The Foreign Service Journal, September 2008

uru In the middle of the long plane ride from the U.S. to Tel Aviv, when the flight had caught up to the night and the cabin lights were dimmed to encourage the restless passengers to sleep, Linda had raised the arm rest between the two seats and pulled Gina toward her. The cabin’s air was too refrigerated, so Linda had tucked the skimpy airline blanket over the two of them, followed by their two sweaters. Another thing to add to the list next time they traveled, Linda thought wearily — an extra blanket. Always new checklists. When they had been waiting in the lounge at the airport to board, Linda had suddenly thought, “What if we’re stranded in the plane on the tarmac somewhere for six hours?” She had jumped up and hurriedly told Gina to wait for her there while she ran to a concession stand to get some emer- gency snacks. But after taking a step or two away, she had whirled around and returned to Gina, gripping the child’s hand, loaded the bags on the cart, and lumbered down the hallway to the nearest newsstand. Linda grabbed packages of trail mix and some candy bars. Another thing to remember: be prepared with extra food and water, she thought to herself. On the plane, Gina’s warm weight rested against her aunt. The girl had said little the last few hours — the last two weeks, in fact, Linda thought. She continued to clutch the formless gray-pink stuffed animal tightly. When the two had gone through security at the airport, there had been a brief moment of anxiety as the secu- rity people ordered Gina to drop her stuffed animal into the bin for passage through the x-ray machines. Gina had stubbornly shaken her head, refusing to let go of the small animal. For one, wild moment, Linda had had the urge to acquiesce to the small girl. “OK, let’s just turn around and not go!” she had wanted to say. Instead, reason somehow took hold. “Ma’m, you’re not getting through here until your little girl lets us X-ray the stuffed animal,” the burly security agent told Linda in no uncertain terms. Linda had knelt in front of her niece. “Gina, you have to do this,” she said. “Look at the other end of the conveyer belt. You can wait right here and watch the bin go in, and then out the other side of the machine. You won’t ever have to lose sight of it.” It took a few minutes, pulling Gina aside so that the agitated passengers stack- ing up behind her could pass in front of them, but finally Linda was able to pry the animal out of the girl’s reluc- tant small hands. In the dim, quiet plane, Gina turned to look up at her aunt. “Tell me about the school again,” she whis- pered. “Oh, you’ll like it. There’s a sleep- over once a year,” Linda said brightly, wracking her brain for things she had heard parents in the embassy discuss about the school. “And I know they have a good soc- cer team. Do you play soccer?” Gina shook her head briefly. “Well,” Linda continued, “they have lots of things going on. I know you’ll be fine there.” Linda thought that Gina could very probably hear the too-forced brightness in her voice; the little girl wordlessly turned back to the port- hole, staring out at the stars hanging in the black sky. Linda felt her insides clutch. For the first time, she acknowledged her fear. Oh Lord, she prayed silently. Show me how to handle this. uru In the taxi from the airport to downtown Tel Aviv, Linda impassively took in the dusty, gray-green lotus trees and dark green, pencil-thin cypress trees, and the stark white buildings contrasted against the bright, cloudless sky. So different from the deep, cool shaded streets of the suburbs in Akron that Gina was used to, Linda thought. “I don’t think we’ll see a camel here,” Linda said teasingly. “But we will later on, when we drive out of the city — I promise.” Gina did not respond. The taxi stopped in front of a high- rise apartment building fronting on the bright blue Mediterranean Sea, diamonds of light reflecting off the smooth water. Struggling with bags and purses, Linda paid the driver his shekels, muttered “Shabbat Shalom” to him, and led the girl toward the ele- vators. She noticed that Gina’s hold on her stuffed dog was now so tight that the little girl’s knuckles were white. Finally — home. Linda sighed deeply, letting bags tumble off her shoulders and fall out of her hands. Gina stood silently in the middle of the large living room, as if waiting for instructions on what she should do next. “Well,” Linda said brightly. “Here we are!” She went to the sliding glass doors and threw them open to let some fresh air into the stuffy, stale-smelling apartment. The hot, bright sun poured into the room; the heavy sea air was sultry. Gina’s eyes, trained on Linda, were 48 F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L / S E P T E M B E R 2 0 0 8 Linda thought Gina could very probably hear the too-forced brightness in her voice.