A haunting voice, a forgotten legacy, and a golem waiting to wake.
Welcome to ADAM, a bi-weekly serialized historical fantasy rooted in Jewish mysticism and folklore. Each installment reveals a new chapter in the unfolding tales of three Jewish women living during three different moments of history. In this chapter, Avital makes a discovery and meets someone who will shape the course of her life. If you’re just joining us, welcome! You can catch up anytime using the full Chapter List. If you’re back, I’m so glad to have you here! You can start reading below.
If you’re curious about the inspiration behind ADAM, this article shares how the story came to be and why I’m telling it one chapter at a time. Thank you so much for reading and being part of this journey — it means the world to me.
I’d love to know what you think so far. If you have thoughts, questions, or favorite moments, drop a comment below — I welcome the conversation and am so glad to have you with me.
Chapter List
Chapter One: The Maharal’s Daughter
Chapter Two: The Witch of Döbling
Chapter Three: The ADAM Project
Chapter Four: The Sacred Shidduch
Chapter Five: The Fifth Aliyah
Chapter Seven: The Golem of Prague
Chapter Eight: Under the Olive Tree
Chapter Nine: The Incident
Chapter Ten: Unseen
Chapter Eight: Under the Olive Tree
Jerusalem, 1936
Climbing the steps of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Avital paused as a cool breeze lifted the hair off her shoulders. She glanced up at a suddenly overcast sky, then turned to gaze out at the view of Jerusalem spread below her. The sight never failed to take her breath away. Earlier that morning, the April sky had been cloudless and blue. Now, a few raindrops began to fall, soaking into the dry gravel at her feet and dampening her shoulders. Perched on the slopes of Mount Scopus, the campus had become a second home to Avital. It had been almost two months since she and her sister stepped off the ship, yet Avital felt like she had been in Palestine her whole life. She couldn’t explain the feeling of peace, of belonging, of rightness that had settled over her. While the doors to her aunt and uncle’s home opened onto a European-style courtyard, and the architecture of the surrounding neighborhood was reminiscent of her neighborhood in Vienna, when Avital walked beyond the walls into the old city, there was something in the very air she breathed that made her feel rooted to a place beyond time.
Then there were her days at the University. Most mornings, she accompanied her uncle to his office and classrooms, taking dictation during his lectures, typing up syllabuses and interdepartmental letters, filing his research, helping grade papers, and performing other errands for him. During her free time, he encouraged her to explore the young campus. “Go be with people your own age,” he told her, though she mostly kept to herself, watching but not interacting with the young students she encountered. She had studied up on the history of the university, how it was founded in 1931, how Albert Einstein had given the inaugural address, and how the spoken language was predominantly Hebrew. She loved the large building that housed the library with its quiet corridors of books, the smell of wax on the polished floors, the echo of footsteps and the chatter of students in the cavernous hallways. But it was the botanical garden where she spent most of her time, a sanctuary she had stumbled upon by accident her first week at the university.
While strolling across the northern part of campus, Avital had discovered a stone path leading away from the limestone buildings and into an oasis of shrubs, waving grasses, Mediterranean scrub and clusters of saplings, the hills of Jerusalem rising just beyond. She followed the path, staring at the surrounding landscape and noticing other paths branching off the main walkway and winding through the foliage. She continued forward as though entranced. She thought of the formal gardens in Vienna, of the carefully cultivated, lush panoramas of green grass and tall trees, clipped hedgerows and bright flowerbeds. Here, the garden she suddenly found herself in appeared wilder but no less beautiful, arid yet dense with vegetation growing in wild bursts rather than geometric beds.
Avital closed her eyes and inhaled a scent of herbs: wild thyme, sage, and mint. She heard a soft cooing to her left and looked up in time to see a dove take flight from a rocky ledge. A lizard crossed the path at her feet, and as she bent to watch it slither into the brush, she noticed more movement in the periphery of her vision. Turning, she saw a butterfly alight from the branch of a cypress and soar into the air.
She followed the butterfly deeper into the garden, watching its iridescent wings flap almost lazily, guiding her, beckoning her. It finally settled on a small plaque sticking up from the soil a few yards ahead, in front of a cluster of bright red flowers, their fragile blooms forming a cup raised toward the sun, a dense nest of stamens in the center, dark purple in color and surrounded by a hazy white ring. Avital knelt, fingering the velvety stamens at the heart of the flower.
“That’s an Anemone coronaria,” a voice said at her back. Startled, she spun around and lost her footing, stumbling backward into the flowerbed. “Oh no,” she cried as she attempted to stand so as not to crush the delicate flowers. The owner of the voice rushed forward. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he quickly apologized, offering her his hand. She accepted it and he pulled her upright so they were face to face. His nearness suddenly made her awkward, and she took a step back, swallowing and averting her eyes as she dusted off her skirt. “That’s alright,” she said. “I just . . . thought I was alone.”
