“She lives on the kibbutz, she must know something!” they yelled, hitting me with their rifles.
I told them the only thing I knew, about the group from the kibbutz who were training in the an-Nasira hills to join with the Haganah forces. I did not want to tell them, but I was barely conscious at that point, not thinking from my head nor feeling from my heart. I was feeling only from my bruised and bloody body. The only thing I wanted was to end the beatings, even if it meant dying right then and there. They tried to get me to tell them more, but I had no more to tell. They left me there, tied to that tree, bleeding and crying. I passed out.
When I awoke, it must have been the middle of the next day. Planes were flying overhead, dropping bombs on the village. Rasheed the shepherd from Bir al-Demue, found me and untied me. I dared not tell him who had beaten me. He assumed it was Jews, and I did not contradict his assumption. I ran towards the village. It was the only option that crossed my mind. I could have run to the convent, to find Marie, seek refuge, even, perhaps. But I was so ashamed. I wanted to find my parents, my family. Our village was being bombed!
When I made it back to the village, the streets were empty. A ghost town. I snuck around, hiding behind walls and houses, cacti bushes and mulberry trees, until I reached my house. Umm Ahmad was there with Fatima and Nahla. She was shocked to see me so bruised and beaten. I did not contradict her, either, when she assumed it was Jewish soldiers.
She said my brothers had been out until the middle of the night; she awoke when they returned, and they had told her to go back to sleep, although she sensed they had been up to something. And the next thing she knew, bombs were falling, and angry soldiers barged into the house with guns and dogs and took my brothers away, calling them murderers. They took Abu Ahmad, too.
I sat with my mother and sisters and felt like what my brothers had called me: a cowardly traitor. And then we heard dogs barking, and gun shots. So many gun shots. We did not know who was being shot, but my mother was wailing, calling out the names of my brothers: “Ahmad! Kareem! Amir!” And the name of my father: “Abu Ahmad!”
Father Allah, you saved me once again. But for what? To be a witness? To turn this misery into poetry one day?
We heard an announcement over the muezzin loudspeaker. It was a Jewish soldier speaking to us in stilted Arabic. He told us to report to the courtyard of the mosque in half an hour, with only a small satchel. They were evacuating the village and searching all of the houses. I assume they will let us return once they find what they want.
I came down here, to the cellar, to write this here in my diary before I go, while it is fresh in my mind. But I must hurry and get back to Umm Ahmad and my sisters. I do not know what I will find when I get to the village mosque, who will be dead and who will be alive. And I do not know for how long I will be gone.
I know this is where I should leave a parting poem, but this is not the time. Sometimes we have to live the life before we can write it. And now, Father Allah, is one of those times. I do know what I want to title this diary, though. Yom Asal, Yom Basal. In fact, I will write that now on the cover. Honey days and onion days, and some onion days dipped in honey. How can my heart feel so full and so empty at the same time?
Raja looked up at Tikvah and Ruby and sighed. “That’s where the diary ends.”
“So your father did not betray Marie. My mother, I mean . . .”
Our father, you mean, Ruby wrote.
Raja looked even more confused than before, but Ruby took his hand and put it in Tikvah’s. She nodded and smiled. Tikvah smiled, too. She turned to Raja.
“Yes, Raja. Marie was my mother. And I am the child they conceived that night inside the Tree of Hope. At least he didn’t mean to betray her,” Tikvah added. “It was beaten out of him. He did love her. He was not using her to spy for the ALA.” She looked pensive. “My mother wanted to make amends somehow. She said that maybe by my being here, I can be part of some kind of healing. But how?”
You already have, Ruby thought, indicating the diary in Raja’s hands, so that Tikvah would understand how grateful she was. By bringing me the dairy. And by giving birth to my unborn child.
