Ethiopian Jew 4 Lebanese Woman

PUBLIC BETA

Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.

You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.

Click here
Samuelx
Samuelx
2,119 Followers

Sergeant Melanie Dusoleil took a deep breath. Before moving to the town of Ottawa, Ontario, a decade ago, she lived in the City of Montreal, Quebec. She'd dealt with many gangs in the roughneck area of Montreal-Nord, where she grew up. They were real bad asses. Haitians, Jamaicans, Italians and others. Tough as nails and armed to the teeth. The worst that Canada had to offer. And this big Black guy in the corner looked like he could mop the floor with them. She asked dispatch to send in an ambulance. This was going to be a long night. The young woman holding onto her unconscious boyfriend looked at her with tears in her eyes. She pleaded with the policewoman for help, saying over and over that Ishmael was only defending himself. Sergeant Melanie Dusoleil sighed. That's what they all said....

Ishmael came to in a plain white room in the mental health wing inside Ottawa's very own General Hospital. He looked around, unsure of his surroundings. For a moment, his mind was a complete blank. Slowly it all came back to him. He was at a hospital. A tall, slender young Black man in a Capital Security uniform stood outside his room, standing watch. Ishmael didn't pay him any mind. He was rewinding his memory. Dinner with Isabel at the Lebanese restaurant... the Arab guys....the fight. Oh, man. What had he done? Oh, man. It was all coming to him now. He totaled the Lebanese restaurant. Now every Arab in Ottawa would be gunning for him. Interestingly, that didn't bother him half as much as what Isabel Hamid would think of him. Isabel...she stayed with him till the end, bravely shielding him with her body when the Arab assailants overwhelmed him with numbers. What a woman. When the nurse came, his first words were about her. Where was she? Was she alright?

The only visitor that Ishmael received through the seventy two hours he spent inside the Ottawa General Hospital was Isabel Hamid. The moment she walked through the door, Ishmael's spirits soared. Isabel looked fantastic in a bright red T-shirt and blue jeans. Her long, luscious ebony hair was pulled in a bun. Ishmael noticed that her eyes were red from crying, and her normally bronze skin looked quite pale. He asked her what was wrong. Isabel looked at Ishmael and took a deep breath. There he was. The handsome, brilliant young man who caused so much trouble. His rampage at the Shawarma Kingdom restaurant put seven men in the hospital. He lay on the bed, managing to look almost small and vulnerable in spite of his bulk. Those pale eyes of his looked at hers, radiating both warmth and worry. In a concerned voice, he asked her if she was alright.

When he said that, her heart wrenched. For he sounded like his old self. The funny, quirky genius whom she spent much of the summer tutoring in civil engineering. Yet clearly there was another side to him. A side to him that she never knew. Isabel's mind flashed back to the sight of Ishmael, bellowing like a bear as he lifted a heavy wooden table that three men couldn't budge clearly above his head before tossing it at a group of Arab men whose only crime was to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Ishmael was dangerous. No doubt about it. He seemed meek and harmless, kind of introverted and self-involved when she met him. Yet underneath it all he was dangerous. So dangerous. Well, of course he was. He was a Jew, wasn't he? Always innocuous and innocent-looking, and they'd been kicking the collective asses of the Arab world's mightiest nations since the late 1940s. Yeah, he was dangerous and she had to stay away from him. He'd hurt her fellow Arabs, and although she liked him, she couldn't simply overlook that.

Ishmael looked at Isabel, whose beautiful face was filled with conflicting emotions. He swallowed hard, sensing what she came here to do. She no longer wanted to have anything to do with him. He'd hurt her, and her people. God, why did he always screw up everything even remotely good in his life? He loved Bethlehem once, passionately and almost possessively. She left him for the rich Saudi guy, and a part of him died. Now, months later, he ruined another burgeoning friendship/relationship with another woman. Isabel Hamid. The beautiful Lebanese Christian woman who believed he was worth saving. Except that she was wrong, and he wasn't worth shit, he told himself. Having a high IQ and internationally famous and wealthy parents didn't excuse him for being a poor excuse for a human being. He always thought of himself. His needs. His wants. His pride. Well, it ends tonight.

Ishmael looked at Isabel, and apologized for hurting her and the Arab men at the Shawarma Kingdom restaurant. Looking her in the eyes, he told her that he understood if she didn't want to talk to him again. Or have anything to do with him. Isabel looked at Ishmael, saw the pain in his eyes and sighed. She came to the hospital to tell him to get lost. All his kind ever did was hurt her people. Maronite Christian or not, she was an Arab woman at heart. She wouldn't betray her people, Christian or Muslim, for the likes of him. He was just like the others. The Israeli Army attacked the Republic of Lebanon without provocation in the mid-2000s, forcing both Lebanese Christians and Lebanese Muslims to unite to repel them. Ishmael, a solitary Ethiopian-American Jew attacked a group of Arab men of various nationalities inside a Lebanese restaurant, putting eight of them in the hospital. She should tell him to get lost. She should....but she couldn't.

