The Book of Trees (3 page)

In the long hot afternoons, Sheila and Don played old folk songs on the porch while Flip and I raced air mattresses across the cove. In the evenings we ate bean salad, fresh corn on the cob and corned beef sandwiches, and played endless rounds of Hearts. Sometimes we played music together, Sheila and Don on guitars, me on banjo and Flip on improvised pot drums. It was the only summer we didn’t spend endless hours driving to catch Don at his summer festival gigs.

All that summer I swam along the shore and looked at the silvery logs in the water—half alive, half dead— and gazed at the peeling bark of the birch trees on the shore. Sometimes I’d walk into the woods and lie down on the forest floor and look up at the towering trees in all their beauty. They were so much older than me, and they’d be there long after I was dead.

Once when I was lying on the forest floor, almost asleep, a breeze wafting over my body, I heard footsteps breaking the twigs. Before I had time to get up, Don was there.

“Oh.” I sat up. I tried to brush the twigs and leaves out of my hair. I felt embarrassed to be lying in the dirt.

Don put his hand out. “Don’t get up.” He crouched awkwardly and then lay beside me with his hands behind his head. I saw him close his eyes and then open them to look up at the sky.

I lay back down. Between the tree branches, clouds sailed across the sky in ever-changing formations. We lay together in silence for a few minutes. Don was so still I thought he’d fallen asleep. Then he murmured, “You could write a song about looking up at the sky through the trees.”

“Uh-huh.”

Another long pause. “What would you call it?”

I thought about this for a moment. Then I said, “I’d call it ‘Catch Your Breath.’”

“Huh.”

I turned my head to look at him. “What would you call it?”

Don paused again. “I’d call it ‘Catch Your Breath’ too.”

Michelle was staring at me. I shook my head. Right, I was here to learn. I opened my book. “Let’s get started on this Torah thing.”

Michelle nodded and we started reading the story of Sarah casting out Hagar. First we read it in English, and then we tried to read the Hebrew. Michelle’s Hebrew sucked almost as much as mine, and we didn’t get very far. When we took a break, I told Michelle, “I thought Sarah was one of the foremothers. She doesn’t sound so great and righteous.”

Michelle pursed her lips. “No, she sounds rather human.”

“Wouldn’t you be pissed if you couldn’t get pregnant and your husband took another wife just so he could have a kid?”

Michelle frowned at the text. “That would suck.”

“So what’s this supposed to mean to us?”

“I don’t think we’re supposed to study it that way.”

“Oh.” Well, why bother then? I thought, but it seemed rude to say that, so we just kept reading. The class discussion focused on the interpretations of some guy named Rashi, and on who was righteous and who was not.

At break time we filed into the lounge with students from other classes and drank coffee or tea and snacked on pastries. I looked around for Aviva, but her classes, conducted all in Hebrew, were on another floor. I sat next to Michelle on a saggy orange couch. She gestured with her elbow to a group of giggling girls. “Most of the other students are FFB, and their Hebrew is excellent.”

“FF what?”

“FFB. It means
frum—
you know, religious—from birth. They grew up religious and they know all this stuff.” Michelle sounded envious. One of the FFB girls came over to us. She had a band of freckles across her snub nose and a long dark braid down her back.

“Are you new here?” she asked me.

“Yes, I’m Mia.”

“Hi, I’m Chani.” She held out her hand. “We don’t really get to know the girls in your classes very well, so you should come Israeli dancing here on Thursday night. It’s a blast.”

“Oh, is it hard to learn?”

“You’ll catch on, no problem.” She turned to Michelle. “You should come too.”

“Oh, maybe.” Michelle twisted her hands behind her.

Chani smiled and went back to her friends.

I turned to Michelle. “She seems really nice. Have you gone dancing?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Michelle lowered her voice. “All they do is talk about
shidduch
dates.”

“Is that where you get set up?”

Michelle nodded.

I frowned. “I thought that wasn’t until you were older.”

“Nope. It starts now.”

I felt a twinge in my stomach. I squirmed on the sofa. “You don’t want to get married?”

Michelle bit her lip. “No, it’s not that. I can’t yet.” Her voice dropped. “Not until my conversion.”

“Oh, well. That’s okay.” I waved my croissant in the air. “I’m sure they’d understand.”

Michelle gripped my arm. “I don’t want anyone to know. I just told you because—”

I pulled my arm away from her. “I get it. No worries. When’s your exam?”

Michelle sighed. “Only a month to go.”

“I’m sure you’ll do awesome. Anyway, I’m going to go dancing. It’s probably fun, you know, in a wholesome kind of way.”

Michelle gave me a funny look.

At 11:30, I followed Michelle into the
halacha
or law class. The students were studying the
Shulchan Aruch
or “The Set Table,” a text about keeping kosher. Right away they launched into a discussion about accidentally dropping some milk into a pot of beef stew. Jews weren’t supposed to eat milk and meat together. Could the stew be saved or did it have to be thrown out? It was all about proportions. The discussion sounded so ridiculous I thought maybe they were joking, but it was serious. Why couldn’t you drain out the bit the milk touched, say
oops
and still praise God?

I was disappointed. I’d hoped the
halacha
class would talk about why we were following the laws. Wasn’t that the point of coming to yeshiva—to figure out the Why?

After class I went up to the teacher, Miriam. “I’m wondering if, um, we’re going to be discussing the reason behind the laws.”

Miriam smiled. “Nope. It’s not that kind of class.”

“So we’re just going to discuss how to interpret the law?”

“Yes, that’s right.” She smiled again.

