Hope Valley

by Haviva Ner-David

  “Well, I just call it like I see it.”

  “The idea is to keep out danger, not Arabs.” Tikvah thought of the petition she had just seen hanging on the bulletin board, but that was different. That family wanted to live on the moshav. It was not a petition about keeping out Arab visitors.

  Tikvah stopped walking, pulling at the leash to hold Cane back. “Don’t be naïve, Ima. For the people there, even for Abba, Arabs mean danger. Don’t pretend you don’t know why the government gave Sapir’s founders the land on those hilltops to build your Jewish enclave. They wanted you, and others like you, to help Judaize the area. And in strategic places, no less. Militarily, I mean.”

  “Abba and I didn’t move here for political reasons. The moshav was already built when we came. We were looking for land we could afford, outside of the city. And we liked the idea of coming north, of being in the country. Abba needed peace and quiet.”

  “Well, I know I don’t feel comfortable there anymore. It’s claustrophobic.”

  Tikvah managed to pull Cane back enough to stop walking. “How could such a wide-open space feel claustrophobic?”

  “It’s not the space. It’s the people. The lay-out. The sectors live so separately there. I can’t stand it.” Again, Tikvah felt attacked. When she had lived in Jerusalem, Arabs and Jews were much more segregated there than they were here in Galilee. And in Tel Aviv, there were practically no Arabs at all. One had to go to neighboring Jaffa to see them, which hardly anyone she knew did back then.

  “This is your home. Abba and I built this place from practically nothing.” Cane started pulling Tikvah again. She could not hold her back.

  “It’s your home, Ima, not mine. I was born in Tel Aviv. I was already starting fifth grade the summer we moved north. And remember, you were born and raised on Long Island. Look where you ended up. Anyway, Ima, Jaffa is my home now.”

  Tikvah felt tears welling up in her eyes. “You may feel differently in the future, when you want to settle down and can take advantage of your rights as a child of moshav members, to build a house here. Or maybe you’ll want to take over the business. You know that’s what we’re hoping.”

  “I couldn’t live in that place even if I wanted to, Ima.” She heard her daughter take a deep breath. “I have something to tell you.”

  Tikvah’s heart missed a beat. “You’re scaring me.”

  “No reason to worry. I met someone,” Talya said. “That’s all.”

  “Great. That’s good news. Why would that be a problem with anyone here?”

  “He’s not what you’re expecting.” Cane was pulling Tikvah forward as she tried to focus on what her daughter was telling her. “They wouldn’t accept him there.”

  “What do you think I expect? Why wouldn’t they accept him here? People even accepted Yoram’s German wife and their little white-blonde kids. She never even converted. What could shock people more than a Christian German?”

  Talya let out another breath. “He’s an Arab, Ima.”

  The only sound for a few moments was Cane’s panting and the wind blowing through the trees.

  “An Israeli Arab. From Jaffa,” she added. “He has Israeli citizenship.” Tikvah did not know how to respond. “Don’t you want to know his name?”

  “Do I?” Tikvah was struggling as Cane kept pulling her forward.

  “He’s a human being, with a name. It’s Mahmoud.”

  “Well,” Tikvah snapped. “It would be hard to find a name more obviously Muslim than that.”

  “What about Muhammad?”

  “I stand corrected.”

  Tikvah continued walking, waiting for Talya to come to her senses. “He goes by Udi, anyway, and he’s not what you think. I met him at work. He came to pick up his nephew one day, and we clicked right away.” Talya’s words were coming in a torrent now. “Had coffee a few times. Walked on the promenade. I wasn’t going to tell you until I knew it was real.”

  “What do you mean, real?” Tikvah asked. “You don’t mean serious, right?”

  Talya let out a huff now. Tikvah pictured her freckled face becoming flushed, her aqua-marine eyes opening wide, as they did when she was arguing her point, frustrated that others were not seeing things her way. “We’re a couple, Ima. Not just friends.”

  “You’ve only known this guy a short time,” she said. “You can’t say it’s serious so soon.”

