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Dried weeds grew out of the cracks near the top where smaller stones were jammed in together like bad teeth. Below, worshippers poetry in black had crowded up against the base. How strange to pray to a wall, Becky thought. She wished she'd brought color film. The boys sat on a stone bench while she finished up with her pictures. They held hands under the shelter of Michael's daypack and Becky wanted to scream, Your kids will have six toes! But poetry of course she couldn't, since they wouldn't. Alain suddenly leaned forward in his chair and asked, "Do you like Israel?" "What? Oh, beautiful," she said. "I'm surprised how many Russians there are." She was going to add that in New York she'd raised money to aid in re-settling them.
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