Tip of the Needle

By Ashraf Elghandour

Nader and Addis, two exceptionally bright high school boys, live on opposite sides of the Israeli/Palestinian conflict in Israel. They’re brought together by the unlikely friendship between their fathers, a prominent Imam, and an influential Rabbi. As the idealistic religious leaders attempt a campaign to bring their people/followers closer, one is brutally assassinated. The course of each boys’ life is changed forever.

Ten years later, Nader and Addis are rising stars in their respective fields in the United States. Their paths cross again when they’re brought together by the love and ambition of Sacha Zimmerman, the whip smart daughter of wealthy tech giant Zack Zimmerman. As each grapples with their feelings for Sacha, they’re drawn into opposing sides of Zimmerman’s plan to change the world with his breakthrough biotechware technology. The worldwide release of this technology has the potential to eliminate many of the scourges on humanity but risks tipping the balance of power between good and evil.

In a world where technical advances are outpacing the ability to correct for unintended consequences and humanity becomes more willing to relinquish privacy and freewill for the promises offered by technological innovations, the universe is balanced on the tip of a needle. In a modern-day story of Adam and Eve and the lure of the proverbial apple called technology, Nader, Addis, and Sacha must each make decisions based on friendship, love, loyalty, and religion as Zimmerman’s plan has the potential to take him to the presidency and beyond.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Dec 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9781480898301

Ashraf Elghandour

Ashraf Elghandour was born in Cairo, Egypt, and immigrated to the United States at fourteen with his family. He earned an MBA and spent most of his career in the financial industry. Although he loved finance and being an entrepreneur, he has diverse interests in creative endeavors. Elghandour enjoys working with his hands and inventing unique equipment, especially in the health and fitness industry. He lives in Northern New Jersey and has two adult children.

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Contents

Chapter 1     The Sermon

Chapter 2     Interfaith

Chapter 3     The School for the Gifted

Chapter 4     Intifada

Chapter 5     College Life

Chapter 6     The Birthday Party

Chapter 7     The Dream

Chapter 8     The Professor

Chapter 9     The Funeral

Chapter 10   The Book Signing

Chapter 11   The Encounter

Chapter 12   The Tour

Chapter 13   Hadron Collider Project

Chapter 14   The Presentation

Chapter 15   Jeopardy!

Chapter 16   60 Minutes

Chapter 17   Paris

Chapter 18   The UN

Chapter 19   The Fix

Chapter 20   The Relocation

Chapter 21   The Tech Invasion

Chapter 22   The Man of the Year

Chapter 23   The Setup

Chapter 24   The Escape

Chapter 25   The Tech Revolution

Chapter 26   The Launch

Chapter 27   The Campaign

Chapter 28   The Messiah

Chapter 29   The Pandemic

Chapter 30   Hail to the Chief

Chapter 31   The Matrix

Chapter 32   Rebirth

1

The Sermon

Moshe Ackerman stood before his congregation of devout followers. He had been a controversial figure in his community, a community of Orthodox Jews in the heart of West Jerusalem who had partitioned several militant settlements with the help of the Israeli government. The settlements were established in the old Palestinian town of Hebron with a deep and rich history dating back to 3000 BC. Rabbi Ackerman had been no stranger to controversy, a man of deep belief and the son of Holocaust survivors. He saw the pain and suffering inflicted on his parents during their internment in the concentration camp of Auschwitz and vowed never to inflict such pain on another human being in his lifetime. As a young child in the camps of Auschwitz, in the face of the most inhuman acts committed by one human being against another, he saw the purest of love and humanity as his parents and other prisoners protected him and shielded him from the evil that permeated through every aspect of their daily existence. He was read to, sung to, cuddled, and loved as if the horror that existed outside were a nightmare to be awakened from.

Moshe cultivated a community of like-minded individuals who engaged Palestinians who were seeking peace and coexistence, who saw each other as human beings first and as Jews, Muslims, or Christians second. He created the first interfaith group in the community that consisted of himself, an imam, and a priest that saw the three most dominant world religions as the progression of faith based on the tenets of Abrahamic teaching. He would often say, We are all the sons and daughters of Abraham. What separates us is not nearly as great as what unites us as God’s children. One of his favorite quotes was An abused child should never grow up to be a child abuser. The cycle of pain should never be allowed to continue. As Jews, we have experienced the atrocities inflicted on a group just because of their ethnicity and their religious identity, and we of all people should never inflict such pain on others just because they are different from us.

