Jerusalem Stone

by Susan Sofayov

  As we passed, shopkeepers came out to the street, hawking everything from pottery, which they claimed was made during the BCE period, hand-made rugs from the far east, and whispered offers of hashish.

  “It’s just like markets in Thailand, except this one has more tempting wares and hashish,” I said, peeking into a scarf shop.

  Avi smiled, leading me down the ancient steps until one shop owner began speaking to him in Hebrew. I meandered inside and perused the gold and silver bracelets and rings. Necklaces hung on racks attached to the back wall. One flashing red caught my attention. I quickly reached for it and lifted it from its tiny metal hook. My heartbeat quickened as the silver chain fell between my fingers. The red cloisonné pomegranate pendant rested in my palm as I remembered...

  ***

  I sat on my mom’s sofa watching Jack pull dirty laundry from his backpack. “It’s here. I know it is.”

  “Whatever it is, it probably smells like the armpits of your T-shirts.”

  Jack flashed me what I referred to as his “shut up, Julie” face--twisted mouth and rolled eyes. His laundry digging expedition continued, as I reached for the remote control and turned on the television.

  “Turn that off. I want to tell you about my trip. Jules, you have to go to Jerusalem.”

  I turned off the television and looked at him. “Really? I haaavvveee to go.” I dragged out the word have.

  “Don’t be sarcastic. I’m serious. The place is beyond amazing. The history, you can feel it in your bones. Let’s save our money and go together. Ten days in Jerusalem and you’ll appreciate being a Jew.”

  “I appreciate being a Jew,” I shot back.

  “You’re agnostic at best, and you barely connect to Judaism culturally.”

  “I don’t eat pork, and I don’t mix meat and milk. That’s something.” I leaned into the soft back of the sofa and crossed my arms in front of my chest.

  “If I remember correctly, you said that you only did those things because of childhood conditioning--not because you connect with the mitzvot.”

  I tried to think of something Jewish that I did regularly and drew a blank. “Whatever,” I said--my go-to response when I had no response.

  “Here it is.” He held a small foil bag. The light from the table lamp caused it to flash blue--the color of the Star of David on the Israeli flag,

  I reached out and took it from his hand. The lip of the bag was folded over and creased sharply. It rested on the palm of my hand.

  “Open it,” Jack said, his eyes wide with excitement.

  I reached in and pulled out a silver chain bracelet. Dangling from the links were small cloisonné pomegranates. I flipped it around in my hands, feeling the coolness of the metal and the smoothness of the cloisonné. “It’s beautiful,” I said, meaning it.

  “I bought it in the Arab shuk in Jerusalem. I even haggled over the price.”

  “What? I’m not worth full price?” I joked.

  “Sure, you are, but it’s a tradition to haggle with the shopkeepers. That’s the fun part of shopping in the market, and it looks like something straight out of The Arabian Nights.”

  “Can you put it on me?”

  He clasped it around my wrist. “Jules, promise me that someday you’ll go to Jerusalem.”

  Chapter 18

  The necklace in my hand matched my bracelet. Other than the pomegranate pendant being bigger than the small charms on my bracelet, it was the same. I stopped rubbing the charm. My survivor’s guilt smacked my heart with full force. Jack was gone. A few tears dripped down my cheek, as an invisible grater shredded my conscience. Don’t cry in front of Avi. Don’t cry in front of Avi. I placed the necklace back on the hook and turned away.

  I heard Avi say something to the owner and watched as the burly man stuffed a wad of cash into his pocket, before walking toward the hook holding the necklace. I spun around in time to see him lift the pomegranate necklace from the hook and place it into a box.

  “What are you doing?” I asked Avi.

  “I thought you liked it, so I bought it, to remind you of this day.”

  “I don’t need a necklace to remember this day or any other day with you. Please don’t buy it.”

  “Why not? You promised to let me spoil you for ten days. The only person who’s been spoiled this week is me.”

