by Cronk, LN
Who was going to give Laci a place to lay her head and sob, I wondered, when I couldn’t do it anymore?
Tanner was already in the dining room – studying his phone intently – when I arrived downstairs. I helped myself to a Kosher breakfast and joined him at the table.
“Good morning,” I told him.
“Mmhhh,” he nodded, not looking up.
I sat down, silently thanked God for my food and then looked at Tanner.
“I don’t remember anything that happened yesterday,” I told him bluntly.
That got his attention
“What?” he said, looking up.
“I said, ‘I don’t remember anything that happened yesterday.’”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s a pretty self-explanatory statement,” I said, putting some butter on my English muffin.
“None of it?” he cried. “You don’t remember anything that we did yesterday?”
“Nope.”
“I can’t believe that,” he said, obviously taken aback. “You were . . . it seemed like you were totally yourself yesterday. You knew everything that was going on.”
“I don’t remember it,” I shrugged matter-of-factly, taking a bite of my muffin.
“I can’t believe that,” he said again.
“I forgot my chocolate milk, too,” I told him, swallowing, and I got up and went back to the buffet line. When I returned to the table, Tanner pushed his phone toward me.
“Look at the pictures we took yesterday,” Tanner suggested.
“Okay.”
I swept my hand across the screen while I ate, ushering in one photo after another. There was no doubt about it, I really had been at the Wall yesterday.
“Is that Chayyim?” I asked, pointing to one of the pictures.
“Yeah,” Tanner said.
“I don’t know what he looks like,” I explained, and Tanner didn’t answer.
It was surreal, seeing pictures of myself so clearly doing something, but having no memory of it whatsoever. Finally I handed his phone back to him.
“I don’t remember it,” I said.
He seemed at a complete loss as to what to say.
“Thanks for taking all these pictures, though,” I said. “I’m really glad we have them.
He nodded and put his phone away.
“Laci’s taking it pretty hard,” I told him.
He took a deep breath and let it out and then he pressed his lips together.
“I mean . . . she’s better now,” I said, “but she was pretty upset.”
“I imagine she was,” he nodded again. “It was obviously very . . . important to you while we were there, and to think that you don’t even remember it now . . .”
“It was important to me?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Whatdaya mean?”
“I dunno,” he shrugged. “You could tell that it meant a lot to you.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I dunno,” he said again.
“Well, tell me,” I insisted. “What happened?”
“You were just very . . . emotional,” he finally said, reluctantly.
“I didn’t cry or anything, did I?”
He looked at me, knowingly.
“I cried?!”
He nodded.
I slumped back in my chair.
“Did you cry?” I whispered, conspiratorially.
“As if,” he snorted.
“Well, no wonder I don’t remember anything,” I finally said, sitting forward and trying to regain some of my dignity. “I clearly wasn’t myself.”
“Oh, you were totally yourself,” Tanner said, sitting back and picking up his cup of coffee. “I already told you that.”
About fifteen minutes later, Laci joined us. She sat down.
“Did he tell you?” she asked, looking directly at Tanner.
“Yeah,” Tanner said.
“Yes,” I agreed, in case she’d forgotten I was sitting right there. “I told him.”
“Well, guess what?” she said, crossing her arms on the table and leaning forward eagerly. “I want to go back there today and–”
“WHAT?!” I cried. “Absolutely not! We’re going to Rachel’s Tomb today!”
“We don’t have to go to Rachel’s Tomb,” she insisted. “It’s just like you said, ‘Why do you wanna go see some gate that’s guarding someone’s bones?’ That’s a stupid thing to go see. Let’s just concentrate on the places that were important in the Gospel and–”
“No!” I said, interrupting her again. “You’ve always wanted to see Rachel’s Tomb,” (for some strange reason), “and that’s what we’re doing today.”
“But you’ve always wanted to see the Wall!” she argued.
“And I did see the Wall,” I insisted. “I saw it yesterday.”
“But you don’t even remember it!”
“Tanner showed me the pictures,” I said. “I’m good.”
“But David,” she pleaded, “I really, really want to go back there. I want you to experience it today when you’re . . .”
“Not crazy?” I suggested when she hesitated.
“You weren’t crazy,” she said, “but today you’re . . . yourself.”
“According to Tanner I was myself yesterday, too.”
“Well,” she admitted, “you did seem normal . . .”
Tanner looked at me smugly.
“So today I seem normal too,” I said. “What’s to say that if we go and see it again today that I’m going to remember it any better tomorrow? We could keep going back every day for a year and I might not ever remember it, Laci.”
“What if we–”
“Laci?”
“What?”
“Go get some food.”
“But–”
“Tanner’s been done with his breakfast for about a half of an hour and I finished about ten minutes ago and now we still have to sit here and watch you eat. So go get some food and we can talk about it while you’re eating.”
“Fine,” she sighed, pushing her chair away from the table. As soon as she was gone I turned to Tanner.
