"Do you suppose she might have been hungry. David?"
"Not that one certainly. They all seem to be well fed, and she's wearing new shoes."
There was a sign that directed them to a narrow flight of stairs, and they followed the crowd. When they had mounted, they saw a wide plaza and beyond it, the Wall. A soldier was stationed on either side of the pathway, and the women had to open their handbags for inspection.
The Smalls found themselves on a stone balcony looking down on the scene. A fence at right angles to the Wall separated the women's portion on the right from the men's on the left. A couple of dozen women were standing close to the Wall on the women's side, touching it. On the men's side, there were many more, most of them praying, rocking and swaying in their ecstasy.
Miriam looked up at him. "Does it do something for you, David?" she asked softly.
He shook his head slowly, considering. "Not the Wall itself. To me, it's just a wall. Although probably part of the temple, it was probably built by Herod, and he is no great favorite of mine. I find the people praying there affecting, though. Maybe a particular holy place is necessary for a people."
"Shall we go down?" They separated at the barrier. "I'll meet you here in about twenty minutes," he said.
He strolled about and then approached the Wall, not to pray but to stand in silent meditation for a few minutes. Then he began walking again, stopping occasionally to inspect the massive stones, passing his hand over them to feel the texture. He went through the archway that adjoined the Wall where excavation was in progress and inspected a shaft that had been sunk to what was supposed to be the original level of the temple. Then he made his way back to wait for Miriam.
When she rejoined him. he asked. "Well, did you pray?"
"I did. But I won't tell you about what."
"I don't think you should."
"Well, I won't then. There was a woman who tried to get me to put on a long skirt she had with her. I refused."
He looked down at her legs. "She was probably just jealous."
"There were all kinds of little bits of paper stuck in the cracks between the stones on my side."
"On mine too. I looked at some of them."
"You didn't!"
He nodded. "Sure I did. Why not? I put them back afterward."
"What did they say?"
"Well." said the rabbi, "one wanted God to cause an earthquake in Egypt. I was tempted not to put that one back, but then I thought God could probably take care of Himself. And there was one that asked for a winning number in the lottery. And one asked to be cured of a sickness."
Noting his tone of voice, she said. "You don't approve, do you?"
"No, but it was rather touching. I think at home. I might voice my disapproval but here"
Miriam put her arm through his. "There is a difference, isn't there?"
He nodded soberly. "So many different types, and all coming here to seek something. See that tall blond man? He looks just like a fellow I knew in college. He's a little stockier, but then he would be. I suppose." He knitted his brows, straining to remember. "Abbot. William— no. Willard Abbot. He came from one of those fashionable, exclusive private schools where all the teachers are very British and they go in for games. The rest of us were largely from city high schools. He was Jewish, but very few knew it. He was totally assimilated."
"One seems to know so many people here. Everyone looks like someone you know."
"That's to be expected. I suppose. There are a number of definite types of characteristic Jewish faces. But that wouldn't apply to Billy Abbot. In this case the old cliché was true: He didn't look Jewish."
They were turning to go when the rabbi heard his name called. "Small! Dave Small!"
They stopped, and the tall blond man came striding toward them, his hand outstretched.
"Billy Abbot! It's really you."
"In the flesh. You're touring, of course. You have the look."
"That's right." He introduced Miriam. "And you? Are you here on business?"
"I live here, up near Caesarea. I'm an Israeli citizen. I'm what's called a chartered accountant here. I get up to Jerusalem about once a month on business, and when I do. I make a point of coming to have a look at the Old City and the Wall. Most of my clients are in Tel Aviv and Haifa, so I live halfway between the two and get a chance to play some golf."
"And is there a Mrs. Abbot?" David asked.
"Oh, yes. And three little Abbots, two boys and a girl. And you? Do you have children?"
"One boy. Jonathan." said Miriam. "He's here in Israel with us."
"I seem to remember that you were planning to go on to the rabbinical seminary. Dave—"
"I went. I have a pulpit in Massachusetts. Barnard's Crossing—"
"Right," said Billy Abbot. "I know the place. A friend of mine used to go down for the boat races. I went along once to crew for him. Nice town, as I recall."
"We like it." said Miriam.
"It's curious, your coming here to settle." the rabbi offered.
"Well, I lived in London for a while and in Rome." said Abbot. "My folks were in the music world— my father was a concert pianist— and we traveled around a bit. After the Six-Day War I decided to come and settle here."
"But why here?" the rabbi persisted.
"I had no religious instruction and no sense of national or religious affiliation, if that's what you mean. My parents thought of themselves as citizens of the world. And that's how I was brought up. They never denied the fact that they were Jewish, but they never advertised it either. But the world isn't ready to have citizens of its own. Jews are everywhere, and the Jew as a subject of conversation— and discrimination— keeps coming up. An insulting remark about Jews, on the assumption that you're not one— your pride, your manhood, doesn't permit you to let it go unchallenged. There was a girl I was interested in — well, never mind; it's not important." He grinned. "Anyway. I finally decided that if I was going to escape the bloody Jews. I had to come here."
The rabbi grinned back. "You certainly chose a funny place to escape Jews."
"Ah, but here I don't feel like a Jew."
The rabbi nodded. "I think I know what you mean."
It was after two when they got home, and Mrs. Rosen greeted them with. "Jonathan is playing with Shaouli. You could have staved away all afternoon."
"The morning is enough for the first day." said the rabbi.
"By the way, were you expecting anyone the other night, Friday night?" asked Mrs. Rosen.
"Friday night? We had only just arrived. And we know no one here. Why?"
"The police were here making inquiries." Mrs. Rosen said. "They spoke to each of the neighbors. They wanted to know if anyone here in the building was expecting someone late Friday night."
The rabbi looked at Miriam inquiringly and then shook his head.
Chapter Eighteen
Ish-kosher studied the list in front of him. "You questioned each of them personally?" he asked.
"Everyone except the Smalls." said Aaron, consulting
his notes. "They weren't home. I could go back and speak to them if you think it's worthwhile. But they just arrived from America. It's not likely they'd be expecting anyone the first day."
"And what does the family consist of?"
"There's a husband and wife. He's a sort of rabbi. And they have a little boy. Oh, yes, and according to the neighbor, they arrived with an aunt of Mrs. Small's, a citizen who lives in Tel Aviv who drove up to the city with them to see them settled in."
"Aha!"
"You think the aunt—"
"No, but she's already not someone who just arrived.''
"She's no longer there. She left the next morning."