The Last Israelis - an Apocalyptic, Military Thriller about an Israeli Submarine and a Nuclear Iran (29 page)

With the advent of the 1979 Islamic Revolution, however, their fates would change forever. They became persecuted political targets because of their close ties to the Shah and Jewish activism. One day Eitan’s father was randomly stopped on the street, taken into police custody, accused of having ties to Israel, and lashed all over his back until he lost consciousness. Upon learning of her husband’s fate, Eitan’s mother bribed some of the officials and guards at the prison where her spouse was being held, and arranged for his mysterious “disappearance” from prison a few weeks before a trial that could have led to his execution or decades-long imprisonment. After that ordeal and hearing what had happened to many of their Jewish friends and extended family, Eitan’s parents began plotting their immediate escape from Iran.

With the assistance of Muslim friends who risked their lives to help, Eitan’s father managed to hide from the regime and eventually escape from Iran to Turkey with the aid of Kurds. Meanwhile his wife did her best to wrap up the family’s affairs as quickly as possible and prepare their two children, now 11 and 12 years old, to uproot. A few months later, Kurds at the border helped her and her children to cross over to Turkey. But a few miles past the border crossing and into Turkish territory, Eitan’s mother was raped by a Turkish guard in front of her two children. The three of them scarred forever, reunited with Eitan’s father in Istanbul before finally making it to Israel about a year later. The pain of their escape didn’t end there: they also had to forfeit everything they had built. They didn’t have enough time to sell their business and, soon after rumors circulated that the family had fled Iran, a Muslim family moved into their villa and claimed it.

Eitan’s parents had to restart their lives from scratch in Israel at age 30. Forced to provide for their two children in a new country where they knew no one and barely spoke the language, Eitan’s mother worked as a cook in a Persian restaurant, and his father worked in construction until he could save enough to become a taxi driver. He also became religious, regarding his family’s timely escape as something of a miracle. Going to synagogue also gave him a sense of continuity and an appreciation for his newfound security as a Jew. In 1988, after their first two children had each left the house for a prestigious, military officer-academic program, they had their third child, Eitan.

As Eitan’s mind remembered the voices of his parents and older siblings recounting, throughout his life, their family’s history, he gradually fell asleep.

****

“Set a course for Tehran,” the captain ordered.

“But Sir, the submarine will collide into the shore. There is no navigable course all the way to Tehran.”

“What’s the nearest position?”

Eitan consulted the maps and instruments in front of him. “Sir, if we sail towards the northernmost tip of the Persian Gulf, then we will have about 550 kilometers to travel north by land to reach Tehran. That is the closest that the submarine can bring us to Tehran, Sir.”

“What position is that northernmost point?”

“30 degrees 12 minutes North, 49 degrees 99 minutes East, Sir.”

“Steer a course towards that position at five knots.”

“Yes, Sir,” Eitan’s mother said to Eitan’s father. She then turned a little to face her son. “Thank you for giving us a ride on the submarine, Eitan. We really had no way to get back to our ancestral home without your help.”

“Mom, why are we going there?”

“There’s a very important family event,” she explained. “Why do you think we’re all dressed up like this?” While operating the Dolphin, Eitan’s parents appeared dressed in some of the elegant eveningwear that they had so successfully produced for the Iranian public in the 1970s. Eitan wore the same dapper outfit as his father.

“Eitan,” his father said, “You’re the guest of honor at the event we’re going to.” He looks at his watch and frowns. “We’re running a little late now. Increase speed to 20 knots.”

“Yes, Sir.” His mother accelerated to 20 knots. “Eitan, your cousins are very excited to meet you for the first time,” she said, turning to face her son again.

“There are quite a lot of them,” his father added, switching to Farsi, the language they usually spoke at home. “But there is one cousin in particular you’re going to pay special attention to. And I’ll be right by your side the whole time, to make sure that you don’t forget your role.”