  “We met months ago, actually. Like I said, I didn’t want to tell you until I knew there was a reason you should know. And didn’t you and Abba fall in love at first sight, if I remember correctly?”

  “Talya! Are you in love with this guy? I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about him when you’ve known for this long!” This was what upset Tikvah more than anything. Even if she had her differences with her daughter, she always made it clear that there were to be no secrets. She might disagree with Talya’s choices, but she would always accept them. She would not let their differences come between them.

  “Well, it isn’t so simple.”

  “No, it isn’t. What about his family? What do they think of you?”

  “They don’t know yet. I wanted to tell you first. I thought you’d be more understanding. Please, Ima, please be more understanding. I need your support.”

  “I’m trying to understand. I just think it’s a mistake.” Tikvah stopped walking and stood, trying to keep her feet planted firmly on the ground, which was a struggle with the constant feeling of pins and needles in her feet and Cane eagerly pulling her along. “Relationships are hard enough even if you come from similar backgrounds.” She thought of her own marriage. Despite the fact that she and Alon were both Jewish, they were still going through challenging times; and while her parents’ homogenous marriage had not been conflicted, she would not have called it happy, either. If even two similar people joining their lives was risky, how foolish to think two people from such different backgrounds could attempt to do so. “There’s so much stacked against you: cultural differences, the political climate we live in, and we haven’t even gotten to religion yet.”

  “His family is Muslim. But he’s agnostic. He has no religion.”

  “What about your religion?” Tikvah asked.

  “Since when does religion mean so much to you?” Talya argued. “You raised me culturally Jewish. How does that interfere with being with Udi?”

  “Culture is stronger than you think. And you know your father and I both have strong Jewish identities. Would he consider converting?”

  “He’s not interested in any religion, so why would he convert? Just to put a stamp of approval on him so people on the moshav would accept him?”

  “Talya, please. Think of your father.”

  “Ima! I knew you were acting this way because of him. You’re always trying to protect him. This is my life we’re talking about. Not his. He’d learn to accept it. Over time. I’m sure he would.”

  “I honestly don’t know what he would do, Talya.”

  “We both know he has the heart of a pussycat in that lion’s body,” Talya said.

  “True. But his big heart can make him protective, too. Of those he loves. It doesn’t necessarily extend to those he considers a threat.”

  “Like Arabs? Is that what you’re saying, Ima?”

  “Look,” Tikvah pleaded. “He’s been through stuff. In Lebanon. You know that. Besides, people stick with their own kind, especially around here,” she added, thinking again of that petition.

  “I’m glad I live in Jaffa, then.” Talya knew how to hit her mother where it hurt.

  Tikvah tried to keep her tone even. “I meant here in Israel. In the Middle East. All I’m asking is that you don’t mention it to Abba yet. Please.”

  “Okay, Ima. I have to go now. I’ll call you later.” Her daughter hung up, and for the first time since passing through the gate, Tikvah noticed that she was headed in the wrong direction. Cane was pulling her towards the valley, where she had met Ruby. Hope Valley. A nice name. Now that she knew its nam
e and had been there, she felt connected to it, somehow. And less fearful.

  Part of her wanted to continue walking in that direction. Perhaps Ruby would be there, like she said she would. Foraging. That had been the longest conversation she had ever had with an Arab. Meanwhile, her daughter seemed to be sleeping with one.

  Tikvah put her phone back in her pocket. She had not acted quickly enough. Cane had pulled her almost all the way to the fence that bordered on the valley. She unclipped Cane’s leash and sat down on a rock to collect herself. The air was warm and getting warmer, yet she shivered. She started nibbling on her thumbnail.

