The road continued to ebb and flow through hilly terrain. Rina kept her eyes not only on the Fiat but on her rearview mirror. Though in hostile territory, Rina was calmed by the slew of army jeeps she had passed—in front of her, behind her. In about ten minutes, she knew she’d hit Bet Lechem—Bethlehem. Once the Christian Arab city had been a sleepy little berg that had catered to Christian tourists wishing to see the Church of the Nativity. It had been full of tiny little shops stocked with religious articles and icons. The stores had done a bang-up business around Christmas and Easter. But when the uprisings had swung into full gear, tours had been canceled. The result? Lots of empty shops.

A few moments later, a large block of Israeli soldiers came into view. Rachel’s Tomb. Once visible from the road, it was now blocked by a wall. It was a holy spot for the Jews, especially infertile women. They would go there to beseech God for children, in the same manner that Rachel Emainu had beseeched the Almighty thousands of years ago.

Rina felt comforted by the army’s presence, by the Uzis the boys held. There were many of them. So young. Dressed in khaki greens, the kids weren’t much older than Sammy. Rina briefly flashed on her other life, how it might have been for her boys if she and Yitzy had stayed in Israel. It had been her loneliness that had propelled them back to the States—to Rav Schulman’s yeshiva. And just as soon as they had settled in the United States, Rina wished they’d never left Israel. Everything had gone downhill after that.

After incanting a quick prayer, Rina passed through the square blocks of Bet Lechem without incident. It was the same town she had known—open-market fruit and juice stands, cafés with Arab men passing around the hookah, playing long games of backgammon. Rina passed women balancing baskets on their heads as they walked down dusty roads in sandals or bare feet. Their hair was swathed in colorful scarves, their bodies covered with long, intricately embroidered black dresses.

Abruptly, Rina realized that the Fiat had become a dot in the distance. She sped up, the car grunting as it accelerated, hugging the road as it twisted and turned. Once the Fiat was in striking distance, Rina allowed herself to relax.

The hillsides had changed, no longer walls of rock. Instead, the mountains had been terraced, carved into steplike mesas of cultivated lands. This ingenious job of landscaping had been done hundreds of years ago, the barriers of granite and limestone still holding back the forces of Mother Nature with grace and beauty.