that these Hanuka lights will be a sign to someone, somewhere, that a Jew is on this island and needs to return to his country and his people?” I couldn’t use the word, “rescued” because the whole Murphy family were so friendly, warm and supportive. But a guest must not overstay his welcome….
“Wake up well,” I said to Dr. Murphy, Siti and the children when we came back into the house. I wanted to go to sleep early in order to get up early to go and help Ḥassan again early in the morning.
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