A View From Forever (Thompson Sisters Book 3) by Charles Sheehan-Miles Read Free Book Online Page B

all,” I say.
    “And you, young lady,” Josef says. Unlike his wife, he has a strong eastern European accent. “Is there anything you need before we go?”
    I shake my head no. On second thought, it’s a Russian accent. But if Rebecca isn’t from the midwest, I would be shocked. Josef picks up one of my bags, and I reach for the other, but Josef says, “No, Ariel. Take the young lady’s bag.”
    Ariel flashes me an unreadable look. Then he picks up my bag. I search around the area. Dylan is getting into a car about a hundred yards away. He sees me and his face brightens into a smile. He waves.
    I wave back, trying not to show my worry. Swallowing, I follow Rebecca down the street to a perfect-condition, bright-blue Mitsubishi. Josef opens the trunk—it looks as if it has never been used. Perfectly clean carpet inside; not a speck of dust. The four of us get into the car, Josef and Rebecca in front, Arie l and myself in back. Ariel twists in his seat and openly stares at me, but his mother says something in a sharp tone in Hebrew. He turns his eyes to the front and buckles up.
    “Is Alex short for Alexandra?” Josef asks.
    “Yes,” I reply.
    “My mother was an Alexandra. It seems a pity to shorten a beautiful name.”
    I shrug, then make use of my very limited Russian to ask him if he is from Russia. “ Вы из России? ”
    His face erupts into a huge smile. “Changing the subject, I see. Da—I’m originally from Saint Petersburg. I moved to Israel in 1991 with my parents. I’m surprised you can distinguish the accent?”
    “My family lived in Moscow for a year when I was younger. But that’s just about all the Russian I remember.”
    “I see!” Josef replies.
    “Where do you live now?” Rebecca asks.
    “San Francisco.”
    “Beautiful city.”
    I look at her. “Where are you from?”
    “Minneapolis, actually.”
    Ariel interrupts. “I was born in Tel Aviv.”
    Josef pulls the car into the heavy traffic along Dizengoff Street, but soon turns off, getting out of the traffic by maneuvering through a bewildering set of twists and turns.
    “How did you end up in Israel?” I ask.
    Josef says, “You know about when Soviet Union collapsed? My parents moved here then—about a million Russian Jews come to Israel then.”
    A million? This is a tiny country. “I had no idea.”
    Rebecca smiles. “I came here a couple years after that. I was an idealistic girl.”
    “Now, not so much,” Josef comments.
    She frowns at him. “Speak for yourself, husband.”
    He chuckles. “I always speak for myself, wife.”
    I can’t help but smile at how they refer to each other. The couple begins a lighthearted debate about who is more cynical, and then as the discussion becomes more passionate and animated, they lapse into Hebrew.
    I comment quietly to Ariel, “I like how they call each other husband and wife.”
    Ariel says, “They do that because they only just got married last year.”
    “Really?” I’m a little shocked, though I ought not be.
    Josef overheard the exchange and lets out a loud, bark like laugh. “It’s because even though we were so Jewish the Russians hated us, I wasn’t Jewish enough for the Rabbis here.”
    I am a little confused.
    Rebecca says, “In Israel, marriage has to be approved by the religious authorities. Josef couldn’t prove his mother was Jewish, so they wouldn’t let him marry me. We held out for years, hoping they would do the right thing, but finally decided to get married in Minneapolis. The government recognizes marriages conducted in other countries.”
    “That makes no sense,” I say. “How do you prove you are Jewish?”
    “The birth certificate has to note that the mother was a Jew. And you have to be able to prove you were circumcised as a baby.”
    “Huh,” I say. Josef steers the car onto a highway. Traffic is awful.
    “We live in Ramat Gan,” Josef says, “If you are curious.”
    “Where is Ramat Gan?” I ask.
    “It’s a suburb to the