A little later, Eitan finds himself at a gigantic banquet hall, with endless tables of food, elaborate decorations, and traditional Persian music playing in the background. Everyone speaks only in Farsi. All of the guests are wearing the most stylish eveningwear from his parents’ collection, complimenting his mother on her visionary design talent. The tables, floral decorations, and other ornaments are all arranged in a way that gives additional prominence to an altar that is placed at the very center of the banquet hall.

Eitan is indeed the guest of honor. Countless relatives he has never met come to greet him, shake his hand, and otherwise show their respect as his parents bask in their son’s glory. The distinguished-looking escorts for the event lead Eitan and his parents directly up to the altar, which is surrounded by a hedge of rosebush.

Eitan steps up to the altar with his parents flanking him, so that all three are facing a large square stone that rises to the level of their knees. On the stone is a naked Persian man in his early twenties, lying crouched and helpless in front of them because his ankles and wrists are tied down so that he can barely move. Eitan’s father turns to him and says, “Eitan, this is your cousin, Isaac.”

“Why is he tied down like that?” Eitan asks.

His father unsheathes a large Shamshir and hands it to Eitan. “He is to be sacrificed now. Show everyone that you fear God.”

Eitan reluctantly takes the sword from his father, as the hundreds of guests assembled all have their eyes fixed on Eitan. He raises the blade with both hands, preparing to bring it down on the neck of his trembling cousin, Isaac.

“Wait!” his mother cries out. “Look at that,” she says, pointing to a trapped ram struggling to free its horns from the thorny stems of the rosebush below.

“No!” His father yells. “That was an order and it must be obeyed!” he says, as he forcefully pulls Eitan’s quivering arms down so that the Shamshir falls onto Isaac’s neck and decapitates him.

Isaac’s head rolls away from his torso but is still animated enough to utter some last words: “But there was a ram…”

Eitan awakes in his small bunk, breathing heavily, in utter horror.

Chapter 33: The Vote

By 8 p.m. on the night of the Dolphin’s 26
th
day at sea, the sailors had exhausted themselves with philosophical and historical analogies, analyses, and arguments during about 12 hours of continuous ruminating. The men on board had heard every conceivable rationale for and against each position during the debates and during hours of conversation among various smaller groups of crewmembers. In the end, it seemed to Daniel that such a grave decision would be made by each man on some basic, emotional level rather than as the result of perfectly computing the many moral considerations to be weighed. Daniel suspected that some submariners would simply opt to follow the lead of someone they trust or respect because – when making such a monumental choice – they would lack the confidence in their own convictions to decide for themselves. As he thought about the handful of crewmembers who would probably adopt someone else’s decision, he speculated that Ambesah would follow Yisrael’s vote and Zvi would conform to Jacob’s direction. Nevertheless, the captain would urge the crewmembers to choose thoughtfully and independently, rather than copying the results of someone else’s hard, ethical deliberations.

Daniel spoke over the intercom: “We are now about twenty-four hours from our attack position. We have tried many times to retrieve updates from headquarters using the communication buoy but there have been no updates. Heavy surface traffic has prevented us from rising to periscope depth. But I am committed to doing this at least one more time so we can try to reach headquarters by some other method or at least tune in to regular radio broadcasts for news reports about a major attack on Israel. As soon as the risk seems reasonable, we will again rise to periscope depth. Many of you have told me that you’ve thought about this issue enough and are ready to vote, so we will take the tally now. But remember that when you each vote, you are not voting to side with this person or that person. This decision is infinitely more important than our personal loyalties. We must put those aside to focus on the weighty considerations involved in finding the right decision. So I ask that you find the moral truth within you, and have the courage to embrace it – whatever it is – rather than simply follow what someone else has chosen.”

One by one, each seaman walked up to Daniel and handed him his vote. Daniel had insisted on written ballots so that each sailor could vote privately and to minimize the influence of any voter on any other voter. He also wanted to be able to document the tally for Yisrael, so that the deputy captain could count the votes himself.

Daniel read out the results: “18 votes in favor of an attack, 12 against, with 5 abstentions. I’m not pleased about the abstentions but we still have both a plurality and a simple majority, so the motion to attack passes.”

