To Be An Israeli: The Fourth Book in the All My Love, Detrick series

by Roberta Kagan

  On the hot Sunday morning of August 25th, 1968; Janice and a bunch of her fellow college students piled into the back of the hand-painted minibus. They wore flowers in their hair, and most of them were barefoot. As the bus sailed down Lake Shore Drive, with Lake Michigan shining like a sea of diamonds on one side and the city flashing before them on the other, they sang along with the radio as it played the latest antiwar songs. There was an air of optimism and excitement in the little bus.

  They were planning to camp out in Grant Park even though Mayor Daley had denied them permits to do so. The minibus was packed with large signs that they had written with sayings like, “End the War” and “What if they gave a war and nobody came?” They were sure that this demonstration would make a difference. With all of the democratic politicians attending this convention, it would be the perfect time to show the world just how serious America’s youth was about ending the war and the draft in particular.

  All across the country, young men were burning their draft cards, but this was illegal. If they were caught, they could serve jail time, but the thought of Vietnam was terrifying. The news showed men being brought home in body bags every day.

  When Janice and her friends arrived, they found the park flooded with young people. They sat down and shared food and marijuana joints with a group who invited them to have some wine. People had brought transistor radios, and music was playing everywhere. The hours passed, and the crowd grew larger. The police came and tried to clear the park with tear gas. It was difficult to move. There were too many people. Janice began to feel afraid.

  At night they slept in the park, and it seemed as if there was a blanket of people covering the ground. Up on the grandstand, Tom Hayden was yelling passionately about ending the Vietnam War, followed by Rennie Davis, Abbie Hoffman, and Jerry Rubin. The air was electrified with excitement as the crowd waved signs and began shouting in unison, “Hell, no! We won’t go!”

  Janice began to feel trapped. It would be hard to get out of the park if she needed to. There were too many people. The crowd was too big and getting louder and more out of control.

  Then on Wednesday morning, the mass of protesters began to march down Michigan Avenue, impeding all traffic. There was confusion all around her, and Janice was swept up in the stampede down the street. She was too short to see above the heads of the other protesters, and panic began to rise in her at the thought of being trampled underfoot.

  Over the loud speaker, the police began demanding that the marchers disperse, or they were going to take serious action. Janice had no idea what that meant, but she was scared, and there was no way out. She pushed, but she couldn’t get through the crowds. It was stiflingly hot on that day in August. She felt as if the crowds were sucking all the air out of the atmosphere, and she couldn’t breathe.

  Angry protesters and furious police officers were shouting obscenities at each other. Then Janice heard someone in the crowd say, “Let’s shit in bags and throw it at the pigs.” Janice knew that the heads of SDS had given the police the nickname “pigs.” Janice wished she’d never come.

  Then a male voice came from somewhere in front of her, “Listen, everyone. The pigs called out the fucking National Guard. The National Guard is here.”

  Janice was trembling. She’d lost track of her friends and was alone in the midst of this crazed mob. She heard screams and someone saying, “The pigs are beating the shit out of people with their billy clubs.”

  What? she thought, her mind racing. She felt so short and small and helpless. Then she began to see police officers and armed soldiers coming through the crowd. Some of them had feces dripping from their uniforms. Their faces were beet-red, and their eyes were filled with anger, hatred, and fear. The protesters were not letting up. They too were filled with anger and hatred.

  Janice saw an officer hit a young girl across the face with a billy club. Blood flew through the air like a red bird, some of it landing in Janice’s hair. Janice couldn’t catch her breath and began to panic.

  This is what Violet had been warning her would happen. This was why Violet had refused to get involved. Janice never thought she would be afraid of the police. She’d never believed that the police in America could be this violent, but they were, and she was terrified.

  Janice looked around frantically for an opening in the crowd. She could see no way out. Her heart raced as she tried unsuccessfully to push her way through the sea of people. Although she didn’t realize it, Janice was crying. She’d never been so frightened in all of her life, and she’d never felt so out of control. There was nothing to do but keep pushing, trying to steer clear of the billy clubs.

