The Book of Trees (17 page)

I ran my hands over my dirty T-shirt. The craft center went on a field trip? I had a new job volunteering in a sandbox? “Oh, I just walked a lot today,” I said quietly, keeping my head down. I could feel her piercing gaze.

I knew Aviva hadn’t believed me when I told her I’d been with Mrs. Shanowitz the night before when I’d really been with Andrew.

I turned my back so she wouldn’t see my tattoo and pulled off my dirty T-shirt. I hoped she wouldn’t ask any more questions. At the sink I splashed cool water over my red face.

“Are you sure you don’t have heatstroke or something? Your face is so red.”

“I did overdo it, but I’m feeling better now.” I pulled off my skirt, shoes and socks, ignoring the small pile of sand falling around my feet. “I think I’ll take a shower now.” Aviva stared at me as I nudged the sand under my bed on my way out of the room.

ELEVEN

T
he air-conditioned lounge of the King David Hotel was deliciously cool. I sat directly under a vent and let the icy breeze blow directly on me. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on my surroundings: the well-dressed tourists, the expensive art on the walls, the neat waiters, even the Muzak in the background.

I held a stack of postcards in my lap, but I hadn’t written a single word.
Dear Mom, I’ve met a boy. Dear
Mom, They read the bible literally here. Dear Mom, They
planted trees over people’s villages.

I kept thinking what Sheila would say if I told her about the
Nakba
. She’d be so outraged she’d get out her placards and start making signs to organize a protest. We’d stand in front of the Israeli embassy with Palestinian women. Sheila never just said, “That sucks.” She took action. I used to hate her protests and petitions. All her marching and knocking on doors embarrassed me.

And Don? He wrote songs about the world’s problems instead.

Maybe I could just write a song.
Stolen trees bear sour
fruit
. What rhymed with fruit? Root?

We try to set down new roots
But stolen trees bear sour fruit
.

Too harsh? Maybe, but also true. Aviva would say they were stolen from us in the first place, that we were just taking them back.
Reclaimed trees bear sour fruit?
And who was the “we”? Was I really part of this?

I tapped my pen on my notebook and jotted more lyrics.

You say this is your ancestral land;
We say these are our rocks, our sand.
Does it matter who came first?
Our prayers cannot quench our thirst.

If I played the song, other people would know about the trees, and they could stand in front of bulldozers and oppose the government. I thought about driving a car like Don’s station wagon miles and miles across North America to sing and then returning home, tired and depressed. One of the reasons I became religious was to avoid the wandering, lonely lifestyle of a musician.

Two couples sat down at the next table. I heard a man say to one of the women, “How did you find the Dome?”

“It was amazing. Absolutely fascinating.”

I turned to look at the tourists, two older couples in Tilley hats and expensive travel clothes. The backs of the men’s necks were deeply lined by the sun.

One of the women said, “It just glints in the sun. I can’t imagine what it’s like when they’re all there to pray. Stunning, I bet.”

“We really thought it was the highlight of our trip. That and the Wailing Wall on the Sabbath.”

The Dome. I had gotten used to its gleam, had become almost indifferent when I saw it on my runs. These tourists had walked where the
Ir Hakodesh
used to be, where the high priest had talked to God.

After Aviva said it wasn’t a good idea to go, I’d put it out of my mind. Now I yearned for it. I wanted to walk on holy ground. It would take my mind off the trees. I got up from the table, paid for my drink and headed toward the Old City.

Half an hour later I clutched my backpack to my chest as I passed through the metal gate to the Temple Mount. My pace slowed as I gazed up at the soaring Dome. A group of women in headscarves stared at me from under the graceful trees lining the walkway. I tried to keep my eyes forward. Did they think I was Jewish, or just some tourist? I passed a fountain surrounded by a wrought-iron enclosure and then stood in front of the stairs leading up to the Dome. I paused, trying to absorb the beautiful arches and intricate mosaic tiles before I entered. Inside was darker, cooler. My eyes adjusted and I could see the giant rock surrounded by a railing. Carved lattice windows shed intricate shadows on the floor. “
Kadosh, kadosh, kadosh
,” I whispered, involuntarily rising up on my toes. Holy, holy, holy. I closed my eyes and imagined Mohammed in a white robe sailing toward heaven, his arms reaching up like a lover in a Chagall painting. I felt my spirits lift, light and frothy, as if I too was soaring through the sky.

This spot with the rock. Did the ancient Jewish priests talk to God here? I felt a shiver run down my spine. I started to walk around the rock, humming a line from prayers.
Adonai melekh.
The Lord is King
.
If I could speak with God, what would I say? Would I pray for peace, or for the earth to go back to seed and start over?

I walked away as if in a dream, my feet moving through the plaza of the
Kotel
and the narrow alleys of the Jewish Quarter, until I stood in front of Andrew’s hostel. I hadn’t seen him since our afternoon in the park. I could hear Neil Young’s “Helpless” coming from the roof.

I climbed the stairs to the roof deck and waved to Andrew. I pulled up a chair next to him and let the melody pour over me. It was as refreshing as entering the Ein Gedi oasis. I sang along, not caring how loud I sang. My smile was so big, I thought my face might break in half.