Looking heavenward, Isabel quietly sobbed. She looked at Ishmael and told him she couldn't do this right now. Then she left. Ishmael sighed. His heart felt like it had just been wrenched from his chest cavity. Still, he told himself what Isabel did was for the best. She was better off without him. Just like the Angel of Death in Christian, Jewish and Islamic lore, everything he touched turned to dust. Over the next couple of days, Ishmael was assessed by various doctors and spoke to several police officers, including sergeant Melanie Dusoleil of the Ottawa Police Service. The good news was that the local police bought his self-defence story and they weren't pressing charges against him.

The bad news was that the Arab men he victimized were likely to seek revenge. They might sue him in court for damages done to the restaurant as well as their own persons. He should be hearing from their attorneys real soon. Ishmael was told that he'd be discharged from the hospital soon. Oh, and one last thing. There was a restraining order against him and he wasn't supposed to go anywhere near the Shawarma Kingdom restaurant, either at its Rideau Street location or the one on Bank Street. Ishmael absorbed all that in silence. He didn't really listen. All that mattered to him in all this was Isabel Hamid, the beautiful Arab woman who believed he was worth anything. And he lost her due to his foolishness....

Thankfully, the administrators at Carleton University never got wind of the debacle that went on at Shawarma Kingdom, and Ishmael still had both a school and a place to stay. As was his custom, he went to the library, walked around Ottawa, went to the movies solo and then went to the lab to work on the mysteries of civil engineering. He sat at the computer terminal, browsing through Facebook while listening to Linkin Park songs on YouTube. Again and again he looked at Isabel Hamid's profile on Facebook. Amazingly, she didn't remove him as a friend. In fact, there was a "get well soon" message on his wall from her. The message was four days old. He sat there, pondering what to do. Suddenly, he felt sick of the lab, which stirred so many memories of times when he worked, laughed and chilled with Isabel. It was too...familiar. Grunting in frustration and anguish, he went out. He walked all over the City of Ottawa. For about an hour and a half. Somehow, he ended up in the Vanier sector of Ottawa. In a neighborhood full of Haitians, Arabs, Somalis and Chinese people. The immigrant sector.

Ishmael sat on a bench outside the Saint Maron Church in Vanier, waiting for the number eighteen bus to swing by. It was nighttime, yet the neighborhood was abuzz. There were people coming in and out of the Saint Maron Church. Suddenly filled with inspiration, Ishmael walked inside. The church was vast, bigger than he thought it would be. There were people all around him, and with a shudder he realized that they were Arabs and not the Italians he thought they were. They seemed to be preparing for some sort of holiday, for there were women and men putting decorations all over the church. Great. Nevertheless, he walked through the throngs of Arab Christians, making his way toward the altar. He'd only been to church a few times in his life, on account of being Jewish and all. Ishmael accidentally bumped into someone, and hastily apologized. The guy shot him a look, and Ishmael realized that he looked kind of familiar. The guy, a tall and slender Arab male with a goatee and a crucifix hanging over his Jay-Z and Beyonce T-shirt, shot Ishmael a look. Ishmael noticed that he was sporting a black eye, and bandages on his left arm.

The guy looked at Ishmael balefully, and verbally chastised him for coming into an Arab community establishment after what he'd done. There was much anger and pain in the guy's eyes, and Ishmael thought he was going to hit him. The guy scoffed, told Ishmael he wasn't a bigot, then walked away, limping slightly. Ishmael watched him go. He looked at the bishop before the altar, an older bearded Arab man, who spoke in Arabic to a young woman with blond hair and a dark-haired, burly Arab male. Ishmael walked up to the bishop, and asked him if he had a minute. The bishop looked at Ishmael. Who was this weird-looking young man? The bishop wondered silently. Nevertheless, after decades spent preaching the Word of the Lord Jesus Christ in both Arab and Western nations, bishop Jacob Akbar of the Saint Maron Church of Ottawa knew a wayward soul when he saw one...and as a good Christian, he couldn't turn him away.

Ishmael walked up to the bishop. Respectfully he bowed his head, affording this patriarch of the Lebanese Christian Church the same respect he would afford a Rabbi of the Jewish faith or an Imam of the Islamic faith. Just like his father taught him in Israel, so long ago. All of God's believers should respect one another. Judaism, Christianity and Islam all came from the same region. The fate of all three faiths were intertwined. At the time, Ishmael hadn't believed what his father said, for he'd grown disillusioned at the thought of peace between Christians, Jews and Muslims after seeing terrorism both in Israel and the United States. Still, that was then and this is now. Now he realized the error of his ways. In a soft voice, Ishmael told the bishop what he'd done, and asked for forgiveness. The bishop looked at Ishmael, and told him that God only forgave those who were truly sorry. Ishmael swallowed hard. He understood what he had to do. Standing before the altar, he asked for everyone's attention.

Ishmael's heart thundered in his chest, and he wondered if he knew what he was doing. Oh, well. He'd have to wing it. Too late to turn back now. He identified himself to the congregation of the Saint Maron Church. Ishmael Rosenberg Teshale. Son of an Ethiopian father and Caucasian mother. American by birth and brought up in the Jewish faith. He told them what he'd done at the restaurant, and how sorry he was. The guilt which plagued him, and how bad he felt because his foolish pride and prejudice cost him the friendship of the only woman who ever made him feel like he might be more than an arrogant piece of crap with a know-it-all complex....yeah. She believed in him, risked much to save him from his worst self, and in return, he hurt her. Some piece of work he was...

