Chapter 9

A New Direction

About a year later, Israel found herself in yet another war. On Yom Kippur, the holiest day of her year, Egypt and Syria attacked her. For some time, it seemed that they would triumph. Soon, however, the tables turned and Israel and Judah pushed the enemy forces back until it seemed that they would completely destroy their attackers. During the war, Russia chose to support and supply Syria while America chose to support and supply Israel. Indeed, America sent, literally, tons of supplies to her, including war planes. Of course, the UN simply had to meddle in their affairs, and forced everyone to sign a peace treaty. The war halted. Israel and Judah were relieved the most when it was over, because they didn't want to eradicate anyone—they merely wanted peace. They both sighed in relief when the fighting was over, but they also knew that there would be other wars around the corner if they didn't destroy their enemies…Oh, the trials of thinking ahead for one's people…. If Israel and Judah were average humans, they would live out their lives, serve their time in the military, and rejoice during peace. Although they did this, they as nations knew that peace couldn't be forcefully won. Paper didn't last forever. Thankfully, however, it did end the fighting and held back the killing for another day. Israel and Judah were glad for that. On the other hand, someone would have to die eventually; why not get it over with now? Oh…the pain of being a nation…. Israel and Judah hated killing other people, and couldn't stand fighting their distant relatives, but it seemed that they had no choice. Once again, war struck them, and they won an uneasy peace.

After some time, Israel and Judah managed to relax, and settled into their daily routine, which now included extra border patrols.
Then came the day Israel would face something that she didn't realize she needed to face.

One day, while Judah was running errands, America came to visit Israel. She opened the gate for him and led him to the backyard to show him the flowers she was planning on exporting. Eventually, they started talking about things other than business…and it started with a scarf.

"Israel, I just realized that you're wearing a scarf on your head—how come?" America interjected into their conversation.

Staring at America with a puzzled expression, Israel replied, "You just now realized that I'm wearing a scarf?"

"Yes," America answered with a nod.

Raising one eyebrow, Israel enquired, "I've been speaking to you for fourty-five minutes and you just now realized that I'm wearing something on my head?"

"Yes…is that strange?" America asked slowly, replaying what just occurred in his mind.

Finally, Israel started laughing, and answered with, "Yes—that's very strange, America!"

"You're right—it is, isn't it?" America agreed, looking away, the realization of how weird he was suddenly dawning on him. After a few moments, he turned back to Israel, and smiled. He was glad that she was laughing—even if she was laughing at him.

When Israel calmed down, America asked, "Seriously—Why are you wearing it? I thought you stopped that ages ago!"

Catching her breath one last time, Israel calmly replied with, "Well, honestly—I merely wanted to keep my bangs back…although…well…"

"Well, what?" America probed.

"Well, sometimes I think that, when I get married, if I ever do, I'll just start covering my hair all the time like the Orthodox women—like I used to do," Israel finished as she pulled some weeds from her huge garden.

"Well, why do they do that?" America asked as he knelt down to help her weed.

"Oh—that's right, you're not Jewish—I keep forgetting you don't understand things like that," Israel reminded herself as she threw away a weed and smoothed dirt into the hole it left.

As Israel spoke, she faltered, unsure of how to explain this one concept.

"In Orthodox Judaism, it is the custom for married women to cover their hair because it is considered…uhm…well…Hair is… It is believed that it is more modest to cover the hair. They believe that a women's hair should be covered so only her husband can…uhm…err…enjoy it." Israel felt as if she gave the worst explanation in the world, but she felt awkward talking about it.

Thankfully, for once, America understood; for once, he was not an idiot.

"Oh, okay—I see! Ladies' hair is considered too far out to be shown off to outsiders, right?" America exclaimed, everything abruptly clicking into place in his brain…which was strange because some wondered if he even had a brain. (All right, I'll try not to pick on him! I was merely joking—you don't have to get so upset! Oy!)

"Uhm…basically, yes," Israel acknowledged, accepting that he got the gist and that she didn't have to give him the long, explanatory drash on the subject.

Then, it happened.

"Well, I must say, that's a pretty groovy idea!" America added as he tossed away a weed.

"Really?" Israel asked as she looked up at him, pausing in her weekly weed extermination workout.