“She’s always wanted to see Rachel’s stupid tomb,” I told him. “I’m not going to let her miss that just so we can go back to the Wall.”
“Afraid you’re gonna cry again?”
“Shut-up, Tanner. No! I just want her to get to do what she’s always wanted to do–”
“And she wants you to do what you’ve always wanted to do,” he pointed out.
“Which we already did.”
“You don’t need to remind me,” Tanner said. “I’m not the one who forgot.”
I smirked at him, then I said, “Help me out here, okay? I mean – I’ll admit that I did want to see the Wall and everything, but the main reason I wanted to come to Israel is because Laci’s always wanted to come here. This trip is for her . . . not for me. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
He nodded and Laci returned with a blueberry muffin and a cup of coffee.
“I wanna go back to the Wall,” she said, resolutely.
“Well,” I said, “Tanner and I were just talking and we both think that we should go to Rachel’s Tomb.”
She looked at Tanner, distraught.
“I never said that,” he argued.
“What do you think we should do?” she asked him.
“It doesn’t matter what Tanner thinks,” I interjected. “We’ve got a plan and we’re sticking to the plan. We’re going to see Rachel’s Tomb today.”
“Plans can change,” Tanner said.
“You just wanna see if I’m gonna cry again, don’t you?” I asked, glaring at him.
“Well, that would be an added bonus,” he shrugged.
“Fine,” I pouted, sitting back and crossing my arms. “You two sit here and plan everything out for me like I’m already an invalid. But I thought we were doing whatever I want to do. Right now, I wanna go to Rachel’s Tomb.”
Laci glanced at me as Tanner pulled his phone back out and pulled up our itinerary.
“Now,” he said, “Friday’s open. Seems to me that we’d better go see Rachel’s Tomb today since we’ve already got bus reservations and everything and we haven’t even told Chayyim what’s going on. Then, tomorrow, we can go back to the Wall. We’ll back everything else up one day and then Friday won’t be open anymore. Does that sound like a plan?”
We both nodded at him.
“So, you’ll get to see Rachel’s Tomb,” he said to Laci before turning to me, “and you’ll get to see your wall.”
“As long as I don’t forget it again,” I added.
“Maybe you’ll get lucky,” Tanner said, “and all you’ll forget is Rachel’s Tomb.”
We arrived in Jerusalem where I met Chayyim . . . again. Chayyim was young – probably in his early thirties – and seemed completely unfazed when told that I had Alzheimer’s and no recollection of the day before. He reintroduced himself to me and went into a little spiel about himself and his background. He told me that he was a Conservative Jew and explained that he believed the Bible was the divinely revealed Word of God. Although he did not believe that Jesus was the promised Messiah, he specialized in guiding Christians through the Holy Land, was very familiar with our New Testament, and would be able to provide us with accurate and insightful details about areas of significance in the life of Christ and His followers. (Of course I already knew this – that’s why I’d hired him. He had been highly recommended by someone from our church in Cavendish who had visited the Holy Land two years earlier.)
After that Chayyim told me about his yarmulke (skullcap) and tallit (prayer shawl) and then we set off for the bus station.
The station in Jerusalem was full of shops. We arrived about an hour before our bus was scheduled to leave, so we went through security and then shopped until it arrived. When it finally did, we boarded and took a seat.
The bus was not your average bus. It was a big, bullet-proof bus – a bus that picked up an armed-guard after we’d left Jerusalem and stopped at a check-point before we got to the fortress that Rachel’s Tomb had been turned into. Once we finally went through the security gate and cruised through the maze of concrete walls, we got out of the bus and walked into the entryway.
“We’ll meet you right back here,” I said to Laci urgently, pointing to the fountain where Orthodox Jews were washing their hands before going in to pray.
“Okay,” she nodded before leaving to walk down into the women’s outer chamber.
“She’ll be fine,” Tanner assured me, as Chayyim led us through a crowded passageway with the other men. “Everybody else here passed through security just like we did, remember?”
“I remember,” I nodded. “I’m just . . . I’m just worried about her.”
“I know,” he said, patting me on the back. “But she’ll be fine.”
Finally we came to the inner room where we could see the tomb. All around us Jewish men bobbed their heads up and down in prayer – shokeling. Ahead, through the crowd, I could see the white structure of Rachel’s Tomb.
“Do you want to get closer?” Tanner asked. I knew that he’d get me right up to it if I wanted him to.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “This is Laci’s thing, not mine.”
Laci’s thing.
Why exactly was this “Laci’s thing”?
Why, I wondered (not for the first time) did she care so much about coming to this place? I stood there, trying to remember what I knew about Rachel, hoping to figure out just what it was that fascinated Laci so.
It had been Rachel, of course, who – jealous of her sister – had said to her husband, Jacob, “Give me children or I’ll die.” Jacob became angry with her and told her that it was God who had kept her from having children, not him. Eventually God did give Rachel a child . . . two actually. First, He gave her Joseph – the one whom Jacob loved more than any of his other sons – and then, Benjamin – the one whose birth had ultimately caused Rachel’s death. Jacob had buried Rachel on the way to Bethlehem and set up a pillar over her tomb.
