For her novel The Lonely Tree, Yael Politis has been announced as one of the 2009 Book of the Year Awards winners on the London Arts Council funded YouWriteOn.com, a site for new writers.

 Edward Smith, manager of YouWriteOn, commented on The Lonely Tree, “The judging panel and YouWriteOn readers alike agreed that The Lonely Tree is a really great read, carrying the reader along with the unique and intelligent story”.

“Yes,” Tonia replied, convinced that in her present frame of mind her mother would do as told. And if not, Tonia would drag her.

Tonia’s stomach growled. The Jewish authorities had gone house-to-house confiscating food, in a desperate search for supplies. Everything was rationed – each of the city’s hungry residents received 200 grams of bread per day and a weekly ration of dried beans, peas, and groats.

Amos’s concealed hoard survived the search, and he had brought Tonia and Leah a bag containing five large pita breads that Rachel had baked. The scent of them was driving Tonia mad, but she knew her mother would insist upon giving them to the children and pregnant women, just as Josef would have done.

“It may be possible,” Amos said. “They’re trying to make an alternate route into the city, one that doesn’t have to pass under the guns at Latrun. They found an old goat route. So far, only jeeps have managed to get all the way over it, but they’re paving it to make it passable to trucks.”

Tonia stared at his mouth, as if that might help her understand what he was telling her.

“They started leveling the road up from the coast.” He held his right hand slanted up. “And managed to reach partway down from Jerusalem.” His left hand slanted down above it. “But there is still a gap of almost five kilometers in between that are impassable. The engineers and bulldozers are working on it, but the city can’t wait. There’s no food.”

Tonia’s stomach growled again, and they both grinned.

“So a few hundred people from Tel Aviv have volunteered to bring food to the city,” Amos said. “They are going to climb up that five kilometer stretch carrying sacks of supplies on their backs. And those volunteers are going to have to be taken back to Tel Aviv. If your mother will go, I don’t see why a few hundred people can’t become a few hundred and two.”

He paused for a moment and then went on.

“It won’t be easy for your mother. She’ll have to walk the five kilometers in the dark, downhill. But you won’t be alone.”

“Are you coming?” Tonia asked.

“No. I meant you’ll be with the other people from Tel Aviv.”

“Oh.” She tried to hide her disappointment. “We’ll go,” Tonia said. “I’ll throw her over my shoulder if I have to. Thank you, Amos. Thank you.” She touched his arm, and he shrugged off her gratitude.

“Be ready to leave tomorrow night,” he said and left.

He came to pick them up in a rusty old car that hardly looked capable of rolling over a cliff, much less transporting them to an unpaved goat path. Tonia and Leah each carried a tiny bundle of their most precious belongings. Tonia’s included her English dictionary and the white dress, rolled up in a towel. The car rasped and rattled through the empty streets, to the outskirts of Jerusalem. Outside the city, Tonia peered at the dark countryside. Every tree the headlights picked up looked like an Arab irregular, waiting to ambush them. Amos turned off the main road, and it seemed to Tonia that he had driven into the woods. Her head nearly hit the roof of the car as they bumped along. At last he stopped.

“We’ll walk the rest of the way.”

Amos took Leah’s arm and led her over the rocky terrain. Tonia gaped at the sight to which he led them. A row of trucks had backed up to the crest of a wadi, waiting to receive the supplies being hauled up the wadi on mules, ox carts, and human backs. The volunteers from Tel Aviv were met part way by members of Jerusalem’s Home Guard, who relieved them of their burdens, while they returned for the next load.

Scraps of information began coming in. There had been a battle in the Judean Hills, with heavy Jewish casualties. On Saturday, a detachment left Har Tuv to search for the lost party, but encountered enemy fire and was forced to turn back, carrying one dead and a number of wounded. Josef went out with a search party from Kfar Etzion, but found no sign of them near the Bloc. A small plane was sent to reconnaissance the area, but failed to find a trace of them.

The next day Josef listened while the radio operator of the Etzion Bloc sent a terse message to Jerusalem. “We have just received word that thirty-five bodies have been found on the path between the villages of Surif and Jaba.”

Later the kibbutzniks learned that the British Police Superintendent of Hebron had managed to persuade one of the local Arabs to lead him to the bodies and tell him what had happened. The column had been spotted near Surif, a few kilometers from the Bloc, and been trapped on one of the hills. Surrounded by villagers, they had fought until their ammunition ran out.

British soldiers gathered the dead and loaded them onto trucks, to take them to Kfar Etzion. The Superintendent had received orders to take the bodies to Jerusalem, but informed his superiors that the bodies were naked and had been mutilated. In his opinion, it would be advisable to take them to the Bloc and thus avoid arousing hysteria in Jerusalem.

Sunday morning the British commandant entered the kibbutz to inform the settlers of this decision. He told them that the thirty-five bodies would be brought to Kfar Etzion for burial that evening. Josef and a group of men silently picked up digging tools and made their way down to Wadi Abu Rish to begin carving a second common grave out of the hillside. At dusk three canvas-colored trucks with a military escort entered the village. A British officer approached a group of the settlers.

“Would you please have the women go inside,” he requested.