  “Then buy me ice cream or a bag of candy.” I lacked the strength to hold back the tears and shook my head. “Please don’t buy it.”

  He picked up my hand, stroked the top, and gazed into my eyes. “This isn’t about me buying you something. It’s about that particular necklace, right?”

  I bit my bottom lip and nodded.

  “Now, since there is no way in hell that nice gentleman is going to return my money, I'm going to pick out something else for you. Okay?”

  “No pomegranates.”

  He kissed my cheek and repeated. “No pomegranates.”

  “I’ll wait outside.” Not far from the doorway, the street dropped by a small step. I sat down, closed my eyes, and put my head on my knees, allowing the guilt to win the emotional battle. I broke every promise I made to Jack. He wouldn’t want me to move on. If he was somewhere else, he’d be pissed off about dying.

  Even with my eyes closed, I could sense the people passing by me. Each heading somewhere, unlike Jack, who would never head anywhere again.

  “Hey.” Avi stood in front of me and handed me a box. I slowly lifted the lid and saw a blue cloisonné hamsa. In the center of the hand was a tiny gold Star of David.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said.

  “It’s supposed to ward off the evil eye. I hope it protects you when I’m not around.”

  “Coming here was a big mistake.” The tears flowed. The gloating winner of the inner torment game. “Jack died, and I fell in love.”

  He clasped my hand, hard. “Being in love isn’t a crime.”

  The look in his eyes told me he was waiting for a response. I didn’t have one.

  “I’m sorry about your brother, but you didn’t die with him. It wasn’t your time. It was his.”

  I wanted to scream at Avi or pound on his chest because, in my heart, I could feel Jack’s anger.

  “Come on. Let’s get out of here before we get trampled.” He led me by the hand to an open courtyard that offered more privacy than the narrow alleyway of the shuk. “Did it ever occur to you that happiness comes from doing what you’re destined for? When I met you and said it was bashert, I didn’t mean our meeting. You’re the one I’ve been searching for. We met, and we’re together because of a great cosmic plan. Think about it. Of all the places on Earth, you randomly picked Thailand for your escape. I ran away from loneliness and could have hung out with my crazy parents in New York, but I chose Thailand. And for a Jew who doesn’t give a damn about being Jewish, the first place you discovered was a Chabad House. Don’t tell me it wasn’t your soul pulling you there.”

  “None of that’s bashert. It’s just coincidence. The idea of a soul mate is bullshit. It’s a result of the human propensity to try to find meaning in the meaningless. We met by accident. What pulled us together was a hormonal explosion that led to love. I love you, but not because of some great cosmic design. It’s a friggin coincidence.”

  He shook his head. “No, I don’t believe that.”

  “It’s true.” My head pounded and, for a few moments, I let it rest on my knees. “I don’t want to see anymore today. Can we go back to your apartment?”

  He sighed. “Sure.”

  We walked side by side. No hand holding. No laughing, just silence, painfully strained silence.

  The August afternoon sun pounded down, hot on my skin. It felt as if the heat sucked the oxygen from the air.

  “You do realize that your logic is completely screwed up,” he said, still looking straight ahead.

  “No, tell me how my logic is screwed up.”

  “You claim that you don’t believe in God and there is no afterlife, but you insist yo
ur dead brother wants you to be miserable. If neither God nor an afterlife exists, your brother has no ability to want anything. Therefore, the only person who wants you to be miserable is you. Jack’s not angry because he died. You’re angry because he died.”

  “I know him and what he’d want.”

  “Really? You know what he would want you to do?”

  “Yes. Mourn.”

  “You said that when he was alive, he always tried to fix you up with guys he believed to be decent men. That tells me he wanted you to be taken care of and happy. So, a brother who cared so much for his sister wants to drag her to the grave with him?”

  I gazed down and counted the cracks in the sidewalk as he talked.

  “I don’t buy it,” he said, in an elevated tone. “What I do buy is you’re afraid to live without him, and as long as you hang on to these crazy beliefs, you can justify living in the cave you built for yourself.”

