Free A Life Worth Living by Pnina Baim Page A

beat was heard.
    “Hey, that song sounds familiar,” Gaby said.
    “That’s my favorite song,” Serena said. “It’s Say Hey, I Love You .”
    “Huh?” Gaby muttered, distracted. The thick Old City walls loomed before them, the citadel of the Tower of David reaching to the night sky.
    They climbed the ancient stone stairs to the Old City. The view was breathtaking, especially at night, where strategically placed lights lit up the stone path every few feet and cast a golden amber glow. The small but highly contested area was divided into four quarters – Jewish, Armenian, Christian and Muslim. To reach the Jewish Quarter and the Western Wall, the girls needed to pass by the Armenian and Christian Quarters.
    Gaby swallowed. There was a police station about a hundred feet away, but she still felt nervous.
    “You don’t recognize that song? What type of Brooklyn girl are you? Even I know it,” Rikky said. She didn’t seem concerned about the close proximity of the Arab residents, and was skipping over the small cement balustrades set in the stone walkway.
    “I’m not sure,” said Gaby, looking around, hoping the group of Israel police officers gathered around the station kiosk, smoking and texting on their cell phones, were aware that three careless girls were walking through the area.
    Rikky started walking backwards and started singing the pop reggae song at the top of her lungs.
    Serena bopped along with her and joined in, gleefully trying to out-sing Rikky.
    Gaby sneaked a peek at the Arab storekeepers and customers of the coffee shops lining the square who were watching them with unabashed curiosity. She wasn’t sure if she should laugh or run. “Come on, let’s go,” she said, her voice breaking a bit from apprehension.
    Rikky and Serena ignored her, and danced toward the policemen, circling a cute young policeman who grinned and began clapping his hands over his head, performing a sloppy imitation of a fandango dance, and adding his deep voice to the chorus. Apparently everyone knew this song but Gaby.
    The three other policemen joined in, adding “na na na” to the rendition of the song when they got stuck by the unfamiliar English words. The Arab pedestrians smiled appreciatively at this impromptu concert, and some began clapping along. Rikky and Serena danced around the policemen, their skirts swirling around them.
    An older, heavyset policeman came out of the little police station and, still on his cell phone, started gesturing and shouting at the girls, his Hebrew too guttural for Gaby to understand. The younger policemen stepped back apologetically, and the girls ran off down the narrow pathways until, breathless and gasping from laughter, they reached the Jewish Quarter.
    The Quarter was seemingly built out of stone. Everything, from the residences opening out of the walls, to the narrow walkways with a shallow ditch carved in the middle to help the rain water run down, to the large open square, were all built out of the same Jerusalem stone. Although the neighborhood was old, it was sparkling clean. Large plants and red poppies and white daffodils in pots and window boxes provided bursts of color. They walked past ruins that dated back thousands of years to the first and second Temples, and admired large Mediterranean style apartment buildings that stood guard over alleyways full of souvenir shops and restaurants. A tall white windowed building, built in an old Middle Eastern style and featuring a large circular dome, towered over the central plaza.
    “That’s the Beit haKnesset haChurva ,” Rikky said, slightly out of breath from the brisk walk. “It was rebuilt a couple of years ago.”
    “Oh yeah?” Gaby looked at the grand structure with interest. “Have you ever been inside?”
    Rikky nodded. “My mother took me the last time we came for a visit. It’s gorgeous.”
    The girls reached the top of the stairs leading to the Western Wall and began the descent to the holy site. At long