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“Everyone needs a pink balloon.”
The pink balloon is a meditation technique Lily’s father taught her as a child, and is the only constant in her life, helping her to navigate between her assumed identities and new names, as she moves to different continents, cultures, and religions. Lily is born in Venice Beach, California to a Palestinian mother, Minna, and an Israeli father, David. When her parents separate, Minna and Lily go to live with her mother’s family in a conservative Palestinian refugee community, where she becomes Lila and is raised as a Muslim. After Minna dies, David takes her to Israel, where he has built himself a new life in an illegal settlement in the West Bank. Here, she becomes Lia and converts to Judaism. After she discovers she is expected to get married—an arranged marriage if necessary—Lia runs away to India, the place where she feels her parents’ story, and her own, really began. She creates her own identity and calls herself Leela as she embarks on a journey of discovery, bent on finally finding out who she truly is. As she sheds her old identities to rebuild herself as Leela, the pink balloon takes on a life of its own, guiding her from place to place and from revelation to revelation. |
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"The Pink Balloon is a beautifully written novel with a powerful message about constructed identity and finding oneself by first losing oneself and then keeping oneself no matter where one is." — Haviva New-David, author of Hope Valley
"The Pink Balloon, took me away from my regular life, flying me gently, and playfully to faraway places, the characters i met on the way, were so warm and life - like, they quickly felt like family. The book is beautifully written, full of humour, and color. so much fun!" — Amore, Goodreads Review
"It will open your heart and give it a smile." — Goodreads Review
"The Pink Balloon, took me away from my regular life, flying me gently, and playfully to faraway places, the characters i met on the way, were so warm and life - like, they quickly felt like family. The book is beautifully written, full of humour, and color. so much fun!" — Amore, Goodreads Review
"It will open your heart and give it a smile." — Goodreads Review
TOWARD EVENING, EVERYONE congregated outside the synagogue. The settlement population was even smaller than Lia had expected. The two Russian families spoke no English, but the men smiled and nodded vigorously in greeting, while their wives clapped their hands eagerly and kissed her on both cheeks. She’d met their kids earlier in the afternoon, but since they were all younger and had no way of communicating with her, they had quickly lost interest.
“They live the farthest, on the other side of the settlement,” Esther whispered in her ear.
Nadav and Atara lived in the caravan to their right. They were heavily pregnant, expecting their first child.
“Hope you like animals.” Atara lost no time trying to recruit Lia’s help. “Jonathan works with us all the time.”
They were in charge of the goats and chickens. “They’re our number one baby,” she joked, promising to teach Lia how to make goat cheese and yogurt.
Lila thought the couple in the next caravan looked too young for it, but they were newly married, and both were studying to be teachers.
“I help out all the time,” Jonathan explained. “There are so few of us, and I’m the oldest child. But everyone helps out, you’ll see. It’s actually fun.”
The young men, who shared the large caravan at the entrance to the settlement, attempted to joke around in broken English. Small children ran around barefoot, playing happily.
“Any kids our age?” Lia asked Jonathan.
“They’re mostly into babies here,” Jonathan snickered. “The more the better. But some other kids come to school, so it’s really not so bad. And anyway, my dad says not to worry, we’re just the start.”
“The start?” Lia had no idea what he was talking about.
“We’re just the first ones to come,” he explained. “There’ll be more and more families joining us. They say there’s a waiting list.”
Lia looked around her, shaking her head in disbelief. Bare asphalt, a few concrete structures and a handful of caravans perched on the top of a hill, in the middle of nowhere. The sun disappeared, and the men entered the synagogue, leaving the women and children outside.
“We need you,” David called out to Jonathan. “We’re short one.”
“For the minyan,” Esther explained to Lia. “They need ten men to pray.”
“Beezrat Hashem, Jonathan’s just been bar-miztva’d,” Rebecca told Lia proudly.
“Bar what?” Lia asked.
“It means that since he turned thirteen, he’s considered a man,” Esther explained.
“And Hashem?” Lia had heard her say the name several times that day, looking up at the heavens every time, but had been too embarrassed to ask. “Is that the name of your God?”
“Oh no.” Esther chuckled, covering her mouth with her hand. “We just call him Hashem. It means ‘the name.’”
“The name?” Lia didn’t really get it. “What name?”
“That’s exactly it,” Esther tried to explain. “We’re not allowed to say the name of our God, so we say ‘Hashem’ instead.”
The men’s chanting voices rose and seeped out of the concrete block. Lia sat down on the asphalt, leaning her head on the synagogue wall, trying to make sense of it all.
“God’s god.” David had dismissed her question with a wave of his hand. “It’s always the same god, Lia, we all just call him by a different name.”
“A God with no name,” Lia said to herself. Instead of a coconut name, this god had no name at all.
Lia closed her eyes, listening to the men’s voices rise. She didn’t understand a word, but there was something comforting in the guttural sounds they were making and some of the words seemed vaguely familiar. As the chanting died down another sound reverberated through the hilltops.
“Allahuuu akbaaar.” The familiar Muslim call to prayer bounced off the hillside and echoed through the valley, weaving its way into the men’s prayer.
Lia opened her eyes in surprise.