"Yeah! I'm sure any guy would be glad to have your hair all to himself—after all, you are really pretty," America added, trying to avoid as much slang as possible to get his point across.

As she listened to those words, Israel cringed as if nails were being dragged across a chalkboard in her mind. She tensed. The wounds on her heart awakened at the sound of any complement being given to their scarred master.

Attempting to change the subject, Israel looked away and shrugged, "Well, I'm not that pretty—don't forget the weeds behind you!"

"Israel, you are pretty! You're the grooviest—I mean, the most fascinatin', beautiful woman I have ever met," America corrected her, staring at her in confusion, hardly able to believe she would say such a thing about herself.

Israel's heart pounded. She felt herself breathe harder as she listened. The wounds in her heart began to whisper again. She began to get frustrated—why would anyone call her beautiful when she was clearly scarred? She felt confused. Quickly, her confusion turned to tension, and that boiled into irritation.

"America, listen, I know you are my friend—but you don't have to make up things like that, okay? I'm not pretty and that's it, all right?" Israel stated sternly, plucking weeds faster.

She began to move away from him, inspecting some nearby tulips for any harmful insects.

"But I didn't make it up!" America protested. For years he had been afraid to confess his thoughts to her, but after the Munich Massacre, he felt he needed to let her know now, while they were together and alone. He needed to let her know before something happened to her.

Swiftly, he declared, "Israel, you are the most beautiful woman in the world."

With those words, America ignited the last spark needed to set off Israel's building tension. For centuries, while she was enslaved, Israel heard that she was an ugly, worthless, useless, low-life. Because of her past, it was hard for her to hear anything else. Although her Scriptures and her God said that she had a purpose, that she was wonderful, that she was lovely, it was hard for her to fathom it. Her past refused to reconcile with her beliefs. She had overcome much since she became independent—but that one detail, the question of her beauty, the one thing she thought didn't really matter, was never fully dealt with in her life. At last, her cage was torn apart, and her inner feelings that she had locked away came roaring out, controlled by the emotional scars on her heart. In fury, she spun around to America, stood up straight, glared down at him and screamed,

"WOULD YOU STOP IT?"

America fell backwards in surprise, nearly crushing some of Israel's roses. Israel breathed deeply as she continued in a growl, "I—am—not—beautiful—un—der—stand? Leave…me…ALONE!"

Jumping to his feet, America blurted out in defense, "Israel, I can't leave you alone—I love you!"

Israel stared at him in shock, her eyes wide as a full moon. She gasped for breath. The two stood there in silence for several moments.
That was the other tiny detail Israel ignored: whether a man would fall in love with her.
She knew God loved her, and her brother loved her—as for any other man, Israel always assumed none would want her. She was scarred from head to foot, and that's all she saw in herself as far as loveliness. She didn't see what America saw in her: her love of nature, her broad smile, her rolling laughter, the interests she shared with America, her devotion to her beliefs, her sparkling ice-blue eyes, her shimmering black hair—endless list of reasons America had to love her. Tragically, she didn't see that, and her emotional wounds refused to let her consider that. For countless years her masters insulted her, calling her unlovable and hideous. In fact, she was so used to being called ugly and distasteful that any thought of anyone loving her outside of God and her family felt like a grave insult to her. Now, she was faced with the question head-on: was she lovable? The thought of being lovely went against everything her past said, everything her scars told her, everything she was indoctrinated to believe about herself. Standing there, before America, Israel began to shake in disbelief and panic as she repeated his words to herself. In her lifetime, there were some people that she allowed herself to get close to- humans mainly-but those people all died, or turned against her. Part of her said that if America was truly in love with her, that he would either die or turn against her, like all the others—including Syria.
Indeed, Syria used to look up to Israel and Judah, and used to be a tender friend to them, always smiling and talking to them, but something happened and now he hated them more than anything else. Would America be the same?

While Israel's thoughts fluttered in her mind, America gently stepped close to her and repeated, "I love you."

He had wanted to say those three words for a long time, and he wanted to make sure that she heard every one of them. Little did he know how those words scared her. She began to step away from him.

"No—no—no, you don't love me! You don't!" Israel protested, unable to fathom any man loving her.