Yisrael took a moment to confirm the tally.

“Sir, I assumed that we would need to have at least a two-thirds majority, with everyone voting yes or no, and no abstentions allowed,” Yisrael said.

“So we keep voting until you like the outcome? That’s not democracy – that’s a dictatorship,” Daniel replied.

“For a decision to take the lives of millions of innocent people, I think raising the level of consensus required to take such an action is the least we can do. It’s too important a question to be decided by a simple majority – especially if almost fifteen percent of the crewmembers didn’t even take a position.”

Daniel would need to summon all of his humor to avoid losing his patience with the pertinacious hold-out: “How ironic that the sailor who bears the name of the state he swore to defend, a state that has now been massively attacked, so persistently opposes the last act in its honor – an act that surely divine justice itself requires.”

“It’s not ironic at all, Sir. If anything, I’m being true to the spirit of my name. Yisrael means ‘He who struggles with God.’”

Ambesah added his support: “Yes, struggling against a superior power to save lives is a long Jewish tradition, going back to the very first Jew, Abraham. He negotiated with God about how many righteous people he needed to find before God would spare Sodom. Abraham brought the number down from fifty to ten.”

Michael spoke more cynically: “Maybe there’s really no God left for anyone to wrestle with, if his so-called chosen people were twice chosen for annihilation.”

By now Samir’s patience with the protracted process was near its end: “You were appropriately named Yisrael because there’s always gotta be some smartass in the State of Israel who thinks he knows better than everyone else. That’s the problem with Israel’s leadership and its political system, and now with its submarine.”

Michael agreed: “Samir’s right. The Jews are their own worst enemy. Always divided. How did a country with just seven million people end up with more than a dozen political parties? Because there’s always some asshole who thinks he’s smarter or more principled than everyone else, so he goes off and starts his own party, thinking that he should be making all the decisions. And in the process, he wastes resources, cripples the system, and confuses everyone – the world media commenting on the conflict, the Israelis who must live with their country’s endless divisions, and now the submariners in this boat who can’t decide what to do about Iran.”

Yisrael rejoined: “You can compare me all you like to the Israeli political system but it’s no longer relevant. The system that gave all of us the power to kill millions of people no longer exists. All that matters now is our own conscience as human beings trying to do the right thing. And all I’m asking is that every person make a final yes or no decision and that we have a stronger consensus than a simple majority.”

Daniel finally acceded to his demand: “OK. We’ll go with a two-thirds majority rule, with no abstentions allowed. So if on the next and final vote there are twenty-three in favor of an attack, then the collective will on this submarine will have determined that we attack. Otherwise, we don’t attack. Is that procedure fair and democratic enough for you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And you will accept the outcome – whatever it is – without any more procedural arguments or other objections?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“OK, so that’s what we’ll do. There are still about 150 kilometers and 12 hours for each of you to consider your position. I know that you’re tired of thinking about what may seem like an impossible decision but I ask you to use these last hours wisely – especially the five men who abstained just now. Early tomorrow morning, probably sometime between midnight and 0200 hours, depending on surface traffic and other conditions, we’ll rise to periscope depth and make one last attempt to communicate with headquarters. Then we’ll take the final vote that will determine what we do. Those who are off-duty now can break for dinner.”

Chapter 34: Evolving Votes and Post-Armageddon

Burned out from mulling massive matters of life and death, most of the crewmembers sitting in the three different eating areas used their dinner time to give their brains a rest, and spoke little or tried to engage only in small talk during their meal. But in one of the areas seating six people, the submariners finished their meal and then lingered for the talk that ensued because some of them were openly undecided.

“I still can’t make up my mind, but I’m leaning towards a no,” Jacob said. “Were you also one of the five undecided votes?” he asked Boutrous.

“I was. But I know my vote now. I’m in favor of an attack.”

“What changed your mind?” Ambesah asked.

“I’ve thought about a lot of the points that were made. And I’ve also been thinking about the issue in terms of the big picture.”