As Rabbi Ackerman stood before his congregation, he could not help but focus on one face in the crowd, the face of a young man who was no older than fifteen. His face had piercing blue eyes that exuded such sharp intellect - an angelic face with such a profound aura of inner peace and tranquility that clearly was not acquired but innate to him. The synagogue was modestly decorated and housed in an inconspicuous building that did not attempt to promote any of the traditional religious ornamentations. Inside the synagogue stood a small congregation of attentive listeners, but at the fringes of the crowd were those who were clearly not there to heed the rabbi’s words of wisdom, but as agitators. They were settlers hell-bent on shutting down this heresy and silencing the rabbi and his followers.

Moshe began his sermon by declaring, As Jews, we are the chosen ones. As he uttered those words, he looked at the expression on the face of the young man in the front row. It was a face that he was very familiar with, a face that he had adored from the first day he first laid his eyes on the boy. That was the day his beloved wife Robbin had given birth to their son, Addis. Addis’s face had the slightest frown as this topic of God’s favoritism of one group over his other creations didn’t comport well with Addis’s sense of fairness. He had been a curious boy since he opened his eyes to this world, and Moshe loved him for it. He had an insatiable appetite for knowledge, and his thirst was never quenched.

Moshe proceeded: God has bestowed on us the gift of intellect, the gift of creativity, music, art, and science, and some of us choose to use it for material gain and worldly riches, and even to do the devil’s bidding. With this gift, God has shown that he loves us enough to make us his agents on this earth, and yet we have betrayed his love. We took his gift and said, ‘Thank you very much, but we have other plans.’ My brothers and sisters, we owe it to him to make sure that we use this gift to serve him by serving all of humanity, black, white, Jewish, Christian, or Muslim—it makes no difference. And let me say it without any equivocation: it does not even matter if you are an Israeli, a Jew, or an Arab.

As he uttered those words, the settlers standing in the back of the room began shouting, Traitor! Heretic! Arab lover! Their voices were getting louder, and their anger was beginning to manifest itself in their body language. They began pointing and shaking their accusatory hands and fingers at the rabbi. The bulges under their coats were clearly visible; everyone knew that they were armed to the teeth. The parishioners began to cower in the face of the intimidating gestures of the disrupters. They became smaller and smaller in their pews as the agitators became louder and more animated, except for one individual who showed no fear. With deliberation, the blond, blue-eyed child of fifteen stood up in silence for what seemed to be a long pause, but it was only for a few seconds. His action had a shocking and yet calming effect on the unruly crowd. The agitators turned and looked at him as if Moses himself were about to speak. The silence in the synagogue was so absolute that one could almost hear the air rush in and out of one’s neighbor’s nostrils with every breath.

Then the boy spoke. The voice was so angelic, and the tone was so pure and rhythmic, that the crowd seemed to be transformed into a hypnotic state, totally under his spell. He could have asked them all to stand on one leg, and they would all have obediently complied. Addis lifted his head, stared into empty space, and uttered the words:

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. (1 Corinthians 13:4–8)

If anyone kills a person it would be as if he killed all mankind. (Koran, Sura 5:32)

I am the Lord thy God, who brought thee out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage. … Honor thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee. Thou shalt not murder. Thou shalt not commit adultery. Thou shalt not steal. Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s house; thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife, nor his man-servant, nor his maid-servant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor any thing that is thy neighbor’s. (Torah 7664)

As a wise man and Holocaust survivor said once, ‘The purest definition of evil is the absence of empathy for the pain and suffering of others.’ That man was my father.

Addis paused for a second, looked down in humility as if he suddenly had been awakened from a dream, looked at the congregation with an expression of confusion, and began to walk out gingerly. Every eye in the room followed him until he exited the building. The congregation was stunned, and so was Rabbi Ackerman. When the rabbi finally spoke, he said, Well, I couldn’t have said it any better. From the mouths of babes. The congregation began to file out of the synagogue peacefully and without the slightest display of the aggression, intimidation, or fear that had filled this house of worship a few minutes earlier.

Moshe placed the Torah in its designated place, cleaned up after his flock, locked the building, and proceeded to his car. As he approached the vehicle, he noticed that Addis was waiting patiently in the passenger seat, totally consumed by his own thoughts. Moshe sat down in the driver’s seat, turned his head, and looked toward Addis, but Addis did not acknowledge his gaze; he seemed to be having an out-of-body experience, transported to a place not of this world. The rabbi drove home in total silence—not a single word exchanged between him and his son.