"But, Israel, I do love you! I love you more than any other girl I know!" America insisted, becoming more confident as he spoke.
Although he had the best intentions, his words hit the wrong spots on Israel's heart. Finally, the rest of the dam broke, and Israel's scars roared once more.

"NO! NOBODY LOVES ME! NOBODY CAN LOVE ME!" Israel cried, the emotional scars on her heart dictating her words.

With that, she spun around and dashed away. She didn't want to hear anything else from him—she was scared, angry and shocked at herself and at him. Part of her couldn't believe that she spoke so harshly to her best male friend, and the other part couldn't believe that what happened actually happened. Somewhere in-between these two thoughts, she was terrified of his words—she believed that no man could love her, and if any did, they would probably turn against her or die. Either way, she deemed herself unlovable. Soon, she reached her house, and tore open the door. Running up the short staircase leading to the dining room, Israel dashed past her brother who had recently arrived home.

Without slowing down, she called over her shoulder to her brother in Hebrew, "Don't let America in!"

Confused at Israel's words and her abrupt entrance, Judah watched Israel run across the dining room and burst through the swinging doors. Judah assumed she went to her bedroom. However, his main concern was not where she was, but why on earth she dashed away so rudely—she didn't greet him, or give him a hug for coming home!
That, most assuredly, was NOT like her usual self. Furthermore, why would she even consider saying "Don't let America in"?
Perplexed beyond words, Judah plodded down the stairs, and waited beside the open back door.

Soon, Judah pinpointed America sprinting towards him. When America was close enough, Judah could see his own confusion reflected in America's face. Panting, America bolted to the door, and asked if he could see Israel. Judah studied America for a few moments, contemplating what to do. Eventually, he stepped aside and allowed America to enter, despite Israel's wish.
Gently closing the door, Judah eyed America with a look that said, "Well—what happened?"
Understanding Judah's look, America turned to him and explained, "I don't know what happened—honest! All I did was complement her, and next thing I know, she yells at me and runs away like I'm the worst cat in the universe! I…I really don't know what happened—I didn't hurt her, you have to believe me!"

Slowly, Judah nodded, remembering times when his sister refused complements from himself. Judah indicated a chair nearby, and America sat down obediently.

As Judah sat across from him, America continued with, "Judah, I honestly don't know what I said to upset her…I'm sorry—I really am. Can I talk to her, or is she too upset to speak to me?"

Judah leaned back in his chair, unsure of what to say, or think. He contemplated the situation in silence for a few minutes. He began to wonder what America's agenda was. Obviously, America had romantic feelings for Israel, but what did he want? Would he marry her, or did he want a less responsible relationship?

At length, Judah leaned forward, locked eyes with America, and bluntly asked, "What do you want with my sister?"

After he spoke those words, Judah realized how rude they sounded. Oh, well—it was too late now. He didn't intend to sound angry or suspicious, it just slipped out like that.
Thankfully, America was too upset to get any more upset than he already was, and considered the question in his mind without considering why it was phrased the way it was. Silently, America pondered what he wanted to do with Israel. Yes, they were friends, and yes, he wanted to make everything right with her—but what did he really want with her?
Suddenly, he remembered the day they met. When he first shook Israel's hand, America had a premonition that he would marry her one day. For decades, he shoved it aside, ignoring it…but now he remembered it clearly. The more he recalled it, the more he realized that what he wanted was exactly that: to marry Israel. He loved her more than any other woman in his life. As he thought about Israel, he realized that, perhaps, he had always loved her—it just took him a long time to recognize it.

Slowly focusing on Judah again, America answered, "I want to marry Israel."

His eyes displayed all the words he didn't say—how much he longed for her when they were apart, how much he dreamed of her at night, how much he adored her in the day, how much he was willing to give up for her. Judah read all of those words in America's eyes. Leaning back in his wooden chair, Judah began his inner debate and prayer.