Ruby had felt a connection to Talya when she first met her, and then it was confirmed when she came to meet her that day in an-Nasira; but she did not know why. Now she knew. She had thought she had put the abortion behind her. But now, she realized how she had carried that missed opportunity for complete loving surrender around with her like an open wound. That was the knife in her belly she had never managed to remove. That was the train she had missed. And now, she knew the train had not left without her. The soul of her unborn child was still here with her, and she would be able to leave her in this world even after she passed on, perhaps even living in the family house. Her love would not be lost to the universe. Nor would her father’s passion and hope.
“I wish my mother had known what we know, although I think she did know it in her heart. She did name me Hope, after all. And I wish your father, my biological father, had known that his hope did actually survive and would live on through our friendship.”
“Our father never gave up hope,” Raja said. “He had this strange habit of dipping his onion in honey sometimes, when he thought we weren’t looking. Now I understand what it meant for him.”
That was all that needed to be said.
Raja went to bring their mother back into the room. Ruby pointed to what she had saved for Tikvah: a group of paintings that she had had Raja wrap in brown paper and put on the floor next to her bed.
“For me?” Tikvah asked.
Ruby nodded and closed her eyes. She felt herself fading, but she was not afraid. She heard Tikvah leave and her mother enter with Raja. She felt her mother’s hand on hers, and she relaxed into the moment, to whatever was meant to be. Her breaths were coming slowly and only with much effort. And then they were not coming at all. Her chest constricted, but her heart expanded until that was all there was. She felt such a release of love she could not contain it. It was pouring out from her being, seeping out of her skin. Her whole self was love. Nothing but love.
TIKVAH
WHEN TIKVAH AND Alon were outside, Alon hauled the paintings into the back of the pickup truck. She noticed an envelope stuck between the strings that were holding the paintings together. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw it was addressed to her. She knew Ruby had been hoping she’d return, but seeing her name written there proved that her friend had not only hoped, but she had believed that Tikvah really would come through for her in the end.
Slowly, with trembling hands, Tikvah opened the envelope flap and took out the note that was inside. The writing was shaky but beautiful, the letters bold and artistically formed.
My Dear Tikvah,
If you are holding this letter, it means you did come back to see me. I am so glad. Getting to know you at the end of this journey has been a blessing. I want you to know that you have helped bring my soul peace.
I have left behind my art, and I am leaving my most current works to you. They tell our story. Please find a home for them and share them with the world. Side-by-side with your work. Your new work. Both Talya and I want you to paint again. She asked me to encourage you. Please, Tikvah, I want you to tell our story. How you see it. And to help my father’s story be told, too. His diary is with my brother, Raja. He will publish it, have it translated. My mother approves. I read it to her. We both trust Raja’s judgment.
To quote my favorite Sufi chant:
All I ask of you is forever to remember me as loving you. Ishk Allah Mabud Laillah. God is Love, Lover, and Beloved.
In Eternal Love and Friendship
Rabia/Ruby
Tikvah sat in thought the whole ride home, with the knowledge that Ruby’s paintings were in the back of the truck, finding their way home, too. Ruby was at peace, but Tikvah did not feel the same. Was it enough that she was Jamal’s biological daughter to justify her living in the house? Even if she hung Ruby’s paintings
there, even if Alon agreed, would that be enough to right the wrong of her father’s village being destroyed and so many innocent men being murdered for the crimes of a few? Could she continue to live in the house knowing all that she knew?
Once they were back at home, drinking tea at the kitchen table, Tikvah made her announcement to Alon. “I can’t be here now. I’m going to Jaffa. To be with Talya, spend time in the water. And to think. I’ll take a bus in the morning.”
“Tikvah, please,” Alon pleaded. “I’m sorry I never told you what I knew about the history of the moshav, about the fact that a village was here before the moshav was built. But most of all, about the fact that this house was the only house that remained standing from that village. But please know, I was not aware of the whole story. Please forgive me. Please don’t go. You just came home.” He looked down into his mug. “I’ve missed you.”