The men went to the backs of the trucks and stared at the sight of the naked, disfigured bodies, many of whose sexual organs had been mutilated, lying in the dark pool of their own blood. They backed off, in shock. Josef was the first to approach. He took the body closest to him and lifted it off the truck, cradling it gently in his arms, like a beloved child. He placed it upon a waiting stretcher, and another man helped him carefully wrap it in a sheet and carry it into Neveh Ovadia. He went back out to continue, but first approached the British officer. “Could you please have your men turn off their headlights?”

The British complied, and the kibbutzniks worked silently in the dark. The British soldiers stood to one side, motionless and pale. A candle was lit by the head of each of the bodies, and members of the kibbutz would stand by them all through the long night, reading from the Book of Psalms. As the last of the bodies was carried to Neveh Ovadia, the British officer approached Josef. “In what way may we be of help tomorrow?”

“The families have to come from Jerusalem. They will need an escort.”

The officer gave a silent nod, and they drove off.

Josef went to the shower. He peeled the blood-drenched clothes from his body and threw them into the trash bin. Then he stood for a long time under the shower, wasting precious water, and cried.

The next day a convoy from Jerusalem brought the mourners. Josef stood by the entrance to Neveh Ovadia and offered subdued condolences to the families. He was stunned to see Amos Amrani coming up the path, supporting his mother on his arm.

“Amos …” The unspoken question quivered in Josef’s voice.

“My brother, Ya’acov,” Amos replied.

She stood aside and almost regretted having come, reminded how poorly developed her social skills were. She smiled when one of Rina’s friends came over and said, “Why don’t you join us at our table.”

The boys at the table bragged and joked, and Tonia and the other girls laughed. Now I remember why I don’t have a social life, Tonia thought. This isn’t as fun as it looks. 

Two young men passed by, running a long extension cord out of the window of a nearby building, and a girl set a record player on one of the tables. A stack of 78s materialized, and couples began dancing ‘slow’ to the scratchy music.

That was when Tonia noticed Amos. He was wearing tight dark pants and a white, short-sleeved T-shirt. She did not take her eyes off him as he moved among the crowd and greeted friends. He seemed to know everyone. His step was jaunty, sure of himself. She felt slightly sick to her stomach, watching him plant kisses on the cheeks of two giggling girls. Then three Yemenite boys descended upon him and dragged him off to the side of the lot, out of Tonia’s sight.

A few minutes later he reappeared, barefoot, wearing a long brown and white striped galibiyah, and with some kind of white cloth headdress wrapped around his head. Two other young men were dressed the same way. The crowd clapped and whistled and someone shut off the record player. Three more Yemenites turned empty tins upside down and tapped their hands on improvised drums. Amos and the other two in galibiyahs began the alternately swaying and hopping movements of a Yemenite dance.

When they finished, to loud applause and more whistles, Amos pulled the galibiyah over his head and bent to retrieve his skullcap, which had fallen to the ground. He accepted the glass of arak a blonde girl held out to him, downed it in one draught, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

The record player went back on, and Bing Crosby crooned. Tonia accepted a cup of wine from one of the boys at the table, but no longer felt any gaiety. Her head ached, and she wished she hadn’t come. She turned her back to the dancers and sipped her wine. Then she felt someone standing behind her.

“Dance with me.” Amos’s breath caressed her ear.

“I don’t know how,” she said, and felt herself flush as she turned to look up at him.

“Good. Neither do I.” He broke into his easy grin and held out his hand.

They faced one another awkwardly. He held her right hand high and hesitantly put his right hand on her waist. For a few moments she felt faint with the familiar desire to move close to him; then she found herself with her head on his shoulder, sobbing.

He led her away from the wedding party, to a bench hidden in dark shadows. He sat next to her, one arm around her, holding her close to his side. The warmth of his body was the first comfort she had felt in so long. She stopped crying and wiped her tears on the back of her hand.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Everything, I guess … Right before I left to come here, my mother told me that they’ve started looking for the bodies in Kfar Etzion,” she said.

Her forehead was resting against his shoulder, and he stroked her hair. The luxury of allowing him to do so was almost painful.

“Yes. I heard. It may take a long time,” he said and ran his hand up and down her arm.

She turned her face up to him and let her mouth meet his. He ran his tongue between her lips, and she shivered. He kissed her, making her feel all the things he had never said.

It took every ounce of her resolve to pull away. “Oh, I’m sorry. I am so sorry. That wasn’t fair of me. You know how much I care for you. I don’t want to … You’re the only one it will be hard to leave, except for my family. And I think it will be harder to leave you than them.”

“So don’t,” he said, grasping her arms.

Synopsis

In 1944 in British Mandate Palestine, Tonia’s parents take the family to live on a struggling religious kibbutz in isolated Gush Etzion. Fifteen-year-old Tonia does not share her father’s dream for a Jewish state, nor does she believe that one will ever come to be. Life on the kibbutz is harsh, and Tonia longs for security and a little comfort. She is determined to seek them in America, as soon as she is old enough to leave – even though that means turning her back on her love for Amos, a handsome young Yemenite who belongs to the Jewish underground.

