The Button Box by Fawzia Gilani-Williams & Fawzia Gilani-Williams

Author:Fawzia Gilani-Williams & Fawzia Gilani-Williams [Hodder, Bridget & Gilani-Williams, Fawzia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Chapter Book, Chapter Books, Jewish, Judaism, Kar-Ben Publishing, Kar-Ben, Older Readers, interfaith, Muslim, Islam, historical fiction, time travel, fantasy, history, multicultural, Sephardic, Sephardim, Spain, Morocco
ISBN: 9781728452111
Publisher: Lerner Publishing Group
Published: 2022-04-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

It seemed like forever before Sarai finally announced, “Here we are! The Jewish Quarter!”

Hot and thirsty and hoping for comfort at journey’s end, Ava felt disappointment lodge like a hard little stone in her throat. She’d imagined fancy domes, black metal hanging lanterns casting complicated shadows, and beautiful colored tiles on the walls, like she’d seen in pictures of old Jerusalem.

But the Jewish Quarter was a collection of about thirty small, simple dwellings made of clay. Ava spotted one building that had to be a synagogue because a Star of David was sculpted above its door. It had a smaller enclosed space attached to it—probably a mikvah, where people could take ritual baths.

There were animal pens or chicken coops next to some of the houses. Sounds of hens clucking and the strangely human-like braying of goats greeted the travelers as they stumbled forward on aching feet.

Ava wished the miraculous power of the Button Box could have somehow let her and Nadeem keep their sneakers.

Sarai led them to one of the little houses. Sheba sprang off the cart and vanished into the shadows. “Nathan, you may leave the cart by the entrance here,” said Sarai. “Little Ester, go fetch water, please.”

Wow, Sarai kept doubling down on that “little” stuff, Ava reflected. No wonder it was constantly on Ester’s mind.

Ester picked up a large clay jar that stood on the doorstep, swung it onto her head with a practiced flair, and moved away. Meanwhile, Sarai removed her sandals and placed them on the step, so the kids did too. And when Sarai reached out to touch the mezuzah on the wall outside the door, then brought her fingers reverently to her lips, Ava copied her actions.

As soon as they stepped into the cool darkness of the house, a voice from the far corner of the room called, “Shalom, Mother! Who’s this you’ve brought with you?”

Ava peered toward the corner, her eyes adjusting to the dimness. She made out the shape of a lanky older boy lying among some blankets on the clean, dry, packed clay floor. There was a basin of water, an empty plate with the remains of a meal on it, and a simple clay cup beside him. This had to be Isaac, Ester’s brother.

“Shalom, my beautiful son!” Sarai crossed the room and pushed open a rough wooden shutter—just a crack, to let in some light but keep out the heat. Now Ava could see a handwoven red and orange rug in the center of the floor. A clay lamp hung from the ceiling, along with upside-down flowers and what looked like grasses. Hanging up grass was a strange way to decorate, Ava thought. Putting the plants in a vase would be a whole lot easier.

Nadeem followed her gaze and said, “They’re drying out herbs. You know, lavender and stuff, for their market stall. My mom does it sometimes with hydrangea flowers.”

“Ohhhh.”

Sarai knelt beside her son, said a blessing over his head, and hugged him. “How do you feel, my love? How is your ankle?”

It was bound up in some kind of bandage.

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