Andrew turned to me. “You look happy.”

“I just went to the Dome of the Rock.”

“Ah. Beautiful.”

“Yes.”

Then I saw Kyle walk up the stairs. When he winked at me, I pretended to study my sandals. He took a seat across the circle and started to play a bongo drum, poorly.

The song ended and the travelers chatted and drank beer. I sat watching the group, my gaze still on the Dome.

“We’re building again tomorrow.” Andrew’s voice ripped me out of my reverie.

“What?”

“We’re rebuilding a house, if you want to come. The bus leaves from Zion Square at ten o’clock.” He had that serious look again. It made me want to grab him.

“Oh.” My pulse throbbed like sonar at my temple. “I don’t think so.”

Andrew shrugged. “If you change your mind…”

Sheila would go, and drag ten friends with her. I shook my head. I’d stick with writing bad lyrics instead.

I found myself thinking about Andrew on the bus ride home. I liked how laid-back he was. I liked his slow wink, the casual way he held a guitar, his loping walk. Most of all, I was a sucker for a guy who listened like I was the only girl who existed. And Andrew actually cared about someone other than himself. I’d never met a guy willing to rebuild houses in the desert for other people.

I was still enveloped in a golden glow when Aviva came home that evening.

“How was your day?” Aviva put her backpack down on her chair and took a swig of water.

“It was great.”

“Oh yeah? What were you up to?” She dug in her desk drawer and pulled out a bag of pretzels. “Want one?”

I shook my head and rolled over on my bed. “I can’t tell you.”

Aviva’s eyes sparkled. “What?”

“It’s a secret.”

“C’mon. Now you have to tell.”

I took a breath. “I know you said not to, but I went to the Dome of the Rock.”

“Oh.” Aviva’s face fell.

I instantly regretted telling her. “I know Jews shouldn’t go there, but I had to see it. And I’m glad I did. It’s
so
beautiful.”

Aviva’s eyes darkened. “I hear they have a cloth stained with blood from the Hebron massacre right inside the mosque.”

“I didn’t see that. I just saw this beautiful rock and the mosaics.”

Aviva crossed her arms against her chest and pressed her lips into a tight line.

“Just wait,” I said. “I know you’re mad, but listen…” I sat up and braced my hands on the table between our beds. “I thought, isn’t it amazing both religions have the same holy place? I mean, think about it. There must be something really special about that particular piece of land. It’s so full of
Hashem
. And
I
got to be there.”

Aviva ripped her headband out of her hair. “Sometimes you are so naïve.”

I ignored her. “I was thinking about Mohammed ascending to God from the rock, and how he was like one of the high priests talking to God. How cool is that? And I love the image of flying. It makes me think of the Chagall painting, you know the one where the lovers are flying. Do you think Chagall was thinking of Mohammed?”

“Chagall was a Jew,” Aviva said tensely.

I flopped back on the bed. “It was a really amazing experience and you should go check it out.”

Aviva stared at me. “How come you have all this time to wander around? Don’t you go to class?”

“I dropped my
halacha
class.”

“What? How come?”

“I was so sick of talking about what happens when the meat and cheese touch in the refrigerator.”

“Actually it doesn’t matter—”

“Who cares? Why aren’t we talking about why God wants us to keep them separate? What’s the context?”

“Sometimes you need to learn the details first.”

I took a deep breath. “I’m more of a big-picture kind of a girl.”

“I see.”

Neither of us said anything. Our room felt very small, so I went to take a shower. When I came back, Aviva ignored me and kept reading. I lay on my bed, arms and legs tense, my mind racing. I wished I hadn’t told her. My day was tarnished now with her negativity.

I took Andrew’s bandanna out from under my pillow and lay with it over my face, taking small breaths, as if I was burying my face in Andrew’s tanned neck, as if my hands were reaching around his chest. He understood how beautiful the Dome was. I rolled over onto my side and squinted at Aviva under the desk. How could she be so narrow-minded? I wanted her to read about the
Nakba
, to understand what was going on in the country she loved so much. But it wouldn’t have the same meaning for her as it did for me. She believed in God the way the other B’nos Sarah girls did. If you read the bible literally, you could justify killing other people for the sake of a homeland: Israel was worth it. And some Palestinians were willing to kill too. I felt a chill run down my spine. I was surrounded by God-driven violence. I glanced at the bible on my desk and shuddered. What a dangerous book.

I sat up, my head spinning. I wanted to rewind my thoughts. I became religious to bring love and peace into the world. But it seemed Judaism, at least in Israel, wasn’t about the good of all humans, just the good of all Jews. Were all religions like that? It was like Dan said: you worried about your own people first. I’d wanted to be part of a community, but not at the expense of other people.

I wanted to pace around the room or go for a walk or, better yet, slam dance in a noisy bar. I leaped out of bed and rearranged the books on my desk. Aviva sighed and rolled over noisily. I glared at her and lay down again. I tried to calm my breathing. I could still bring love and peace into the world. I’d start tomorrow by helping rebuild that house. I clenched my fists. I wouldn’t just stand aside. Andrew’s bandanna was still on my pillow. I sniffed it again and let his image fill my head. I’d rebuild that house, with Andrew.