Why I wrote 'The Sword of David'

Given my life experiences, which I share in this article, I have conveyed my wild dream of peace in my thoroughly researched, new thriller, "The Sword of David." The novel's goal has been to educate the reader, but more important, with its unexpected ending, to make you think, which is why I wrote the novel.

An action-packed fiction thriller, "The Sword of David" tells the story of an Israeli commando traveling across the globe, following clues in search of a major biblical treasure that could change the destiny of the world. It will be available on Sept. 7, 2021 at Barnes & Noble, and is available for pre-order.

In the 1960s and 1970s, I grew up in Gary, Indiana, a blue-collar steel town. As a teenager, I was a self-hating Jew given antisemitism that I faced regularly, combined with my family's history of persecution.

When I was a young child, my parents talked to me about the Nazis murdering all of my Hungarian family in the Holocaust. Eastern European Jewish families were typically Orthodox, with large families of four to eight children. My mother did some rough math and concluded that we lost over 400 great-grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. The Holocaust was forever a regular theme of discussion in our home.

My dad grew up in rough and tumble East Chicago, Indiana, where he faced significant antisemitism, and regularly had to fight to protect himself. He enlisted in the army when he was 17, and I surmise it was to fight the Nazis. Even in the army he faced antisemitism. Since Dad was a wrestler in high school, while he was almost always jovial, kind and very funny, he was undoubtedly a big, strong, tough guy. His hot button was antisemitism and he would dish it out physically when confronted with comments of prejudice.

Antisemitism literally surrounded me when I was a young boy in the early 1960s. Living to our immediate right was a man who fought for Germany during WWII. My dad got along with Mr. Kietzman, until the day I told him that his son Kenny Kietzman called me a "dirty Jew." Then, the family who lived next door on the left were Lebanese Christians. From the day they moved in, both Mr. and Mrs. Elisha overtly told my parents they disliked Jews. So there I am, not many years removed from the Holocaust and the founding of Israel, with antisemitic German and Arabic families on either side of my home.

I faced antisemitism from early on in school. In second grade, I was called a "dirty Jew" by the son of a local politician. That night Dad dragged me to their home and physically threatened the father, making clear he knew that a young boy conveys the phrase "dirty Jew" only because he hears it from a parent. Then there was Bob Lesch, the star high school athlete who punched me out probably 100 times, always calling me a "f**king Jew." I also can't forget the older and bigger Ullman brothers who lived at the entrance of my street. They beat me up countless times from grade school through high school. There's a lot more similar stories. I wasn't built like my dad, physically or mentally and the attacks were hard on me. I was an easy target.

My parents didn't know about any of the neighborhood bullies. I couldn't tell them. I knew the law of the street. My mom was a substitute in my high school and if she took action to shut down Lesch, it would get worse for me, not better. Same with the Ullmans. The only person who had a general idea of what was happening was my best friend, Barry. I couldn't bring myself to tell my other best friend, Ron, who was a major bad ass, because I never wanted to look weak to him. I just learned to live with the reality that I was going to get beat up for being Jewish.

However, in late tenth grade, Dad somehow figured out what I was going through. He didn't ask questions because he didn't want to humiliate me, but he brought home and hung up a boxer's heavy bag in our basement. He talked to me about his East Chicago days, and then showed me how to throw a jab, cross, hook and uppercut punch. He told me I needed to practice hard. I was not a cryer when I got beat up, but when Dad went back upstairs I sobbed both because I knew that Dad knew what was happening, and more important, I might now be liberated.

I practiced. I hit that bag regularly working on technique. I then bought Bruce Tegner's paperback "Complete Book of Self-Defense," which included step-by-step pictures demonstrating karate and judo moves. I practiced relentlessly. Learning to defend myself gave me confidence that I would no longer be bullied. Finally, one day the Ullmans pushed my brother Marc off his bicycle. I knew they did that just to get to me. I went down the street seeking revenge. Well, they beat me up again, but no doubt, I gave it back in a big way, on a two on one fight. After that, instead of getting punched by the Ullmans, I just got stares.

The Ullman event gave me the courage to play in a crazy, no equipment tackle football game with many of the older high school varsity players. I was getting physically and intentionally demolished throughout the game. But with the urging and support of Mark Baim, a Jewish guy whom everyone looked up to, he told me, "Whatever you do, don't show them you're hurt. Get up and play through the end of this game you'll be okay." He was right. I didn't quit and I assume it got around the school because from that day on, no one except Lesch ever made another antisemitic remark to me. That single football game helped to start gaining my self-respect.