Much of this novel takes place in Kfar Etzion, during its establishment, siege, and fall to the Arab Legion. While the characters are fictional, historical events are accurately portrayed. This is one of very few English novels that take place in British Mandate Palestine and the only one that tells the story of Kfar Etzion.

Another part of the story takes place in Grand Rapids, Michigan, where Tonia tries to build a new life.

The Lonely Tree is available on bookseller sites, such as:

• Barnes and Noble
• Amazon
• Waterstones

and many others. (Don’t be surprised if the cover looks different on Amazon. See the explanation at the bottom of this page.)

The first three chapters of The Lonely Tree and reviews by fellow writers can be viewed on the YWO  site. The Lonely Tree was among the 5  Top-Rated entries and received two free professional critiques, both very favorable.

How I Came to This Story

Soon after I came to Israel, I lived on Kibbutz Ein Tsurim. It is now located near the coast, between Ashkelon and Kiryat Malachi, but it was originally one of the settlements in Gush Etzion (the Etzion Bloc) south of Jerusalem. In every home in the kibbutz there were books and pamphlets about what had happened in Gush Etzion. Many of the members had also lived in Gush Etzion, taken part in the battles, and returned from captivity in Jordan. So I knew the story of Kfar Etzion. At least I knew of the events.

It wasn’t until years later that I took pause to really think about the lives those people had lived. At the time I was living in Neve Dekalim, in Gush Katif in the Gaza Strip, and the first Intifada had begun. The roads were no longer safe, and we could heard rioting in Khan Yunis every day.  Almost every week one of our neighbors was killed, usually by someone who had worked for him for years. But I felt relatively safe because I knew the IDF was there. I tried to imagine coming to live in a place like this back when there was no Israeli army – only a handful of youngsters with obsolete weapons and little ammunition. I had to try to write that story.

As far as I knew, only historical accounts had been written. No fiction. I studied all of those accounts, visited the museum in Kfar Etzion several times, and read letters and minutes of meetings. I did not interview any of the people who had actually been there, not wanting anyone to think that a particular character of mine had been based on an actual person. There was no family in Kfar Etzion with adolescent children – like the family I focused on in The Lonely Tree.

Click here if you are interested in learning more about the history of Kfar Etzion.

Getting It Out There

I wrote the first draft of The Lonely Tree, originally titled Tonia, on an old electric typewriter.  I managed to get an agent to represent it, and it made the rounds of ten or more mainstream publishers in New York. The rejections were basically “We really enjoyed it, but it can’t compete in today’s tough marketplace” and “We don’t want another book about Israel”. I thought, that’s it, that’s the best I can do and it isn’t good enough. I put the manuscript in a drawer and thought I had given up writing.

However, people who love to write can always find a new excuse for doing so, and I started another – as yet unfinished – novel, called Olivia’s Book. This one wasn’t going to be about Israel, and perhaps it would stand a better chance of finding a publisher. But something made me pull the old manuscript out of the drawer. I still loved Tonia’s story and wanted people to read it.  All the time I was working on it, I kept thinking , “Why couldn’t  someone else have written this novel, so I could read it?” I had to give Tonia – now The Lonely Tree – another chance.

I began submitting chapters to an internet workshop and after receiving a lot of truly helpful feedback there, I realized how poorly written it was. I loved the characters and story, but for the first time saw how badly it needed editing. After rereading it with a critical eye, I was amazed that I had been able to find an agent back then and that editors had reacted as positively as they had. I bought some self-editing books and spent another year revising. Through a kind lady on the first workshop, I learned about another one, which eventually lead to the POD publishing of The Lonely Tree. It is now available on Amazon, Waterstones, Barnes and Noble and other bookseller sites.

As one of the top five rated writers for a particular month, that second workshop also awarded me a free professional critique of the beginning chapters by English author Martyn Bedford. Another free critique followed, this one by an editor at Random House UK, who later agreed to let me submit the entire manuscript to them for consideration. It’s been a while and I haven’t heard from them.

So maybe I won’t be able to quit my day job, but I’ve become a far better writer.

By the way, if you look for it on Amazon, don’t be surprised if you find a different cover. When I sent the manuscript for publication I also submitted a photograph of the real Lonely Tree, the way it looked 60 years ago, for them to use on the cover. Unfortunately, whoever prepared the cover took that image and resized it disproportionately to fit the dimensions of the book. The result did not at all resembe the Lonely Tree. So the publisher has revised the cover, but for some reason Amazon has been slow to put up the new version.

The Lonely Tree - 60 Years Ago When Tonia Sat Under It

The Distorted Cover - Still on Amazon

The Revised Cover That Appears on Other Sites

• Siege in the Hills of Hebron by Dov Knohl (available online)
• The Kfar Etzion  website
• Many other online resources

I intend to add to this page photographs of Kfar Etzion – then and now – which I think might be of interest to anyone who reads The Lonely Tree, but first I must clarify copyright issues.

I am currently working on a new novel called Olivia’s Book that takes place in Michigan and Pennsylvania in the 1840s and in present-day Michigan.

 I have also translated into English from Hebrew a number of stories and books.  Google Yael Politis to see them.