  The protesters were still throwing bags of feces, pushing the police and National Guard even harder. Why did she ever come to this? Yes, she believed that the war should end, and she thought she was brave, just not this brave.

  Then, from behind her, she heard a voice, a man’s voice. “Do you want get out of here?” he asked, putting his hand on her shoulder.

  She whipped her head around and looked up at him. Then she said, “Yes, oh yes.”

  A pair of strong arms lifted her and carried her, pushing through the crowd, going against the crowd, headed back toward the park. He carried her effortlessly deep into the park and away from the war that had broken out in the streets of Chicago. Once they were far from the protesters and the police, the man set her down gently on her feet.

  “Who are you?” Janice looked up in disbelief at a man she’d never seen before.

  “Hi, I’m Lucas Allen.” He smiled. He had a dimple on his left cheek.

  She regarded him with a look of surprise, not understanding. “Well, I guess I should say thanks. Things were getting pretty rough.”

  “Yeah, they were. I saw the look on your face, and I knew you wanted to get out.”

  “Again, thanks. By the way, I’m Janice Lichtenstein.”

  He smiled. He was tall, very slender with long, lean muscles. His hair was long and wavy almost to his shoulders. Lucas was disheveled but incredibly attractive. His eyes were dark, but his skin was light. There was an easy, relaxed air about him and a strange attractiveness unlike any she’d ever seen before.

  “So, Janice Lichtenstein, would you like to go and get something to eat? I’m starving.”

  “Yes…”

  “Come on. Let’s get out of here. This whole thing has turned from a peaceful demonstration into a war zone.”

  Lucas led her to his motorcycle, a lean, black Triumph 650. Janice got on behind him, and they headed in the opposite direction of the chaos.

  “I know this great pizza place. It’s out in the suburbs. Have you ever been to Salvatori’s? It’s got the best deep-dish pizza I’ve ever had.”

  “Sounds great,” she said, and for the first time in several hours, she took a deep breath.

  CHAPTER 52

  Lucas and Janice sat at a booth in the corner in a quaint, little place with a red and white-checkered tablecloth.

  “I guess I should tell you that I’m a vegetarian,” she said.

  “Great…so am I.” He smiled. “I had to get out of there today. When I went to the march, I went as a peaceful protester. But once it became violent, that was my cue to leave. I don’t like violence of any kind, ever.”

  “Me neither. I was really scared.”

  “I know, I saw.” He smiled then he laughed a little. “It’s okay to be scared. I was, too.”

  She smiled bigger than she had in a very long time.

  “So tell me a little about you, Janice.”

  “You first.” She giggled.

  “Okay, what do you want to know?”

  “Well, where do you live? How old are you? Are you in college or do you have a job? Stuff like that.”

  “Okay, very well. I think I can furnish the necessary info,” Lucas said, clearing his throat and putting on a mock serious face. “I’m twenty-eight years old. I live on the north side of Chicago. I teach martial arts, and I have my own studi
o. I’ve never been married. As you already know, I’m a vegetarian, and although I was raised Catholic, I don’t believe in organized religion.” He smiled broadly. “So, Ms. Lichtenstein, did I get the job?”

  She laughed out loud. “I hope you didn’t feel like you were being interviewed.”

  “But I am. It’s okay. I am being interviewed to see if I am someone you might want to see again.”

  She laughed again. “Martial arts? I thought you were into nonviolence.”

  “I am.” He smiled. “You don’t know much about martial arts, do you?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Well, I don’t want to sit here and talk about myself all night. I’d rather hear a little about you. So someday, I’ll tell you all about what I do and what I believe.”

  She was surprised. Elan loved to talk about himself. She thought most men did. Lucas was a strange fellow, but she liked this man with his easy smile.