Three other events impacted my mindset on being Jewish. First was the 1972 Munich Olympics, when 11 Israeli athletes were murdered by Black September terrorists. That incident impacted me personally because my mom incorrectly thought my Israeli Uncle Oskar, our sole family Holocaust survivor, was a victim. The Munich Olympics jump started what became a personal ongoing obsession with learning about terrorism, Israel and the Middle East that continues to this day. In 1998, my first novel, "The Last Inauguration," dealt with these topics and featured the notorious terrorist, Carlos the Jackal, who parenthetically agreed to grant me his first ever interview.

Next, six weeks into my first semester of college at Indiana University, Syria and Egypt invaded Israel, starting the 1973 Yom Kippur War. Reports circulated that the draft could be reinstated with the USA sending troops to support Israel. That notion was clearly unpopular on my dorm floor, where I was the only Jew. One day some of my clothes were cut up. The next, a garbage can filled with water was emptied onto my bed. The third day a guy from home, Bill Ricks, made non-stop antisemitic remarks at dinner. I told him if he opened his mouth again, he'd have a problem with me. We left the cafeteria, Ricks poked me in the chest, called me a "f**king Jew" and I snapped. I grabbed him and threw him through a large plate glass window in front of 100 witnesses. I was taken by the campus police to the Dean of Students. When he heard my story I was released and Ricks got in trouble. Word about the event travelled fast. The good news and the bad news was the same; everyone in the dorm left me alone. The next semester I moved into ZBT, a Jewish fraternity. It was the first time I felt like I wanted to be part of the Jewish community.

Finally, in 1998, my in-laws took our collective family of 14 to Israel for their 50th anniversary. I instantly fell in love with the country. I felt infused by my Jewish heritage, particularly as I took in everything going on around me at my nephew's bar mitzvah at the Wall. I privately prayed at the Wall and got emotional. I came up with a line I've used many times since then, which was, if there was such thing as reincarnation, I know I was a Maccabee in a prior life. I pledged to keep coming back to Israel, and I have done so.

You've now read my family history and about the antisemitism I faced growing up, as well as my training for the day I could exact revenge against those who oppressed me. I make no apology for not forgiving those bigots who we now call White Nationalists. But in terms of Israel, my thinking has migrated. To be sure, if Israel is threatened by anyone, I will always say, "Bring it on. Mess with us, we'll destroy you. Happy to do it." No matter what, Israel has an absolute right to defend itself and protect its people.

But I do feel a sensitivity to the daily problems the Palestinian people face daily. They are not the enemy. I've spent countless hours in Arab cafes and the streets in Jerusalem and the West Bank discussing peace with everyday Palestinians. I've also seen firsthand how many Palestinians live in utter poverty. I've walked away from every conversation believing that the vast majority of Palestinians, while frustrated, are not filled with hate toward Israel. What I consistently heard is that they want better lives for their children. Better education. Better healthcare. Opportunity. What's wrong with that?

The real question is how does Israel remain secure and the Palestinians get better lives that would presumably make them more supportive of Israel, thus leading to peaceful co-existence? It would take all parties moving forward with communication, cooperation and co-existence and using the Oslo Accords as a starting point to problem solving. I am driven to attaining peace, because I never want to see Israel disappear from the map.

Right now, Israel's hands are tied. The reality is that Palestinians have little say in controlling their own destinies because the corrupt Palestinian Authority controls the West Bank and Hamas terrorists control Gaza. That is who Israel's battle is against. Hamas, Hezbollah and other terrorist groups that want nothing more than to cause harm to Israel and its citizens.

Many appropriately argue that the Palestinians are the problem of the Palestinian Authority and Hamas, and shouldn't be Israel's problem. But the Palestinians do live on Israeli soil. What would happen if, subject to a peace accord, a benevolent Israel and the world community provided the Palestinians with better housing, education, technology and healthcare? Might some of the mutual long-embedded hatred dissipate? Couldn't Israel use a boost in the worldwide court of public opinion? Isn't it feasible that Israel would become stronger in its internal security, if peace could be achieved? What if?

Chuck Lichtman is a practicing attorney in Florida and serves on the national Board of Directors of Secure Community Network, an arm of the Jewish Federations of North America, and serves as Chair of the Security Committee for the South Palm Beach Jewish Federation.