And now, thousands of people flocked here to pray . . . including many barren women, asking God to bless them and give them babies.
Babies.
Was that what this was about?
I had no delusion that Laci was in the adjoining room, praying for God to miraculously give her a child, but I did wonder if she was in there crying because God had not given us any biological children – at least none that had lived, anyway. The thought that she might be in there, crying about this, bothered me.
“I wish I knew why this means so much to her,” I said to Tanner.
He looked over the small sea of bobbing heads and fixed his eyes on the tomb.
“I think it’s the romance,” he answered.
“The romance?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “The romance between Jacob and Rachel.”
“I don’t think so,” I said skeptically, shaking my head.
“You don’t know anything about women,” he said dismissively. “See, this is why you had to settle for Laci . . . why you’ve had to spend your entire life stuck with just one woman.”
I laughed at him.
He smiled back at me and then went on. “Think about it,” he said, seriously. “Jacob sees this Rachel chick – she brings him some water for his camels or whatever – and BOOM!” Tanner clapped his hands together. “Suddenly he’s in love.
“Now he loves her so much that he agrees to work for her dad for seven years just so he can marry her. So he works and works and works for seven years and then – he wakes up on the morning after their wedding – and finds out he didn’t sleep with Rachel at all! He’s been totally hoodwinked by this guy and now he’s married to her sister, Leah, instead.”
I looked at Tanner with my mouth open in surprise.
“So he agrees to work for another seven years because he wants Rachel so bad,” Tanner went on. “And then he winds up with over a dozen kids and which ones does Jacob love the most?”
I didn’t answer him. I was still staring at him in mild disbelief.
“Joseph,” Tanner answered himself. “And then – once he thought Joseph was gone – Benjamin.”
Tanner seemed to be waiting for me to agree with him.
“Twelve,” I said.
“What?”
“You said that he had over a dozen kids, but he had exactly twelve . . . they became the twelve tribes of Israel.”
“What about Dinah?” he asked me.
“Oh, yeah,” I stammered.
He looked at me smugly.
“I know all about Dinah!” I said.
“Sure you do,” he said.
“I do,” I insisted. “I just forgot.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I did!” I argued. “In case you’ve forgotten I have Alzheimer’s!”
He rolled his eyes.
“But anyway,” he said, going on, “don’t you get it? Don’t you see how much he loved her? She was everything to him! Nothing meant more to him than Rachel did . . . and once she was gone, nothing meant more to him than her sons.
“That’s what women want,” he concluded confidently. “They want someone to love them as much as Jacob loved Rachel. They want to feel that they’re the most important thing in the world to someone.”
Was that really what women wanted?
And, more importantly, was Laci in the other room right now, bemoaning something other than the fact that she’d never had any babies of her own?
The next day we returned to the Western Wall and Chayyim, Tanner and I once again had to separate from Laci.
Tanner and I covered our heads and – as we approached the Wall – he stuck right by my side.
“I’ll be fine by myself,” I told Tanner.
&nbs
p; “Afraid you’re gonna cry again?” he asked with a wicked smile. I smirked at him and gave up hoping for a moment to myself.
Then we stepped up to the Wall.
I know that God is always with us, I really do, but at the moment that I reached my hand out to touch the rough stone, I had never felt His presence more.
It overwhelmed me like nothing I’d ever experienced and, suddenly? I didn’t care if Tanner was with me or not.
I stepped even closer to the Wall and put both hands on the uneven rock. Then I pressed my forehead against it and closed my eyes. The hair on the back of my neck actually stood up and my knees felt weak. Something was fluttering in my stomach.
How had I been here two days ago and I couldn’t remember it now?
The experience was so overpowering that it seemed impossible I could have forgotten. It also seemed impossible that Tanner could be standing here right next to me and remain so completely unaffected.
I was probably crying again, but I didn’t care. I stayed there, pressed against the Wall and praying, for a long, long time.
Once I stopped praying (and crying), I took the little slip of paper out of my pocket and tucked it carefully into a crack. Most of the cracks were so full of paper that I had to reach way up high to find a spot where it would stick.
Finally I stepped away, disappointed, (but not surprised) to find Tanner standing there, looking at me impassively.
“Where did we stand before?” I finally asked him.
“Right around here,” he said, shrugging.
“Did I put a prayer in the Wall?”
“Yeah,” he nodded.
“Where?” I asked.
“I dunno,” he shrugged. “Why?”
“I want to find it,” I said.
“You can’t find it!” he exclaimed, motioning to the hundreds of prayers that were stuffed into the cracks all around me. “Even if we knew exactly where you put it, it’s all covered up with other ones by now!”
I looked at the Wall and realized he was right.
I sighed.
“I wanted to know what I wrote down,” I said, shaking my head disappointedly. “I wanted to see what was going on inside my mind.”
