Abductedi n Y e m e n

Recap:

Avraham Sharabi’s employee, Mustafa Garidi, ferrets out the information he seeks. Yonason and Yosef Sharabi inform him that they plan to escape Sana’a in just a few days, after the week of shivah. They must escape to evade the soldiers who are legally permitted to kidnap orphaned children and force them to accept Islam as their religion. Mustafa hurries to Sheikh Abdullah to share the information he gleaned.

Mustafa’s eyes sparkled with excitement. He knew that his dreams of grandeur would soon be actualized.

“My dear Sheikh Abdullah,” he said. “According to the Orphans’ Decree, you may capture Jewish orphans and raise them as one of our own!”

“Did you think I was unaware of that?” Abdullah asked, quivering with impatience. “Yemenite law flows in my veins, Garidi! I don’t recall a request for legal counsel!”

Mustafa was not one to be intimidated, especially with his goal so close at hand. His crooked smile relayed confidence and self-assurance.

“Give me a moment of your precious time,” he requested. “You will soon understand why the Orphans’ Decree is so relevant to your future.”

The sheikh’s glamourous sitting room was shrouded in silence. There were no children to disturb the calm. There were no pattering footsteps or stifled laughter to soften the edges of this regal, forbidding home.

“Sheikh Abdullah, there are three young orphans hiding out in the Jewish Quarter,” Mustafa said. “A girl who has recently celebrated her ninth birthday,

and six-year-old twin boys. At the moment, their status is still unknown to the upper echelons. The government has not laid claim to these three youngsters.”

The sheikh smiled: a cold, cruel smile that did not bode well for the innocent Sharabi children.

“Orphans, you say?” he asked.

“Jewish orphans,” Mustafa emphasized. “They’re yours, if you want them.”

“I see,” Sheikh Abdullah nodded. “You believe that one of the twins would do well as my son.”

Mustafa smiled broadly. “Yes, Your Honor! The boys are intelligent, charming, and exceedingly well-mannered. They have a quick grasp and they will bring much honor to your family.”

The sheikh was pleased. He slipped two gold coins into Mustafa’s hand, taking pleasure in the man’s delight.

“You said that their family name is Sharabi, correct?” Sheikh Abdullah verified.

“Yes,” said Mustafa. “They live in the center of the Jewish Quarter. I suggest that you postpone the abduction until tomorrow at dawn, when the streets will be silent and empty.”

The sheikh did not take kindly to his suggestion. “Ridiculous!” he thundered. “My soldiers are not afraid of Yahudim! Let those lowly Yahudim see the power of true Muslims!”

Mustafa Garidi allowed himself to be escorted outside. His feelings were in turmoil. He was pleased that he had provided Sheikh Abdullah with a promising lead. The sheikh would be eternally grateful, especially if this nugget of information would prove itself worthwhile. This was Mustafa’s

ticket to fame and glory.

But what have I done?! Mustafa fretted. I betrayed my kind employer who trusts me implicitly! I betrayed his innocent young children! What will be the fate of the little boy whom Sheikh Abdullah will adopt as his own?

Mustafa firmly quashed his feelings of guilt and regret. “It’s in their best interests!” he said aloud. “The captured Sharabi child will be raised amid riches and grandeur. He will be a prince—a Yemenite prince of the highest caliber! In the future, he will inherit the sheikh’s title and riches. He will be free to pursue his heart’s desires, without the shadows of persecutions that his forebears have always endured!”

Thus calmed, Mustafa hurried home. He did not want to see the sheikh and his murderous soldiers leaving on their mission. He did not want to be present when the Sharabi family was rent asunder. The cowardly Mustafa Garidi could not bear to observe the destruction that he had single-handedly orchestrated.

In the modest Sharabi home, a minyan had gathered to daven Maariv. The whispered tefillos wafted through the open windows and were all but swallowed up by the darkness of night. Avraham Sharabi stood in the center of the room, his eyes closed tightly and his heart bound to the One Who sees all.

Suddenly, he felt an urgent tap on his shoulder.

“Avraham!” Moshe Edni whispered. “Avraham, this is an emergency!”

Avraham lifted his right hand, asking his agitated neighbor to hold off for just a few minutes. But Moshe Edni would not be deterred.

“Go, Avraham!” he nearly screamed. “Grab your children and escape!”

Avraham looked at his neighbor in astonishment. Moshe Edni was an even-keeled man who was not prone to paranoia. He could not fathom what had unsettled him so.

“Just go already!” Moshe urged. “Take your children and run out the side door! I saw Sheikh Abdullah’s soldiers marching towards your home. Escape!”

Avraham Sharabi needed no further convincing. He grasped the hands of his two little boys and summoned Mazal from the kitchen. With nary a backward glance, he shepherded his bewildered children out the side door, pausing midstride to grab his tallit and tefillin.

“Abbi, where are we going?” Yosef asked. “It’s so late! Mazal already warned us that we must get ready for bed!”

There was no time for explanations. Avraham Sharabi pulled open the door and placed his hand on the mezuzah. As he stepped over the threshold of his home, he heard the frenzied pounding of the sheikh’s soldiers.

“Open up!” they screamed. “In the name of Imam Yachya Mohammed ed-Din and his loyal Sheikh Abdullah, we demand that you open the door!”

Avraham Sharabi knew that his time was up. With superhuman strength, he ran along the darkened streets and twisting alleyways of the Jewish Quarter. When Yosef complained that he could go no further, his father carried him on his shoulders. And when Yonason cried that his feet were sore and he could not take even one more step, Avraham put Yosef down and lifted Yonason in his stead.

Mazal ran alongside, taking two steps for each of Avraham’s long strides. She didn’t know what had prompted this sudden escape, nor did she understand the severity of their situation. But Mazal knew, with stunning clarity, that life as she knew it was now gone forever.

“Soldiers!” Avraham gasped. “Sheikh Abdullah’s soldiers!”

Yosef shuddered. “They want to take us away, Abbi?”

“We won’t go with them,” Yonason fiercely declared. “They can’t tell us where to go and what to do!”

Avraham squeezed Yonason’s hand tightly. He marveled at the child’s innocence and wished that he could borrow some of his youthful courage.

“We must continue running,” he told the little boys. “You understand, Mazal?”

Mazal nodded in the dark. “Yes, Abbi. I won’t stop until we reach a safe place.”

Stumbling in the dark and nearly felled by fatigue, the foursome ran through the streets of Al Kadima, the Old City of Sana’a. They staggered through the newly paved roads of Al Dzadid, the New City. They couldn’t stop for even a moment.

They knew that the soldiers were already searching the streets for them.

They had become fugitives. A man and three children pitted against the mighty military forces of Sheikh Abdullah.

To be continued …

F.H. Einhorn

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Kidalingo Issue #4 26 Tishrei 5778 / October 16, 201718 Kidalingo Issue #4 26 Tishrei 5778 / October 16, 201719