  Had Talya actually just told her she was in love with an Arab man? She should be horrified, she knew, but that was not the sensation that was flowing through her now. It was a Hebrew word that arose as she tried to put a name to what she was feeling. Mitrageshet. Literally, the word meant “full of emotions,” ranging from anxiety to ecstasy. One could only tell from the context, tone of voice, and facial expressions of the speaker, which emotions were being expressed. But what if the person feeling the emotions was not sure what she herself was feeling? Tikvah too had left home, gone off on her own, following her own heart against her parents’ wills, when she was even younger than Talya was now. Part of her wanted to celebrate her daughter’s courage and independence. The other part, though, feared for her safety and happiness, wanted to protect her from life’s complications and disappointments.

  Tikvah looked around to see where Cane had gone now that she was free. There she was, standing in front of that same hole in the fence Tikvah had walked through the day before. Apparently, no one from the moshav had gotten to mending it yet. Cane was looking up at Tikvah. Come on, she was telling her with mischief in her eyes. Tikvah stood and walked over to the dog.

  “You want to go through again? Ruby liked you, didn’t she?” she said, fingering Cane’s tail. “She appreciated you right away. And she did invite us back to learn to forage. I’ve wanted to learn that for a long time. Wild mushrooms, especially.”

  One side of Tikvah wanted to run from the woman and never see her again. What did Ruby want her to do, anyway? Even on the far-fetched chance the house had once belonged to her father’s family at some point, was it Tikvah’s fault someone had sold her and Alon the house?

  Cane looked up at Tikvah and then at the hole in the fence.

  But the other side of Tikvah was intrigued by the woman, felt drawn to her, even, despite her belligerent exterior. She sensed her interior was softer than she let on. She had never thought of an Arab as a tzabar, but why not? She too was born and raised on this land. Perhaps she too had the qualities of a prickly pear. And she was sick, too. Perhaps she was someone in whom Tikvah could confide about her illness. Perhaps she would understand.

  Cane gave one last look at Tikvah and climbed through the hole, her long gray body fitting exactly between the wires, like thread through the eye of a needle. Immediately, the dog headed straight towards the valley and began frolicking in the meadow, running in circles and jumping at something—perhaps a butterfly—in the air.

  Tikvah put one leg through the hole. She pushed the loose fencing from her face and lifted her other leg through, closing her eyes to protect them from the sharp wire, even with her sunglasses partially shielding them. Once on the other side of the fence, she surveyed her surroundings. The hills on the opposite side of the valley, where the village of Bir al-Demue stood, were brown and barren from the summer’s dry heat. They too were waiting for rain. Tikvah’s skin was dry and chapped; she put cream on many times a day, only to need it more. Her whole body craved the first rain of the season, which even had a name of its own—the yoreh. She wondered if there was a name for it in Arabic, too—a question that would not have occurred to her before yesterday.

  Where was Cane? That dog was so hard to pin down. Tikvah had to keep reminding herself that was not her goal. Only Cane could know what was best for her. Yet, Tikvah was finding it increasingly challenging to give the dog her freedom the more attached she became. She did not want to lose her new companion. Ruby’s given name had something to do with being a companion, she had said. Rabia. Companion for life. A beautiful name, really.

  “Cane! Where are you?”

  Tikvah started towards the olive groves, calling for the dog as she stumbled further down into the valley, trying not to fall. And then there she was, up ahead, coming towards Tikvah with Ruby by her side.

  “Sabah el kher!” Ruby called out.

  Tikvah did not understand. “What does that mean?” she asked, when Ruby was just a few steps away.

  “It means a blessed morning. Now you are supposed to answer, Sabah el nur.”

  “Okay. Sabah el nur,” Tikvah said. “What does that mean?”

  “A morning of light.”

  “Like in the Hebrew. When you tell someone boker tov, good morning, they answer, boker or, a morning of light.”

  “There are many similarities between the two languages,” Ruby said, as she fed Cane pieces of something from her bag. Cane was jumping excitedly to grab them with her mouth. “I almost gave up on you. It was beginning to seem like you were standing me up.”

  “I didn’t realize we had a date.” Tikvah had left their chance meeting with a feeling that she would never see this woman again. At least not out of her own volition. Had she been fooling herself? After all, here she was on the other side of the fence, talking to her again, only a day after they had met.