As they approached the driveway of their modest home, Addis turned around, looked at his father, and said, How did the sermon go?

The rabbi, taken aback by the question, replied, You were there. What do you think? almost surprised by the intonation and indifference of Addis’s question.

Well, Father, I am so sorry, but I think I fell asleep toward the end of it.

The rabbi was confounded but thought it would be best to leave the subject alone since this was not the first time that Addis seemed to have been totally disconnected from reality. As they exited the car, the rabbi made one of his quotes, which he was known to do from time to time to make a point. You know, Addis, you should never judge people by their words. Instead you should judge them by their actions. The most powerful tool of both the devil and the prophet is their words; however, their deeds couldn’t be more different.

Addis, knowing exactly what his father meant, replied, I know, Father. I hope I’m the latter rather than the former.

2

Interfaith

That evening Rabbi Ackerman and his family were invited to an interfaith meeting and dinner at Imam Mohdi el-Shafique’s house. The rabbi was excited to spend time with two of his closest friends—the imam and Father Yousef Baraka—and to get some good Middle Eastern home cooking. The rabbi’s daughter, Sarah, seemed to be especially excited. She had spent an inordinate amount of time trying to pick the right outfit. Sarah had hijacked the only bathroom in the rabbi’s house for what seemed to be a few hours. When she finally emerged, she looked so beautiful that both Addis and Moshe stood there with their mouths open, in total disbelief, as if they were two deer frozen by the headlights of an approaching vehicle.

Honey, you look so beautiful.

Yeah, Sis, you look great.

With a bashful look, Sarah replied, Thanks, guys. Sarah had always been a tomboy and preferred jeans and T-shirts over dresses and skirts, but this evening was different. She exuded femininity and grace as if she were Cinderella and was about to attend the most important evening of her life. Moshe didn’t make too of much it; he just thought that she was simply reaching that age where she was becoming more self-aware. He wished that his beloved wife Robbin were alive to see their beautiful daughter, but Addis suspected something else altogether.

After waiting patiently for Sarah, they all piled into their ten-year-old Hyundai Sonata for the short ride to the imam’s house. Addis chose to sit in the back seat, intent on watching his sister’s body language. He always had been a people-watcher and took pride in profiling people and figuring out their personalities as if it were a mystery being solved by his favorite fictional character, Sherlock Holmes.

The trip to the imam’s house required that they go through several checkpoints, which the rabbi always disliked, but he accepted it as a way of life for a resident of the West Bank. The Israeli army soldier at the gate crudely asked the rabbi for his identification. Moshe handed him his ID as the soldier inspected him, the occupants, and the car.

It says here that you are a rabbi. What is your reason for going to the Palestinian section?

To visit a friend.

A friend? Who is that?

Imam el-Shafique.

Really? You know you are totally on your own in there?

Yes, I know.

The soldier gave him a look of disapproval and waved him through.

As the Ackermans drove through town, the streets were abuzz with activity, with shoppers rushing to get the traditional delicacies for breaking fast at sunset. The mood was cheerful; the streets were illuminated with the most colorful and festive lights; and the shops were all decorated with the most ostentatious decorations, vying for shoppers’ attention. This was Ramadan, one of the holiest months for Muslims. It was the month when Muslims all over the world fasted from sunrise to sunset, abstaining from consuming any food, drinks, or tobacco. Usually during the fast, people tried to conserve their energy during the day, but once sunset was near, the streets became alive with shoppers trying to get their chores done before el-adhan call to prayer, which signaled the time to break the fast. This was a festive month, when family and friends made a point of getting together and enjoying each other’s company, breaking bread, and celebrating this holy month.

As the Ackermans were driving through the local streets, they couldn’t help but notice the occasional looks that they received from pedestrians and occupants of other vehicles, but they tried to blend in as much as they could. The rabbi did not mind. He was honored to have been invited to his friend Imam Mohdi’s house during this holy month, which was usually reserved for close family and friends. He wanted to make sure that they timed their arrival exactly before the breaking of the fast. He didn’t want to add to his friend’s burden while he and his family were trying to prepare for breaking their fast. As the rabbi approached their house, the call for prayer was being announced from every mosque minaret in town. The rabbi always found the Muslim call to prayer to be haunting and beautiful. At times it moved him to tear up, in spite of his reluctance to do so.

After the second ringing of the house bell, Nader el-Shafique, the youngest of the imam’s two sons, opened the door. The rabbi greeted Nader with the traditional Muslim greeting: Assalamu alaikum, Nader.