  “That’s not true!”

  “Think about it.” He held open the door to his apartment building.

  The silence in the elevator locked onto my skin like claws, causing physical pain. I wanted to touch him but didn’t know how to reach across his anger or let go of my own.

  He slammed the apartment door and walked across the living room. “I’m going to do some work.” Then he disappeared into his office.

  It was early, but I’d promised to bake dessert for Shabbat dinner. Avi only owned a few pots and pans, and not one could be used for baking a cake or cookies. I knocked on the office door. “I’m going down to the supermarket. Can I get you anything?”

  He didn’t look up, just shook his head.

  “Are you sure?” I wanted him to at least look at me. Again, he shook his head.

  I closed the door, grabbed my bag, and left. The supermarket was only a block away. I wished it was a mile away so I could run. The only time my head cleared completely was during runs, and it had been too many days since the last one.

  The supermarket was small and crowded. People jostled shopping carts around the narrow aisles, talking on cell phones or quieting fussy children. I located an aluminum pan, picked up eggs, and a few other items. I stood in the checkout line, watching a young mother calm her crying toddler. The mother remained so serene while patting the crying child on the back. She murmured gentle shushing sounds until the little girl relaxed. It dawned on me that Avi was essentially trying to quiet my tears, not by shushing, but by presenting me with other ways to look at my situation. I pulled out of line and picked up two bags of gummy bears.

  He was still in front of the computer when I returned. I walked in waving the candy. “Peace offering.”

  He looked up, eyes filled with sadness--sadness I caused.

  “Come here.” I picked up his hand and gave a gentle tug. He followed me into the living room and sat next to me on the sofa.

  “I get that you’re trying to lead me to a more positive way of looking at this situation. Part of what you’re saying is probably true. He would be happy that I found you. And, maybe he would want me to move on with my life.”

  Avi wrapped me in his arms. “You do listen.”

  Tears rolled down my cheeks. “I want to love you, but I don’t want to feel like I traded one love for another. If I met you while Jack was alive, it would be so different. Now, I feel like if I give you my whole heart, it’s stealing from him.”

  He continued holding and rocking me. “But loving me doesn’t mean you love him less. You should know that and feel it. Maybe you’re not thinking about him as much since you left the United States, but that doesn’t mean you love him less. I bet that since he passed away, he’s never left your thoughts.”

  I nodded.

  “Did you think about him that much when he was alive? If you did, he would have accused you of smothering him. Let his soul rest.”

  “That’s the part I’m not sure about. Do we really have a soul?”

  He squeezed me tight. “Yes, and you have a beautiful one. But you have to let it do what it was sent here to do.”

  “I don’t know what that is. It’s not trading bonds, that’s for sure.”

  “I thought you loved doing that.”

  “I did, in the beginning. When I was in college, the dream of working on Wall Street sounded so glamorous. When I got hired into the Lehman bond trading training program, I jumped for joy. Once I got my trading license and started working on the bond desk, I saw the reality of the job--constant stress and twelve-hour days. The image of my dreams faded away. But, in a few weeks, I’ll go back to bond trading because it’s what I know how to do.”

  “Then do something else.” He released the hug and gazed into my eyes, causing my heart to flutter.

  “What?”

  “Stay here with me.”

  “And what could I do here? You’ll go back to work soon. I’d just be a drag, sitting home bored. No, I couldn’t wake up every morning and do nothing.”

  “Who said you can’t do something here? People who write in English are in high demand here. Until you find what you’re looking for, you could trade bonds. We have banks.”

  I kissed his cheek. “You’re playing soccer in forty-five minutes, and I need to bake a cake. We could sit here and keep talking, or go to the bedroom and have make-up sex. You pick.”

  “On your mark, go.” He sprinted across the room, beating me to the door. “I finally won!” he said, grinning and jumping up and down like he just scored a major-league touchdown.

