The slowly swelling crowd of irate Israelis began arriving not long after Mordechai Vanunu’s supporters had strung themselves in an almost festive line across the road from Ashkelon prison at eight o’clock that morning. Separated only by a thin blue line of police, several armed with assault weapons, the two groups eyed each other with the edgy apprehension nurtured over nearly two decades of waiting for this day.

While working as a technician inside Israel’s highly secret nuclear weapons facility in Dimona, Vanunu had gradually come to feel the world should know what his country had long denied, that it had clandestinely developed the capacity to build and deliver a nuclear arsenal capable of massive destruction throughout the entire Middle East. After considerable soul-searching, he brought his story, coupled with photographs secretly taken at Dimona, to England, where the “London Times” brought his almost surreal tale to light in 1986. The story caused an instantaneous international furor, sparking both denials in Tel Aviv and demands from nuclear weapons experts to visit Dimona, where the veracity of Vanunu’s story could be verified. Israel refused every request. Shortly before the story broke, an Israeli agent playing on his isolation and fear lured Vanunu to Rome. Kidnapped in the Eternal City and secretly spirited to Israel, he was tried and sentenced to 18 years of solitary confinement. In 1998, under mounting international pressure, Vanunu was removed from segregation. Throughout his years in prison, he never wavered in his conviction that his actions were justified, and he developed a far-flung network of sympathetic supporters with whom he frequently corresponded. International interest in his case grew, cresting on April 21, the day of his release, when more than eighty supporters from around the globe, including his adoptive parents, Mary and Nick Eoloff of Minnesota, gathered across from the heavy blue and white prison gate, holding banners, singing, and anxiously awaiting his appearance.

By nine o’clock, as the warm desert sun climbed a cloudless blue sky, the international press, originally numbering near 20, had grown to ten times that amount. Reporters brandishing microphones and telephoto lenses thrust them in the face of anyone expressing an opinion, no matter how violent or absurd. Counter-demonstrators — silent women bearing black-hued roses and screaming, arm-waving men, some flourishing large white Israeli flags adorned with the blue Star of David — were nose-to-nose with Vanunu’s supporters, shaking their fists and screaming, “Spy!” and “Traitor” into the warm summer air. At ten o’clock, one hour before the scheduled released, 18 cowering white doves, each representing a year of Vanunu’s imprisonment, were set free from a cramped wooden box. Several seemed so frightened they refused to fly.

At 10:30, the raucous crowd of counter-demonstrators surged through police lines, crossed the street, and stood in the prison driveway, where reinforcements struggled to bring order. Raw eggs splattered against onlookers, and many began worrying whether Vanunu could safely leave the prison.

At precisely eleven o’clock he appeared. A tiny speck in a swarming sea of arms, cameras, and posters, Vanunu ran to the large gate fronting the road, leaped onto a vertical metal crossbeam, and thrust a white-sleeved arm through the bars and into the air. His hand formed the letter “V.”

His ordeal, however, had merely begun. Hustled to a small, nondescript sedan within the prison compound, the gate opened, and the vehicle edged forward. As the angry crowd besieged the car, eggs and rocks splattered and pinged against its side. Several men leaped onto the hood, only to be pushed off by guards. The crowd seemed on the verge of rioting. Slipping slowly through the throng, the sedan gradually gained speed and disappeared around a corner at a nearby intersection, chased by rock-hurling demonstrators.

Because of the many threats against his life, Vanunu’s destination was a closely guarded secret. Throughout the weeks preceding his release, even many of his closest supporters despaired over finding a safe sanctuary where he could stay while plans were made for a permanent home. Vanunu himself wanted to leave Israel for the United States, but Prime Minister Ariel Sharon’s government was adamant in its refusal to grant him a passport.

Mordechai Vanunu currently resides at Saint George’s Cathedral in Jerusalem, the residence of Episcopal Bishop Riah Abu El-Assal. There, on the night of his release, Vanunu hugged each of the more than eighty women and men who had traveled to Israel with their support. Standing erect in the white shirt, blue tie, and khaki pants he had worn since leaving prison, he told the crowd, giddy with happiness and champagne, “You are the heroes. . . You helped me survive seventeen years of jail, torture, and spies.” The next step, he told his friends, was to appeal the restrictions placed on him by the Israeli government, including its refusal to allow him to leave the country. In the meantime, he said, he would live at Saint George’s.

There is, however, much pressure being brought on Bishop El-Assal to end Vanunu’s sanctuary. At a private meeting with members of the recently returned Catholic Worker Peace Team, Vanunu said that he believed a letter-writing campaign expressing encouragement and support to the bishop might help his cause. In Vanunu’s name, the Peace Team, including Scott Schaeffer-Duffy and Ken Hannaford-Ricardi of SS. Francis and Therese Catholic Worker in Worcester, is asking Vanunu’s supporters and all who are concerned for his safety to e-mail Bishop El-Assal, thanking him for granting Vanunu sanctuary and asking him to allow Vanunu to remain within the cathedral compound until a safe, permanent home can be found. In the face of Vanunu’s enormous sacrifice, it seems the least we can do.

The bishop can be reached at sghostel@netvision.net.il