Well, Lord, he wants to marry my sister. I knew he loved her the moment he laid eyes on her—it's about time he recognized it himself.
Well, he is a bit conceited, but he has learned much over the years, and now understands that he is not better than everyone…he now knows his flaws, and is willing to overcome them. If he did marry my sister, I'm sure that he would protect her with his life, but he will have many leaders in the future, and some may despise us. America may be forced to choose sides. He may break my sister's heart without intending to do so.
Then again, he will always love her, no matter what.
However, his culture is different from ours…true, he has learned much about us, and is slowly following our beliefs, but he is still different…I fear this may lead to inter-cultural misunderstandings…
Then again, he shares our basic beliefs—he is a part of us spiritually. The rest will work out, with your help, Dear God, it will.
Unfortunately, if she marries him, all our Orthodox friends are going to be quite upset, to say the least. I'm sure that they will argue with her for some time for marrying a Gentile and will possibly use this as the last excuse to ostracize her from their lives. Oh, it took us so long to get their attention, to earn their trust and their friendship that neither of us want that effort to be thrown away…. We want to reach out to them, not offend them...Then again, we cannot please everyone.
Overall, I'm certain that America will be a faithful husband to Israel, although his leaders might disagree, although our human friends may object. I see America as someone who will do his best to make Israel happy, to protect her, and to love her. That's what she needs—someone to show her that she can be loved, that she is worthy of affection….Well, God, what do you think?

After several minutes of debate such as this, Judah felt a deep, faint feeling—not exactly a thought, but an unction quietly within himself. He felt calm. At once, he knew the answer. Looking at America, he proclaimed,

"I am convinced that you are meant to marry my sister, but she is convinced that she is un-marriable. You need to show her how much you love her."

Once he finished speaking, he stood up and left the room, leaving America alone with Israel and Judah's dogs. The two Canaan dogs stared at America, wondering what was happening. Although they couldn't understand every word spoken, they understood that something was amiss. Israel's dog, a creamy-white female Canaan dog, stepped over to America and laid her head on his lap. She whimpered quietly. America reassuringly stroked her soft head. Inwardly, he wondered if Israel herself would ever be this close to him, if she would ever come to him for comfort...if she would ever marry him.

Meanwhile, Judah was in Israel's bedroom. She was utterly weeping, her face buried in a pillow. Judah pondered what disturbed her so deeply. Gently, he walked over to her, and laid a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him with tear-stained cheeks.

"What's wrong?" Judah asked her in Hebrew.

"He loves me," She replied in Hebrew.

"And?" Judah probed deeper.

Israel looked away, unsure of what to say. Inwardly, she was terrified, but she didn't know why. She thought about it deeper, and realized that she was afraid that America would turn on her, and she would lose him forever. He may love her today, but he may turn on her tomorrow, if he found out what she truly looked like. She believed that any man would abhor her if he saw her scars.
Indeed, she felt entirely unworthy of a man's love. When she looked in a mirror, all she saw was the scar gliding along her face. She didn't see anything else in her looks—only her scars, and she had many more besides the one on her face. After the Munich Massacre, she gained another one—this time on her neck, but that was the least of them. If America saw all of her scars, would he still care for her? Israel extremely doubted he would. Besides that, Israel remembered when Austria and Hungary's leaders drove them apart. They once were married, but now were divorced. Israel didn't wish to endure such a fate. Furthermore, she had various enemies, all of which hated America as much as they hated her, if not more. Surely, if they ever married, they would attempt to assassinate America. Israel didn't want to endanger anyone, especially not America.
Because of all this, she cried. However, it all boiled down to one thing: the question of her beauty. If she thought she was lovely, she wouldn't be crying—no, she would be delighted that America loved her, she would be walking in the clouds, listening to the birdies sing, watching the flowers blossom—but she didn't think she was lovely. Yes, she would be nervous, she would have her fears, but if she thought she was worthy of love, she would gladly accept America's affections. Because she was terribly afraid that America would reject her after seeing her scars, she was afraid to let him close to herself. She was petrified of earning a man's affections to watch them fade away. Hence, when a man did reveal his heart to her, she wept.

Meanwhile, Judah was waiting for an answer.

"And?" Judah repeated, waiting for her response.

"I—I'm—not worthy of a man's affections. I'm not beau-ti-ful, I don't deserve compliments! Once America sees my scars, he's going—to—hate—me!" Israel sobbed, trying desperately hard to keep her voice steady, and failing.

Judah rested on the bed beside her and quietly asked, "Who told you that lie?"

