Heroes, Palestinian and Israeli, were made from their lies that day. Israel honored its fallen soldiers and decorated Itamar for killing two Palestinians. Haj Ayman could hold his head high in the country now because his sons had chosen the righteous path of resistance and died martyrs. People came to pay their respects and honor his fallen sons. The community’s blessings lessened the pain of watching Israel demolish his home and make of him a homeless old man.

Israel wreaked havoc throughout Palestine and needed a live suspect to show for the massive destruction they inflicted on thousands of innocent Palestinians. The authorities always suspected Bilal, because he’d disappeared overnight and later emerged as a leader in exile. But someone had to pay. The day after Mhammad was tried and sentenced, the military demolished Bilal’s home too.

“I had no idea,” I said.

“This isn’t the house we grew up in,” he said. “When my father died, my paternal uncles took our inheritance. We were just kids. Our mother was illiterate and trusting. She signed some things, or possibly they forged documents. They took as much as they could. But we kept our childhood home, the orchards, and the rest of the land. We couldn’t do much with it. It cost more to hold on to it, but selling was unthinkable. We managed as best we could. My mother’s younger brother, our uncle who lived in Chile with a Chilean wife, sent us money every month to help out. When Israel demolished our house, he deeded his and my mother’s childhood home to her. He had plenty in Chile and wasn’t ever coming back. He just asked us to let his children live there if ever they visited, or, if Palestine was liberated in their lifetime, to let them return if they wanted.”

Mosquitoes were starting to bite. I wanted to go inside, but feared interrupting Bilal. I endured the bugs while we watched the serenity of a tired sun ignite the sky and paint the hillside with a palette of reds, oranges, and yellows. “How did they catch Mhammad?”

“They found a repair-shop receipt with his name on it at the scene. When they arrested him, he denied being there, of course. His precious Tamara didn’t back him up, though. He said he didn’t recognize the Arab, that he only remembered two attackers, but possibly there had been a third. Then Israel tortured some little Palestinian boys into confessing that they had seen Mhammad with Haj Ayman’s boys that day.”

Bilal closed his eyes with a sigh, perhaps remembering his boy-hood when the military had tortured him too.

“I don’t think Mhammad and Itamar ever intended for him to go to prison. All the blame was to fall on Haj Ayman’s boys. But they hadn’t counted on that receipt at the scene.”