“I don’t blame you, Alon. Even if you had told me back then, I don’t know that I would have protested buying the house. I can only say how I feel now. Things are not the same as they were before.” Tikvah looked into Alon’s eyes. “This is not about you and me. It’s about me and this house. This moshav. Now that I do know the truth and my connection to it, I need to have some distance. To figure out what I want to do. It will help me to be by the sea. That’s something I really miss, you know.”
“I didn’t know,” Alon said. “You never said anything. I thought you loved this place as much as I do.”
“I came here for you, Alon, not for me. And it was a nice change for some time. But since my MS symptoms started, I have not been happy. I’ve been frustrated. No painting. No ocean. Even that reservoir turned out to be a big disappointment. I’ve given up so much. I want to do something that feels uniquely mine. Not in a selfish way. But in a way that feels authentically me. The story only I could live.”
“As long as it’s not for good,” Alon said. “I will take you tomorrow.”
“I can’t make any promises, Alon. I am going to think it through. That is all I can say at this point.”
WHEN TIKVAH ARRIVED at Talya and Udi’s apartment in the late afternoon the next day, Talya was waiting outside to greet her. Her red hair fell loose in curls around her face and looked lighter from only that short cruise to Cyprus. She had given Tikvah the address on the phone, as Tikvah had not yet been to visit since her daughter had moved in with Udi.
Alon dropped Tikvah and left. He said he was not ready yet to meet Udi. Talya carried her mother’s suitcase inside and placed it down next to another suitcase in the entrance. Tikvah realized the couple had just returned from their trip and had not even had time to unpack. She apologized for barging in on their honeymoon.
“Don’t give it a second thought,” Talya said, shooing her mother’s comment away with her hand. “I’m so glad you’re here. We both went back to work and school today. Udi’s still at his office. We weren’t planning a honeymoon until winter break. Really.”
Tikvah scanned the apartment. It was a small sectioned-off part of an old stone house. The ceilings were high, the doorways arched, and there were painted tiles on the floors. She wondered what the history of this house was. She would never be able to walk into an old house in this country again without thinking about its past.
“Udi rents from a Palestinian-Israeli family who have been in Jaffa for generations,” Talya said, reading her mother’s thoughts. “The matriarch lives upstairs with her youngest son and his family—which is customary in their culture. They cut this floor into two rental units. Udi rents this one, and another student rents the other.”
“How many bedrooms do you have?” Tikvah asked.
“One.” Then, again guessing what her mother was thinking, Talya added that she would let her mother sleep in their bed, and they would sleep on a futon on the floor in the main living area.
Tikvah protested. She did not want to intrude or inconvenience them. That had not been her intention. She had not given the logistics of the plan much thought. It had been an impulsive decision—a move more characteristic of her younger self—but the need to get out of the moshav had felt imperative.
“I wish you had told me you were eloping,” Tikvah said when they sat down to tea. She gazed across the table at her daughter, who looked so much more mature to her now. “It would have saved us a lot of worry. I don’t like that you think you need to keep secrets from me.”
“I didn’t want to. I even wanted you to tell Abba about Udi. But you said you weren’t ready. I didn’t think it fair to burden you with such a big secret, but I also didn’t want to back you into a wall so that you needed to tell him. Although I guess that’s what happened . . .” Talya trailed off for a moment. “I didn’t mean for it to happen that way. But I’m glad he knows now.”
“Yes, me too. I should have told him sooner. I see that now. But I was afraid of upsetting him. I still am. But no more walking on egg shells around your father. I realize now what a toll that was taking on me, on my own well-being.” Tikvah took a sip from her tea cup. A tangy cinnamon flavor and scent woke her senses.
Talya too took a sip from her cup. “I’m so glad to hear that, Ima. I’ve been worried about you. You haven’t painted in so long. That used to be such a fulfilling part of your life.”