“It’s just the muezzin from the neighboring village,” Esther whispered to her.
“Allahu akbar,” Lia mouthed, smiling to herself, as the second call echoed through the hills.
The men’s sing-song voices rose again in unison.
“Ashhadu an la ilaha illa Allah.” The muezzin’s voice cut through the air, swirling through the chant.
“I bear witness that there is no god except the One God,” Lia repeated to herself.
The men’s voices rose and turned into song, overwhelming the muezzin. They sang and danced, stomping their feet and clapping their hands feverishly.
“Haya ‘ala-s-Salah, hurry to prayer.” The muezzin’s voice took over again.
The voices rose and fell, echoing through the empty valley. Sometimes Allah had the upper hand, and sometimes it was Hashem.
“Two gods perched on a hill, competing to fill the silence,” Lia thought.
But as Allah and Hashem, the god with no name, mixed and intermingled, they seemed to stop fighting and began, instead, to talk to one another, each voice rising and falling in its turn. There were even moments when they seemed to forget themselves and sing together, their voices creating such a perfect harmony that she could no longer even tell them apart.
“They live the farthest, on the other side of the settlement,” Esther whispered in her ear.
Nadav and Atara lived in the caravan to their right. They were heavily pregnant, expecting their first child.
“Hope you like animals.” Atara lost no time trying to recruit Lia’s help. “Jonathan works with us all the time.”
They were in charge of the goats and chickens. “They’re our number one baby,” she joked, promising to teach Lia how to make goat cheese and yogurt.
Lila thought the couple in the next caravan looked too young for it, but they were newly married, and both were studying to be teachers.
“I help out all the time,” Jonathan explained. “There are so few of us, and I’m the oldest child. But everyone helps out, you’ll see. It’s actually fun.”
The young men, who shared the large caravan at the entrance to the settlement, attempted to joke around in broken English. Small children ran around barefoot, playing happily.
“Any kids our age?” Lia asked Jonathan.
“They’re mostly into babies here,” Jonathan snickered. “The more the better. But some other kids come to school, so it’s really not so bad. And anyway, my dad says not to worry, we’re just the start.”
“The start?” Lia had no idea what he was talking about.
“We’re just the first ones to come,” he explained. “There’ll be more and more families joining us. They say there’s a waiting list.”
Lia looked around her, shaking her head in disbelief. Bare asphalt, a few concrete structures and a handful of caravans perched on the top of a hill, in the middle of nowhere. The sun disappeared, and the men entered the synagogue, leaving the women and children outside.
“We need you,” David called out to Jonathan. “We’re short one.”
“For the minyan,” Esther explained to Lia. “They need ten men to pray.”
“Beezrat Hashem, Jonathan’s just been bar-miztva’d,” Rebecca told Lia proudly.
“Bar what?” Lia asked.
“It means that since he turned thirteen, he’s considered a man,” Esther explained.
“And Hashem?” Lia had heard her say the name several times that day, looking up at the heavens every time, but had been too embarrassed to ask. “Is that the name of your God?”
“Oh no.” Esther chuckled, covering her mouth with her hand. “We just call him Hashem. It means ‘the name.’”
“The name?” Lia didn’t really get it. “What name?”
“That’s exactly it,” Esther tried to explain. “We’re not allowed to say the name of our God, so we say ‘Hashem’ instead.”
The men’s chanting voices rose and seeped out of the concrete block. Lia sat down on the asphalt, leaning her head on the synagogue wall, trying to make sense of it all.
“God’s god.” David had dismissed her question with a wave of his hand. “It’s always the same god, Lia, we all just call him by a different name.”
“A God with no name,” Lia said to herself. Instead of a coconut name, this god had no name at all.
Lia closed her eyes, listening to the men’s voices rise. She didn’t understand a word, but there was something comforting in the guttural sounds they were making and some of the words seemed vaguely familiar. As the chanting died down another sound reverberated through the hilltops.
“Allahuuu akbaaar.” The familiar Muslim call to prayer bounced off the hillside and echoed through the valley, weaving its way into the men’s prayer.
Lia opened her eyes in surprise.
“It’s just the muezzin from the neighboring village,” Esther whispered to her.
“Allahu akbar,” Lia mouthed, smiling to herself, as the second call echoed through the hills.
The men’s sing-song voices rose again in unison.
“Ashhadu an la ilaha illa Allah.” The muezzin’s voice cut through the air, swirling through the chant.
“I bear witness that there is no god except the One God,” Lia repeated to herself.
The men’s voices rose and turned into song, overwhelming the muezzin. They sang and danced, stomping their feet and clapping their hands feverishly.
“Haya ‘ala-s-Salah, hurry to prayer.” The muezzin’s voice took over again.
The voices rose and fell, echoing through the empty valley. Sometimes Allah had the upper hand, and sometimes it was Hashem.
“Two gods perched on a hill, competing to fill the silence,” Lia thought.
But as Allah and Hashem, the god with no name, mixed and intermingled, they seemed to stop fighting and began, instead, to talk to one another, each voice rising and falling in its turn. There were even moments when they seemed to forget themselves and sing together, their voices creating such a perfect harmony that she could no longer even tell them apart.
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