  “Now it’s your turn,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

  Janice took a deep breath. She was going to have to tell him that she had a child. She hoped it wouldn’t discourage his attentions. Most of the men she’d come in contact with were not interested in becoming involved with a woman who already had a child. Oh, they would have sex with her, but then they were gone.

  “Well, let’s see. I am studying art at Northwestern University. And…I love it.” She smiled cautiously. Janice was suddenly unsure of what to do with her hands and where to put her gaze. She looked down at the silverware in front of her and toyed with her fork.

  He returned the smile. “Go on,” Lucas said, trying to catch her eyes.

  “I grew up in the Chicago suburbs.” She looked up at him then quickly looked away. “And…for the last few years, I lived in Israel.”

  He nodded. “Israel?”

  “Yes.” She took a deep breath of courage. This could be the end of the relationship before it even began, but better now than later. “I was married in Israel, and then I was divorced. And…I have a child, a daughter, less than a year old.”

  Lucas was calm, somehow unaffected by the news. “I love kids.”

  How strange and delightfully different this Lucas Allen was than the other young men she’d met.

  “I’d love to come over and meet your daughter maybe sometime in the future?”

  The pizza came, and they ate silently for a few minutes. Janice wondered if he was just saying these kind things to get her into bed. She’d learned that men would say anything to get what they wanted. It would be terrible if that were the case.

  “So, I have a question for you… How did you ever see me in that huge crowd, and then, how did you get us out of that mess? There were wall-to-wall people in the streets. I felt so trapped.”

  “Well, I guess I have a thing for little redheads. I saw you yesterday, and I kept an eye on you. I figured that things might get hairy once the march started, and I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

  “But how the heck did you get through the crowd?”

  “The truth?”

  “Yeah.”

  “My will, my intention. I willed us through.”

  “Huh?”

  “Let me explain. Like I said before, I’ve been studying the martial arts since I was sixteen years old. I’m a forth-degree black belt in karate, and a second-degree black belt in judo. Lots of people think that the martial arts are only for defense and maybe exercise. But the martial arts are more than just physical. They teach spiritual truths that lead to discovering the strength of the spirit.

  “You mean, like your soul?”

  “Yes, your soul.”

  “But I thought you didn’t believe in God.”

  “Ah…Janice Amsel, you misunderstood me. I believe in a God that is everywhere, inside all of us. What I don’t believe in is organized religion.”

  “But isn’t that the same thing?” she asked.

  “Not at all.” He winked at her. “Not at all.”

  CHAPTER 53

  Lucas didn’t have the rugged, sexy masculinity that Elan had, but there was something about him that was incredibly attractive. However, unlike Elan, who revealed his bad qualities as time went by, the more Janice got to know Lucas the better she liked him and the more attractive he was to her. Lucas was truly kind and grateful for even the smallest of favors. In fact, he seemed to love everyone and everything.

  Janice was terrified of spiders. Once, when they were in her car headed to a restaurant, she spotted a spider on the dashboard. She’d pulled over screaming and got out of the car terrified.

  “Kill it, Lucas,” she’d said, shaking.

  He’d taken a leaf from the ground and carefully picked the spider up with it. Then he gently placed it outside in the grass.

  “No need to kill it,” he’d said and touched her shoulder as they both got back into the automobile.

  At least three times a week, over the next several weeks, Lucas came to Janice’s house to take her out. Whenever he arrived, he always brought her something. Once it was a book of beautiful, romantic poetry, another time it was a tiny silver pendant with a lotus surrounded by slivers of amethyst. They went to the beach, walked along the shore and explored the Art Institute, but mostly, they talked.

  Lucas listened. He really listened. When she spoke, he looked into her eyes, never letting his gaze drift away to things happening around them. She found Lucas to be wise. He was well-read, and although he never flaunted his knowledge or tried to appear intellectual, he seemed to know at least a little about everything. But he was open-minded and always ready to hear new ideas.