I didn’t know what else to say, so I nodded and left.

I went downstairs to talk to Rochel.

“So how were your classes? Good?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Great. Are you going to stay for the afternoon or the evening?”

I shook my head. “I think a half day is going to be more than enough.” There was no way I could do a full day. I was already exhausted. My head ached from sounding out words and following complex arguments. It was a good ache, but I wanted to collapse upstairs.

Rochel’s smile tightened a little. “Most girls who come for the summer want to learn as much as possible. So, go have a rest and come back in the evening. There’s Israeli dancing, calligraphy and a course on life-cycle event planning.”

I nodded and got up to leave.

“Wait.” Rochel put out her hand to stop me. “Are you interested in volunteering?”

“Oh.” I stopped. “Yes.”
Tikkun olam
. Repairing the world. I could help bring more God to the Earth.

“Old or young people, hospital or school?”

“Um, old people,” I decided.

Rochel gave me the pamphlet for an organization called Lifeline for the Old, a craft center for the elderly. “You could also join the Shabbos
mitzvot
group. They give out flowers at Hadassah Hospital.”

I took the pamphlets. “I’ll think about it,” I said.

I spent the rest of the afternoon buying books for my classes and visiting the craft center. I arranged to volunteer two afternoons a week, cutting cloth in the fabric workshop. The coordinator called me Maya and introduced me to a workroom full of old Russian women who looked like they’d pinch my cheeks if I came too close.

I was lying on my bed with my guidebook when Aviva came home. “Hey, how were your classes?” She pulled a bag of Cheezies out of her backpack.

I sat up. “Interesting and exhausting and different. My brain is killing me trying to keep all that new information straight.”

“How was the Hebrew level?”

“Oh, I think it’ll be okay.”

“So.” Aviva rested her chin in her palm. “You liked it?”

I thought about the girls in their boring clothes and the
halacha
class and took a big breath. “It’s not exactly what I thought it would be like, but yeah, I think it’s going to be good.”

“I’m so happy for you.” Aviva clapped her hands. She looked pleased, as if it were her courses going well. She pointed at my book. “Is that for school?”

“No, it’s just a guidebook. I want to go back to the Old City tomorrow and explore. Wanna come?”

“Don’t you have classes all day?”

“I finish at one.”

“You didn’t sign up for a full day?”

“No. Was I supposed to?”

“I just thought you would. You know, with your scholarship and all.”

“Oh, there are so many other things I want to do. Volunteer work and tourist stuff, like go up the Mount of Olives, wander through East Jerusalem.”

Aviva tugged on her hair. “Oh, I don’t think you should do that. It could be really dangerous.”

“Oh, c’mon, I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Look, I don’t want to scare you, but you need to be careful.” Aviva stood with her hand on the doorknob.

“I will be.” I tried to look serious.

“That’s good.”

“Hey, I was reading about this great hike to an oasis called Ein Gedi.” I held up my guidebook. “We could go Friday morning.”

“You mean just the two of us?”

“Yeah.”

“And hike alone?” Aviva looked at me as if I was crazy.

“Not a good idea?”

“The school offers lots of trips. There’s a sign-up sheet in the main lobby. I think there’s a night hike at the end of the month.”

“Oh, thanks.” The end of the month seemed an awfully long time to wait to go hiking.

Aviva went to use the phone in the lobby. She came back a few minutes later. “My mom says hi. She was thrilled to hear you liked your classes.”

“Oh, that’s great.” I looked up from my book. Aviva had already called home to say we’d arrived safely. I hadn’t called anyone.

“Doesn’t your mom want you to call?”

“She said a postcard would be fine.” Sheila was at an art and music festival for most of the summer. I had a phone number for emergencies only.

Aviva didn’t know anything about my family except they weren’t religious. I was sure she’d never met anyone whose parents weren’t married. She didn’t know my dad wasn’t Jewish or how freaked out my mom had been when I announced I was becoming observant. Sheila had stood in our kitchen and raved for over an hour about the sexist, insular ways of Orthodox Judaism.

“What about your dad?” Aviva looked curious.

“My dad, well, he’s away a lot.” Aviva looked even more interested. “For business,” I lied.

“Oh.” Aviva nodded. “Cheezie?” She held out the bag. I helped myself to a handful.

We made pasta salad with olives for dinner and dipped thin sheets of pita in hummus and baba ghanoush. While we ate on the balcony, strange popping noises echoed across the valley. I straightened and tried to peer out into the distance.

“I think that’s just a car backfiring,” Aviva said.

A few minutes later, more popping noises ricocheted off the building. Aviva tensed. We sat quietly listening. As we were clearing the dishes, another bang resounded, louder and sharper.

“
That
was a gun.” Aviva gripped the railing.

“How do you know?”

“Just do.”

I stood looking out over the beautiful sand hills.

“Don’t worry,” Aviva said. “Just stay in the Jewish parts of the city and you’ll be fine.”

THREE

I
closed my eyes and chanted, “I am grateful to you, living King, for restoring my soul to me.” I swayed back and forth, my eyes closed so tightly I saw stars. “You are faithful beyond measure.” I sang the lines again and looked over the desert. The night’s velvet darkness had retreated, taking with it the fleeting dew, leaving the air so dry it felt fiery in my lungs.

Each morning after the mournful cry of the call to prayer jarred me out of sleep, I silently crept out of my sweaty sheets and went up to the rooftop of the B’nos Sarah dorm to gaze out at the pink and yellow panorama of the desert. The morning mist made the sand merge into the sky.