  Chapter 19

  Aviva’s over-six-feet-tall, blond husband, Daniel, greeted us at the door, and before I crossed the threshold, little Ofir came running toward us.

  His little hand tugged at my arm. “Julie, I built something new.”

  I handed the cake to Avi. “You’re officially dumped. I’ve found someone much cuter.”

  Ofir held me captive in the living room, educating me on his latest Lego construction project. Just like his uncle, the little guy charmed me completely. It took a lot of self-control to not kiss his chubby cheeks. “I’m thirsty,” I announced, fifteen minutes into our Lego project meeting. “Let’s go into the kitchen and get a drink.”

  “I’ll race you.” He darted off in front of me.

  I walked into the kitchen and stood next to Avi. Aviva poured apple juice into a plastic cup for Ofir and handed it to him. “I’m going back to work, Julie,” Ofir said, clutching his apple juice with two hands. “You can come and help now or when you’re finished talking.” He walked out of the room like a twenty-five-year-old man walking to his office.

  The conversation resumed, and the Hebrew sounded harsh. I looked from face to face, wondering if they were arguing. After a few moments, I leaned against Avi. “Are you fighting?” I whispered in his ear.

  He reached his arm around my lower back, pulled me close, and laughed. Both Daniel and Aviva wore quizzical expressions. “Our tone of voice and the decibel level. She thought we’re fighting,” Avi responded to their unspoken questions. He kissed my cheek. “Welcome to Israel. We’re just loud by nature. Back to English everyone.”

  “So, have you picked up any Hebrew words?” Aviva asked.

  “I’m trying. So far, I’ve picked up the words for water, bathroom, thank-you, and candy. I’m starting to think that I don’t have an ear for languages.”

  “That’s what I thought when I moved here,” Daniel said. “But I enrolled in the ulpan Hebrew classes and watched a lot of children’s television. People talk slower on the kid shows. It took about a year, but it finally clicked together in my brain. And reading and writing are easy. The language is phonetic. No bizarre silent letters or weird vowel combinations.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know about that. When I look at the newspaper print, it intimidates the hell out of me.”

  “By the way, that was a nice picture of you in today’s paper. You looked a little stunned, but otherwise, not a bad shot.” Daniel turned toward Avi. “You didn’t look so great. I’m assuming Omer
took the picture. Smart man, focusing on Julie.”

  I squeezed Avi’s shoulder. “I’m in the newspaper? You didn’t tell me?”

  “I haven’t seen today’s paper.” He turned to face his brother-in-law. “Please tell me it was a small picture with a very small caption.”

  Daniel chuckled. “You should be so damn lucky, Mr. Sexiest Man in Israel. Huge, it took up a half page.”

  Avi’s face dropped. He clutched the sides of his head. “Shit.”

  “Just kidding. Very small, lower left corner. Simple caption.”

  “Thank God.”

  I looked at Aviva. Her eyes shone, as she bit her bottom lip, obviously fighting to stifle a laugh. Her self-control broke moments later. She cracked up. “Julie, I swear if people knew my brother was nothing but a geek who prefers to be alone with his books and dog, they’d rescind this sexiest man stuff. He’s boring and can’t even properly dress himself--jeans and a white T-shirt or jeans and a black T-shirt.”

  I smiled.

  “Just once I’d like to see him cut loose and buy a gray one. A couple of years ago, I bought him a polo shirt. He pulled it out of the bag, held it up, and asked if he should wear it under a suit jacket. For someone so brilliant...” She shook her head.

  “Considering what he does for a living, I’d think most people would realize that he has geeky tendencies.”

  “Hey!” Avi swatted my backside. “I’m not boring. And I’m not a geek.”

  “Oh, sweetheart,” I said. “You are extremely sexy, but you definitely meet most geek qualifications.”

  The face he made resembled what my mother always called a toddler’s “boo-boo face.” I kissed his cheek. “There’s nothing wrong with being a bit geeky.”