  One day, as they sat on the shore of Lake Michigan having a picnic, Janice reached into her handbag and brought out a small drawing that she’d made for him. She’d worked on it for several weeks, and she felt it was quite good. It was a charcoal drawing of him rescuing her at the convention.

  For a silent moment, he just sat and looked at the paper. She felt nervous, afraid he would be critical, although she had no reason to feel that way: Lucas had never been judgmental. Still it was her art. It came from deep inside of her. She always felt this way when someone was studying her work. Then without speaking a single word, he looked into her eyes, slowly leaned over and kissed her.

  “Do you like it?” she asked as he touched her cheek.

  He nodded. “I love it because you made it for me. But I also want you to know that you are very talented.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “I never lie.”

  She smiled at him. “Thank you.”

  “Would you like to see my studio?”

  “You mean your martial arts studio?”

  “Yep.”

  “Yeah, I would.”

  They finished lunch and rode over to the studio on Lucas’ motorcycle. Lucas unlocked the door. Janice was greeted by a pleasant whiff of sage as they walked inside. It was a quiet place until Lucas turned on the record player. The music of a sitar came through the speaker, soft and unobtrusive. Janice felt strangely at peace.

  “I live in the back,” Lucas said.

  In a way, it reminded her of a ballet school, with blond wooden floors and mirrored walls. But unlike a ballet studio, there were large, colorful pillows from India against the walls.

  They walked through the front where the classes took place, and through to the back where Lucas had his modest apartment. It was clean and minimal, simple but comfortable. There were lots of pillows made of vibrantly woven fabrics and a large woolen rug on the floor, but no bed.

  “Where do you sleep?” Janice asked him.

  “On the floor. I lay out a mat. I don’t believe in mattresses, not good for your back. Sleeping on the floor strengthens your back muscles.”

  She nodded. She’d never met anyone quite like him. He certainly was weird, but she couldn’t help but like him.

  They sat side-by-side on the floor. He lit a candle and dimmed the lights. The album still played softly in the background.

  �
�If you‘d like to take classes, I’d be happy to have you,” he said.

  “How much are classes?”

  “For you, they are the price of a single kiss,” he whispered.

  She giggled. Damn, she thought. He really said the strangest things.

  “May I kiss you?”

  She nodded. No one had ever asked before. Lucas was such an odd man.

  His lips touched hers so lightly and tenderly that she almost felt as if she’d imagined the kiss. Then he gently caressed her face. His hand was tender, exploring. It felt more sensuous than making love. Although all he had done was run his hand along the perimeter of her cheek and jaw line, she felt vulnerable, exposed.

  “Beautiful,” he said, his voice soft but hoarse. Lucas stood up and took a bottle of fragrant massage oil from the shelf. Then he put a small amount into his palm and rubbed it between his hands to warm it. He looked into her eyes and slowly began to massage her shoulders, her neck, and the lower part of her arms that were not covered by her tee shirt. She felt all of the tension leave her body as his gentle but firm hands moved expertly over her muscles. He moved down and for almost a half hour, he massaged her feet. Slowly, slowly, each toe, until she felt her entire body was limp and at ease.

  Now Lucas moved back up to her lips and kissed her. This time, she felt the strength of his growing passion. Lucas stood up and taking both of her hands in his brought her to her feet. Slowly he undressed her until she stood before him in nothing but her panties and bra. She’d been naked with men before, but she’d never felt so exposed. It had never felt so real. Next, he pulled his tee shirt over his head and revealed his naked chest to her then he removed the rest of his clothes. He smiled at her. His smile was gentle, warm. Now he took her hands again and sat back down on the floor cross-legged and helped her to sit the same way directly across from him.

  He continued to hold her hands and gaze into her eyes. He had rubbed her feet and held her hands, but so far had not touched her intimately, yet she felt more intimacy than she’d ever felt before. Her body trembled with longing. She wanted him to hold her, to touch her, to take her, but he didn’t move. The longer he sat across from her without touching her, the more her desire increased until she thought that she could no longer bear the wanting of him.