Isabel Hamid was applying her lipstick in the ladies room in the church basement, catching a break after putting up decorations for the Lebanese Heritage Festival. That's precisely when her friend Wanda Hassan came barging in, saying that there was a weird Black guy at the church, talking with bishop Jonathan Suleiman and causing quite a commotion. This was definitely not your standard Friday night at Saint Maron Church, one of three Arab Christian churches in the City of Ottawa. When Wanda mentioned a strange Black guy, Isabel's heart skipped a beat. No, it couldn't be. Surely he couldn't be that crazy. Besides, he was Jewish. What could he possibly be doing in a church? Nevertheless, filled with a sickening presentiment, Isabel followed her friend Wanda upstairs. For once, she hoped her hunches were wrong, but they seldom were...

Ishmael looked at the crowd of Lebanese Christians. He definitely had their attention alright. All eyes were on him. Shaking his head, he sighed. This was foolish. No way they'd forgive him. All he'd done was make a fool out of himself. Again. His eyes wandered from one end of the church to the other, scanning the sea of Arabian faces. Suddenly, his eyes widened in shock as he beheld a most unexpected sight. Isabel Hamid. There she was, his Isabel. She was making her way to the front of the church, toward the altar. Ishmael watched her make her way to him. She stopped a few meters away from him, hands on her hips. In a voice filled with emotion, she asked him what he was doing. Ishmael looked at her, and his heart sank. Overcome with emotion, he fell to his knees. The bishop laid a firm hand on his shoulder, looked at Isabel, and told her that this young man had come to do the right thing. He came seeking forgiveness from the community whose members he wronged.

Isabel Hamid looked at bishop Jonathan Suleiman, the man who officiated at her first communion, her parents friend since they first came to Ottawa, Ontario. She looked from him to the kneeling Ishmael, who looked at her with the eyes of a supplicant. Ishmael looked at Isabel with tear-filled eyes, and told her that he was sorry. Shaking her head, Isabel looked heavenward. All of the anger and frustration she felt toward this arrogant, confusing, sweet and strange Ethiopian-American Jew vanished like ice in the sun. She threw herself into his arms. Ishmael almost fell over when Isabel threw herself into his arms. Before he could react, she hugged him tightly and kissed him fiercely. Bishop Jonathan Suleiman looked at the pair and smiled. Looking at the Lord Jesus Christ on the Cross, he shook his head. Wow. A Jew born of both Africa and America coming into a Lebanese Christian church in the Canadian capital during Friday night vespers to ask for forgiveness and embracing a young Arab woman from his flock. He did not see that one coming. Will the wonders of God never cease? The old man stroked his beard. Oh, well. He could already hear the wedding bells....

Samuelx
Samuelx
2,119 Followers
12
Please rate this story
The author would appreciate your feedback.
  • COMMENTS
Anonymous
Our Comments Policy is available in the Lit FAQ
Post as:
Anonymous
4 Comments
AnonymousAnonymousover 11 years ago
Seriously?

Jamaicans are among the worst that Canada has to offer? I have scores of friends and relatives there - Jamaicans all - and they are all VERY productive citizens who contribute highly to the society. Indeed, one of my cousins is one of the most highly placed civil servants in Ontario. I just hate it when people perpetuate stereotypes about others. I struggled through this story as a piece of social commentary and I wanted to give you a good score for the content, if not for the writing, but I'm afraid that I cannot do so.

AnonymousAnonymousover 11 years ago
dEPORT sAMUELX

To the middle east ,hope he can stay alive.All his stories are craps and anti semitic.

AnonymousAnonymousover 11 years ago
Look on the bright side.

Look on the bright side. While he's thumping the keyboard he ain't thumping women.

AnonymousAnonymousover 11 years ago
Seriously Ill Psychopath!

Samuelx is a seriously ill psychopath who is in dire need of psychological help before he self-destructs. Obviously he is a juvenile / teenager who is a self-proclaimed hater of all elements of the human race.

The cut and paste, evil, and racist diatribes that Samuelx submits to Literotica.com are clear indications that he is a dangerous psychopath juvenile / teenager who is a danger to all concerned in his community.

ALSO he/she needs to be banned from having Internet Access as Samuelx is a dangerously sick pyscho!

Canada should immediately arrest and extradite Samuelx to Haiti!

Share this Story

story TAGS

Similar Stories

Another Encounter Ch. 01 Couple start dating again -- and become very friendly.in Romance
A Most Unwanted Present It's a sordid affair.in Novels and Novellas
Birthday Pool Party Ch. 01 Single father hooks up with daughter's friend at pool party.in Erotic Couplings
Bittersweet Kyle & Jess are in love; if only they knew about it!in Romance
A Strange Arrangement Ch. 01 Room and board in exchange for "household duties".in NonConsent/Reluctance
More Stories