“Yes, I miss it, too. It’s just not so simple to get back to it. I’ve been blocked.” She looked out the window at the sea in the distance. “Maybe being here by the water will inspire me to paint again.”
“I hope so, Ima. There’s an art supply store not far from here. I can take you there if you like.”
“Shwai, shwai,” Tikvah said, and Talya smiled at her mother’s use of the Arabic phrase. “I just got here. There’s been a lot going on lately.” She paused, remembering Ruby’s note. “Talya . . . How did Ruby know you wanted me to paint again? Were you in touch with her since we met that day in the restaurant?”
Talya hesitated. “Yes, Ima. I thought she could help me encourage you to get back to painting. I’ve been really worried about you.”
“I see.”
“She’s great, by the way. I’m so glad you two are friends.”
“Were friends . . .” Tikvah corrected. “I’m sorry to tell you, but Ruby passed yesterday. Abba took me to see her, and it seems right after we left, she died. Her brother called to tell me.”
Talya closed her eyes, as if to hold back tears. “I’m so sorry, Ima. And right after Grandma died, too. This is a lot for you all at once. Even if you hadn’t spoken to Grandma in years.”
“Yes, it is.”
A tear ran down Talya’s cheek. “I knew Ruby was sick. But I am so sad to hear she’s gone. I really liked her, and I was happy you had her in your life. She was young, too.”
Talya’s last comment hung in the air between them as they both realized its implications for Tikvah, who was even a bit older than Ruby and also not well.
“Yes, she was,” Tikvah finally said, “but she accomplished what she wanted to in this life, and that is what’s important. She told me as much right before she died.”
Talya sighed. “Ruby was very wise. But she was concerned about my relationship with Udi. I wish I could have told her that we were married before she died.”
“I told her, Talya. Don’t worry. She died at peace. But yes, we were all concerned. We still are, Abba and I. But it’s your life to live, as you said.”
Talya looked straight at her mother. “Would you have tried to talk me out of it if I had told you?” she asked, winding a curl around her finger. “About the boat and our intention to elope, I mean.”
“Well, maybe I would have. But if you had insisted on going through with it, I would have been supportive. As I am now. As even Abba is now. You have to give him credit for that. This isn’t easy for him. It may be your life to live, but that doesn’t make him care less.”
“Yes, I know. But he’ll manage to make his peace with it, whereas I would have been heartbroken if I had to leave Udi just to please Abba or you, or
anyone else.”
Tikvah thought of her own mother and of Jamal. “Of course. You may have moved on, but I understand. You would have carried that broken piece of yourself with you always. Maybe even lost hope in humanity in general.” She would tell Talya of her grandmother Miriam’s—Marie’s—story. She should know cross-cultural relationships were in her blood.
“Exactly.” Talya paused and looked again at her mother, with those aqua-marine eyes. “So why are you here, Ima? Why aren’t you back home with Abba? Even if you’re not walking on egg shells around him, taking off to Jaffa with no plans to return is a drastic move. I know you like the sea, and need some R&R, but I was still surprised to hear you were coming.”
Tikvah reached out a shaky hand and put it on Talya’s still one. Talya’s skin felt warm and smooth beneath her own cold, rough palm. “Let’s take a walk on the shore and watch the sun set. I have so much to tell you.”
“Sounds perfect.” Talya stood and helped her mother to her feet.
Tikvah took her walking stick, and they went out the door into the salty sea air.
ALON MUST HAVE been waiting until Tikvah opened her eyes before speaking. He was standing at the water’s edge. Cane was by his side. Tikvah was floating, letting the waves carry her.
“It’s good to see you in the water!” Alon called out to her. He had his sandals in his hands, and his khaki pants were rolled up to his knees. He was raising his voice to be heard above the crashing waves.
Tikvah blinked. And then blinked again. The sight before her eyes took her back over thirty years, to the day she and Alon had met. “Am I dreaming? You’re here? With Cane?” she called out.
Hope Valley Page 29