3017

JANUARY 29, ‘25 // Bin Laden remained silent, and Ishmael finally looked up. He was surprised to see that bin Laden looked kind and gentle, despite this revelation about Ishmael’s background. He felt reassured and was able to go on. “I don’t remember much about my childhood. I only recall that my father’s name was Rachamim, and my mother, Naomi.” “Do you remember your Jewish name?” bin Laden softly asked. “Yes. My Jewish name was Yechezkel, and I had a younger brother named Yosef. Everyone in my family was killed when we tried to escape Iran. Our helicopter crashed. The evil Americans shot it down for no reason,” he hissed. Bin Laden clearly appreciated this outburst of hatred. “Tell me about your escape,” he pressed him. “How do you know the Americans downed the helicopter?” “I remember, when we were flying in the helicopter, the pilot started shouting. He said the Americans were shooting at us. He tried to avoid them, but they must have managed to shoot us down.” Ishmael paused and took a deep breath. He was re-experiencing the pain. “A few days after the crash, the man who rescued me brought me to the spot where the helicopter had been shot down. There was nothing there. We could see signs of the fire and of the crash, but the helicopter itself was gone.” Ishmael had relived these memories every day for the last twenty years. He was able to make it through those difficult first days in training and the hours of harsh, endless practice and exercises because he was obsessed with the thought that he was preparing himself to avenge the death of his family. “I started looking through the sand,” Ishmael continued. “The man who had rescued me helped me in my search.” Ishmael closed his eyes, trying to picture the events of two decades ago. “I hoped I would find some souvenir of my family, but the only thing I found was a piece of metal about the size of the top of a tin can. I thought the metal belonged to the helicopter, and I would keep it as a memento of my dead family. The man who rescued me, however, grabbed the metal away from me. ‘That’s not from the helicopter,’ he explained. He pointed to a symbol in the center. It was the insignia of the American Air Force. ‘That metal must have belonged to the missile that shot down the helicopter,’ he explained. “I dropped the piece of metal as though it was burning my fingertips. I did not want to see it again. To me, that piece of metal symbolized the murderers. Ever since that day, I have hated America.” “How old were you then?” “I was just eight years old,” Ishmael said softly. “And how old are you now?” “Twenty-eight.” “How did you find our organization?” bin Laden asked, his eyes clearly sympathetic. “The man who rescued me was a member. I think he was already associated with al Qaeda when he first met me. His connection deepened while I was living in his house and he influenced me to join.” Ishmael’s eyes glowed with fiery zeal. “I hope some day that the organization will send me to fight America.” Bin Laden suddenly became very serious. “Your hopes will be realized. I am choosing you to be Allah’s messenger, to fight against the Americans. Yes, I will be able to assist you in revenging your family’s death.” Ishmael fell to bin Laden’s feet. “Please help me take revenge against the Americans,” he begged, tears coursing down his face. Ishmael fell to bin Laden’s feet. “Please help me take revenge against the Americans,” he begged, tears coursing down his face. 188

RkJQdWJsaXNoZXIy MTY1MDA0