Nader replied with the traditional Jewish greeting: Shalom, Rabbi Ackerman. Nader immediately locked eyes on Addis; after all, they were classmates at the International School for the Gifted. Although they acknowledged each other in school and when in the different classes they shared, they weren’t the best of friends. They both knew that they had cultural and religious boundaries, so they maintained their relationship at arm’s length.

Nader led the Ackermans to a small and modest living area that was adorned in Muslim religious symbols with the name of Allah and that of his prophet Muhammad prominently displayed on the walls. A large framed quote of the most recited sura from the Koran, al-Fātihah, was also on full display. The rabbi greeted his close friend Father Yousef, who had arrived a few minutes earlier, in a hushed voice so as to not disturb the imam and his eldest son, who were beginning the Maghrib prayer. Nader had been invited to join in the prayer, but his body language showed less than an enthusiastic desire to comply. The imam began the prayer by raising both hands to the sides of his head with his palms facing forward and firmly proclaiming, Allah akbar. The boys followed with the same proclamation. Then, the imam began to recite a verse from the Koran. As he was leading his children in prayer, he could not help but notice on the wall in front of him, adorned in reflective tiles, the image of his guests in the adjacent room, especially the image of Addis, who was quietly moving his lips as if he were reciting the same suras the imam was reciting.

After completing their prayers, the imam rose to greet his guests with a beaming smile and open hands. He embraced Rabbi Ackerman and Father Yousef in an affectionate hug with a kiss on both cheeks, a traditional Arab greeting, but only reserved for family and very close friends. He extended his hand and shook Addis’s hand and bowed his head in a respectful gesture to Sarah.

Thank you for coming. It has been awhile since we have seen each other. You remember my sons, Mustafa and Nader?

Of course, Father Yousef replied. They have grown since the last time we saw each other.

My friends, you must be very hungry. Please excuse me while I get everything ready. Then the imam gently addressed his sons. Mustafa, please get some drinks for our guests. Nader, please set the table. Mustafa seemed to be oblivious to his father’s voice and appeared awkward, attempting to redirect his gaze in any direction other than Sarah’s.

The imam proceeded to the kitchen; it was his favorite place in the house, the place where he shared so many fond memories of his beloved wife, Ahab, preparing meals for their two sons, friends, and family. Although customarily in the Arab marital hierarchy the kitchen was a domain reserved for the women of the house, he loved spending time with Ahab, sharing their passion for cooking. Their kitchen was a place where they shared the burdens of the day that seemed to be a permanent fixture in every Palestinians’ life. This was their place of respite where they could laugh, be flirtatious, and shun the outside world. The imam missed his wife very much. It was one thing among many that he shared with Rabbi Ackerman: they both had lost their wives to cancer at about the same time.

The guests were invited to the dinner table. The imam sat at the head of the table and invited the rabbi to sit at the opposite end. It was not out of disrespect for Father Yousef, but out of respect for the age difference. Father Yousef was a considerably younger man, closer in age to the children than he was to the imam and the rabbi. As they all enjoyed the delicious cuisine of lamb, couscous, and seasonal vegetables, the guests would often comment between bites on how wonderful the food was. The conversation at the table was as palatable and stimulating as the cuisine, and it seemed to be more engaging for some, but not all. While the imam, the rabbi, and the priest discussed the current state of affairs and the social, political, and religious divide that was inflaming the country, Nader looked on and listened to the conversation of the elders with great interest. However, Addis was more interested in watching the exchange of looks between Sarah and Mustafa. He suspected this was not a casual acquaintance but something a lot deeper than that. Tonight was the night that he was going to prove his suspicions.

After the meal was voraciously consumed by all, the imam invited his guests to the living area for the sweet tea and desserts that are commonly served during the month of Ramadan. Mustafa began to clear the table, and immediately Sarah volunteered to help. As they proceeded to the kitchen with the dirty dishes, Addis was in tow, which elicited an annoyed look from Sarah. Nader was quickly dismissed by his brother, who said, I’ve got this. Just take the dessert to the living room. Nader was more than happy to comply since he would rather have listened to the grown-ups’ conversation than clean dishes. Nader immediately joined the adults in the living area, but Addis chose to hover in close proximity to the kitchen. After a few minutes, he stopped hearing the rattling of the dishes and heard a careful and muted attempt to open the back door. He quickly tiptoed into the kitchen, only to see Sarah and Mustafa embracing from an open kitchen window. She held his face in the palm of her hand and gently pulled him in for a kiss, and he embraced her with the tenderness and passion of one who had been longing for this moment and could no longer exercise any self-control. Addis smiled, thinking, Suspicion confirmed. But at the same time, he wondered to himself, Will I ever experience that kind of love?

