Gravity by Leanne Lieberman

Neshama looks down at her lap. My throat constricts, and I cough into my napkin.
    Abba stretches back in his chair. “It’s good to be home.” He stands up and motions for us to stand beside him. He places his warm hands first on Neshama’s head, then mineand whispers the blessing for children. “May you be like Sarah, Rachel, Rebecca and Leah.” I don’t hear the birds or the traffic, just Abba’s words.
    “Did you know,” Abba asks, passing out bowls of gazpacho, “that the Talmud says God gave ten measures of beauty to the world, nine to Jerusalem and one to the rest?”
    “The old city was really amazing,” Ima sighs. “You have to imagine, first you’re in a modern city, then the next thing you know, you’re walking up this slope to Jaffa Gate.”
    “Your mother was so excited,” Abba adds.
    “There are ramparts on one side and the city below. I kept thinking of the crusaders riding up to that gate, then the Caliph of Omar, and then finally the Jews.”
    “You can’t believe how hot it was. I’ve never shvitzed like that before in my life.”
    “When we got to the gate, your father knew exactly how to get to the Kotel —”
    “I’d memorized the map on the plane.”
    “We went through the Armenian quarter and through Zion Square—”
    “I wanted to stop at the Hurva Synagogue, but your mother wanted to go right to the Kotel .”
    “So is the wall amazing or what?” Neshama interrupts.
    “Well, it was actually smaller than I expected.” Ima leans her elbow on the table.
    “There were soldiers everywhere.”
    “And the women’s side is much smaller than the men’s—”
    “Wait,” Neshama says. “Why’s the women’s side smaller?”
    Ima shrugs. “Don’t ask. Anyway, when I got to the wall, I suddenly knew exactly what I had to do.”
    Neshama and I exchange looks.
    “I had a plan.”
    Neshama stops eating. I clench my napkin in my fist.
    “I figured it out at the wall.” Ima smiles. “First, I started to daven, but then—I couldn’t believe it—this woman beside me started talking on her cell phone.”
    “Can you believe, at the Holy of Holies?” Abba adds.
    “And not quietly either. In this loud Russian voice.”
    “Then what happened?” Neshama demands.
    “Well, I found a different place by the wall, in the shade away from the woman with the cell phone, and that’s when it happened.” She smiles that distant smile again.
    “What?”
    “I had this wonderful realization. I knew exactly what I had to do.”
    I start to slowly shred my napkin. “Which is what?” I ask, my voice hesitant.
    Ima braces her hands on the table. She takes a deep breath. “I have to help Jews be more observant.”
    I squeeze my napkin into a ball.
    “Don’t you already do that at the school?” Neshama spears spinach with her fork.
    “No.” Ima clutches her water glass. “It’s going to be more than that. The students at school are okay. It’s those other Jews, the ones who live without Hashem , I’m going to teach them.”
    Neshama swallows a mouthful of salad. “Oh,” she says. She reaches for the pitcher of water and fills her glass. She drinks the whole thing down in one long gulp. “I’m glad you know what you have to do. It’s good to have a plan.”
    “Yes,” Ima says, “I want to give something back to Hashem. ” Her eyes focus. “I want to help others.”
    There’s a long pause. “So, what exactly are you going to do ?” Neshama asks.
    “I’m going to write a book, or maybe only a pamphlet.”
    “And?”
    “And visitors will come for Shabbos,” Ima says.
    “What for?” I ask.
    “They’ll learn,” Abba replies. “They’ll learn the laws and understand Hashem.”
    “Will you help me?” Ima asks us.
    I shift uncomfortably in my chair. “What will we have to do?”
    “I need you to be ambassadors.”
    I nod uncertainly and curl my toes, looking down at my plate. Neshama has already begun her escape, and I... I push the thought away.
    Ima