"Everyone," Israel offered in a tiny voice.

"Not everyone," Judah corrected, "God says you're beautiful."

"God made me—he can call me whatever he wants!" Israel countered in a wail.

"Precisely—he declares you lovely," Judah agreed, hoping Israel would see the point. "It doesn't matter what anyone else says, if God says something—it is."

Israel stared at her brother, panting hard to keep the tears back.

Judah put his arm around his sister's shoulder, and implored her, "Israel, think back—when did you first think you were ugly?"

Israel thought for only a few moments when it came to her.

"It was a few months after our parents died. I was drinking from a stream when I saw my reflection—my first scar, my shaved head... Then something within me whispered, 'you will never be beautiful, you-will-always be ugly'. That's when it really started—not with Iraq insulting me, not with foreigners conquering me, no—it started when I was alone at that stream."

"I see…That's the lie," Judah acknowledged, his heart panging for his sister's grief.

"Judah, whether I am beautiful or not, I still cannot accept his love," Israel insisted.

"Why?" Judah probed calmly

"Because, we have so many enemies-he'll be killed if we get married! If that doesn't happen, then surely his boss will force us into a divorce, or some political nonsense will happen, and he'll turn against me! We can't be together!" Israel wailed, still speaking Modern Hebrew.

Judah not only heard what Israel's mouth was uttering, but also heard what her heart was uttering. He listened to her deepest emotions, read the feelings her eyes were betraying, and knew what she didn't tell him: Israel loved America. She loved him, whether or not she realized it. She yearned to be with him, but her heart scars kept her away from him in fear. Judah recognized all of this. Carefully, he thought of what to say before he spoke, more than he had before.

"Israel, our enemies already hate him. They cannot hate America any more than they already do," Judah pointed out as he pulled his sister close. He addressed her by her human pet name as he continued with, "Riyah, he genuinely loves you; he won't leave you over politics. Do not fear,"

"Tali, I fear; that is my problem-I'm terrified," Israel whispered back, addressing him by his human pet name. She leaned on her brother's shoulder, trembling with sobs and anxiety.

"'Those who know your name trust you-for you, Adonai, never have forsaken those who seek you,'" Judah quoted.

"Psalms nine...verse eleven," Israel remembered, straightening slightly as she spoke.

"Riyah, God will never leave you; you have nothing to fear. Everything in this world is a speck compared to him. He is for you; who can survive against you? Don't you see? God will watch over you; it will be all right," Judah reminded her as he comfortingly rubbed her arm.

"I know...but I keep seeing the problem before me; what if...what if..what if something goes wrong?" Israel disclosed, snuggling closer to her brother.

"Riyah, it is not a sin for a man to love a woman...or a woman to love a man," Judah quietly encouraged her.

Israel straightened and stared at her brother in surprise. Judah nodded. Israel felt her heart jump as she stared at her brother's knowing face.

"You love him, Riyah; you cannot deny it," Judah declared in a whisper.

Israel blushed and turned away, knowing it was true.

"Tali, should I really love him, though? Think of all the opposition!" Israel moaned, feeling her throat tighten again.

"Perhaps it is meant to be," Judah pointed out to his sister tenderly. Israel gazed at him, feeling her emotions overwhelm her again.

After some more tears, Judah prayed for Israel, and managed to coax her downstairs. She apologized to America for yelling and rushing away so abruptly. Of course, he forgave her, and then asked her if he could…if he could court her. (In other words, he wanted to be in a relationship where they could see if it would be possible for them to get married one day.) After reading her brother's facial expression, Israel accepted.
The first thing they did was reveal to each other their human names. America was Alfred Franklin Jones, Israel was Moriyah Beulah Tziyon, and Judah was Naftali Shalom Tziyon.
There was something exciting and intimate about knowing each other's human identity. Usually, it was hidden—they only addressed each other by their country names like acquaintances, but now they were on a deeper level, knowing each other's secret identities…
Indeed, Israel and America were in quite a romantic relationship.
Over the next months, Israel threw down her emotional walls, and allowed herself to feel those things for America that she had suppressed before. Now, she realized how much she truly loved him…and now she knew how wonderful it felt to be loved in return. Her life headed in a new direction now.