The conversation in the living room was lively. The three men of faith were trying to solve a problem that had eluded the most powerful men in the world for over fifty years. However, their sheer faith and conviction were not going to make this minor fact an impediment. They were determined to do whatever it took to change the status quo and finally bring peace to this region that had seen so much hate, bloodshed, and turmoil for so long.

The imam declared to his guests that the Israeli leaders were engaging in a war of attrition. They are not interested in a fair negotiated settlement with the Palestinian people. They are interested in waiting us out, in making our lives so miserable that the younger generations will have no reason to stay. The solution is to demand a one-state solution, where we all, Jew, Christian, Muslim, Arab, and non-Arab, are citizens of one country with equal rights under the law and with the right to pursue happiness and have a dignified and peaceful coexistence.

Father Yousef nodded in agreement, adding, But you know the current government will never agree to this. This is totally contrary to their master plan. And frankly, as Palestinians, we have not helped our cause very well by insisting on a two-state solution.

That is right. The strategies, demands, and protests of old have to change. We must try something new, something that will awaken the world to the plight of the Palestinian people, their pain and suffering, and not continue to fight about a piece of land and who has claim over it, added the rabbi. We have to create a movement of civil disobedience modeled after the reverend Martin Luther King. No violence, no stone throwing, no burning tires—a nonviolent and a peaceful uprising that will have Jews, Muslims, and Christians standing side by side and demanding change.

It took the imam and Father Yousef a few seconds to see the optics of such a movement, but slowly a smile began to simultaneously break out on both their faces. The imam said, Let’s do it. But where do we start?

The rabbi quickly replied, You start with your flock, and you start with yours, and I will start with mine. And with a little help from social media, we should at least make a start of it, God willing.

Inshallah, responded the imam.

Nader sat quietly and listened to the exchange between his father and his guests, but he was angry and he had no interest in peaceful anything; he wanted to fight and inflict the same pain he’d seen being inflicted on his people under the Israeli occupation. He hadn’t always been an angry young man, but after the death of his mother, his mood had turned dark and rebellious. He had worshipped his mother, and she had worshipped him. She had always referred to him as her gift from God. Just before she’d found out that she was pregnant with him, she’d had a dream. In her dream she was resting under a palm tree in an oasis surrounded by olive trees and a reflective pool of water. A woman dressed all in white appeared to her and handed her a bundle covered in white cloth, along with a pitcher of water. She received both offerings willingly and began to drink from the pitcher of water. Immediately she went into the most beautiful trance. She believed she saw heaven. She never shared her dream with anyone except for her husband, and she was convinced that the bundle she had received in her dream was Nader. After she had contracted cancer, Nader began to pray very hard, hoping that through the strength of his prayer, God would spare his mother. It was not to be. When his mother passed away, he lost his religion, and his spirituality turned into anger: anger with God, anger about the unfairness of the plight of his people, and anger about the occupation. The only thing he loved was the certainty of science and mathematics. For him, that was where everything was fair, balanced, and predictable.

It was getting late in the evening. The guests excused themselves and thanked their host for a wonderful evening and for his hospitality. As the rabbi and priest stood up to exit, they agreed to set a date for the protest and promised to immediately begin the campaign to rally their parishioners in their respective communities and through social media. The children exchanged their goodbyes politely, However, Sarah and Mustafa were experiencing gaiety and were doing everything in their power to keep their emotions in check. Addis had a smirk on his face, having confirmed what he had long suspected, but Nader had a frown on his face and wore his anger with pride.

The front door opened. The rabbi exited the imam’s house first. He instantaneously recognized the inconspicuous van parked across the street with its darkened windows, the same van that he had noticed while trying to find a parking spot earlier. This time, the passenger-side window was rolling down as the occupant was discarding his cigarette. The man exchanged looks with the rabbi and immediately rolled his window up, realizing his timing was a big mistake. The rabbi noticed the man’s awkward behavior and made sure to commit his image to memory. This was not difficult since the man was in his midtwenties with very distinct Middle Eastern features and a thick head of hair.

3

The School for

the Gifted

Two weeks later, the headmaster of the International School for the Gifted was in his office late into the evening, reviewing several letters from the most prestigious