  Ruby abruptly took an empty burlap bag out of her knapsack and handed it to Tikvah. “Follow me,” she said, and marched ahead, with Cane at her heels. Tikvah followed too.

  “What are we looking for?” Tikvah asked when she caught up with them.

  “Saltbush,” Ruby said, stopping. She leaned over and started picking greens and putting them into her bag.

  “You mean that salty spinach-like leaf you showed me yesterday?”

  “Yes. It’s all over the place this time of year.” Ruby handed her a leaf. “My father lived off of the stuff when he was camped out here in the summer months. And mallow in winter. After the war.”

  Tikvah looked at the leaf in her hand. It reminded her of an arrowhead. “The War of Independence? Or whatever you called it . . . ? The Nakma?” Ruby was obviously convinced of this story her father had told her.

  “Nakba, not Nakma. But you were listening to me, weren’t you? Yesterday. Thank you.” Ruby looked at Tikvah and threw her a half-smile.

  Tikvah and Ruby foraged in silence. Tikvah wondered what it was like for Ruby to be back home after she had been away for so long. She wondered what made her leave in the first place. But she was not sure she should ask such personal questions.

  “Have you ever made a mistake?” Tikvah asked again. She was still curious.

  Ruby flinched and looked at Tikvah questioningly.

  “I mean, foraging. You never answered me yesterday when I asked.”

  “No, not really. I grew up with it. Like I said, it’s instinct at this point.” Ruby looked up from her foraging. Her face became more serious. She looked down. “But I did have a pretty close call once,” she added, lowering her voice. “When I was inexperienced. With a husband, I mean. Not a plant. Those I can count on.”

  Tikvah peered at Ruby. “You were married?” She had trouble picturing this woman with a husband. She seemed so free. Unattached. And not easy to get along with, either.

  “Traditional Arabs don’t date. They marry. So it’s hard to judge if the shoe fits without trying it on first. And then it’s too late to return it. But I managed to get away, at least. Once he started hitting me.”

  Tikvah stopped foraging. “He beat you?” This was even harder for her to wrap her head around than picturing this woman married.

  “Sure. I wasn’t born like this,” Ruby said, pointing to the bump on her crooked nose.

  Tikvah listened, stunned, and impressed by Ruby’s frankness.

  “I found a shelter and bought a ticket out of the co
untry as soon as I could. I feared for my life.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Not just him. His family, too. I was branded rebellious for leaving.”

  “His family would have killed you?”

  Ruby put her hands on her protruding hip bones. “Of course. What planet do you live on? Sitting on that hilltop—”

  “—Listen, I’m not the enemy. That was your own people who pushed you away.”

  “True . . .” Ruby looked sorry for her outburst. “Chip on my shoulder. Remember?” She leaned to one side, mocking being weighed down by a heavy burden.

  Tikvah felt sorry for Ruby, whose expression was saying she could use a friend, despite her tough demeanor. “Aren’t you scared they’ll harm you now?”

  “He’s gone. Went to live with family in Jordan and study engineering. He married his cousin and stayed there. Started a family.” There was bitterness in Ruby’s tone. “Apparently, he’s doing well for himself. And his father, his brothers, well, it was a long time ago, and they wouldn’t dare kill a dying woman.”

  “Was that meant to be a joke?”

  “Am I laughing?”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “So is life, if you haven’t noticed.”

  Tikvah had noticed. She thought of her telephone conversation with her daughter less than an hour before. Of her own illness. Of Alon’s trauma. Of her parents’ lost families and childhoods.

  “I wish it all could have been different, but at least I got out of that marriage. Because of that I was forced to leave the village. I saw the world, pursued my art. If I had stayed here, I would have been dead. Even if not physically, emotionally for sure.” She wiped the traces of tears from her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “I never did marry again, though. Lots of relationships, but I enjoy my freedom too much to settle down.” Tikvah sensed some reservation in Ruby’s voice. “I learned from my mistake.”