“I truly am sorry,” he said in a soft, contrite voice. “I like to come here to study. I was sitting just there,” he pointed to a large rock some distance away that formed a sort of seat under the shade of an olive tree. “When I saw you examining that flower, I thought you might like to know its name. It’s an Anemone coronaria. My name is Benjamin. Benjamin Weiss.”
Avital was surprised by the young man’s candor. She studied his face for a brief moment, noting his deep-set, caramel-colored eyes, his thick lashes and high cheekbones, his olive-toned skin, and the crown of black curls that fell across his forehead. His lips turned up in a gentle, inviting smile, and she immediately felt at ease. “I’m Avital Singer,” she said.
“It’s nice to meet you, Avital. Are you a student here?”
“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “I work for my uncle. He’s a professor.”
Benjamin raised his eyebrows. “Professor Singer?” He asked, surprised.
“You know him?”
“Very well,” Benjamin nodded.
“Are you one of his students?” Avital asked, trying to recall if she had seen him before in one of her uncle’s lectures.
“No, but he’s well known by many of us.”
Avital found this curious but didn’t press him when he fell silent. A moment passed as they stared at each other once more. Avital was about to excuse herself when he asked, “Do you come to the garden often?” She shook her head, once again glancing around at the untamed yet scenic terrain. “No,” she answered. “This is my first time. I haven’t been working for my uncle for long and I am relatively new to the campus. I just discovered it.”
Benjamin nodded. “It’s my favorite place on the entire campus, but then again, I might be biased.”
“Biased?”
“I’m studying botany, and this garden is part of the botany department,” he explained.“It is a place of research, reflecting the native topography of the country. I’m a student of Dr. Eig. He helped create the garden. Did you know he planted the very first tree here?”
Avital shook her head. She didn’t even know who Dr. Eig was.
“I wasn’t a student at that time, but I’ve always known I wanted to study botany,” Benjamin continued. “My parents own a vineyard near Galilee, and I grew up planting and tending to the vines and monitoring the soil and harvesting grapes. This garden reminds me of home. I sometimes feel more comfortable among plants than people.” His eyes suddenly met hers and he blinked. “I don’t usually share that with anyone,” he mused.
“That’s alright,” she said, struck by an unexpected sense of kinship. She didn’t know this man at all, yet his presence felt familiar and safe. “I feel the same way.” They shared another moment of silence before she said, “I should probably be getting back to my uncle.”
“Wait,” Benjamin said as she turned to leave. “Will you come again? There are many treasures to this garden I’d love to show you.”
Avital paused. All her life, she had watched boys gravitate toward her sister. It had never bothered her because she had never been especially interested in male companionship, turning away what little attention came her way. But now, facing the young man before her, she felt an unfamiliar pull she couldn’t ignore.
“I will,” she said, surprised at her own answer and secretly delighted at the smile that lit up his face.
Over the next several weeks, Avital and Benjamin met often. She found him most days sitting on the rock under the olive tree, chewing on his pencil as he read from his textbooks or sketching in a notebook. He shared his drawings of the diverse vegetation and flowers found in the garden, some artistic renderings, others scientific diagrams illustrating the anatomy of the species that grew there. He took her on tours of the garden, showing her his favorite plants and expounding on the care and history behind each one. Sometimes they sat in silence, watching the wildlife that lived in the garden. They discussed the medicinal use of herbs that grew in the gardens and the subtle fragrances and colors that made each one unique. He took her to see the ancient burial caves that had existed on the land centuries before the garden was developed. In between his classes and her work, they had picnics among the tall grasses, and one time they shared a bottle of wine his parents had sent from his family’s vineyard.
Avital first told Annalise about Benjamin one night while they lay awake in bed, watching moonlight dance across the ceiling of their bedroom. They kept the doors leading to the balcony of their room open at night to let in the breeze, and the sheer white curtains that fell to the floor often lifted and billowed in the air like ghosts between them. After they’d arrived, Annalise had retreated into some part of herself that Avital couldn’t reach, becoming ghostlike herself. It had worried Avital. While their uncle had arranged for them both to join him on campus, Annalise preferred to stay home, sullen, spending hours in bed or at her desk writing letters back home to David. Eventually, at their aunt’s urging, she began helping out around the house, cooking and cleaning at their aunt’s side and joining her at the markets and occasionally out to tea or games of Bridge. After the first month, Avital began to notice color returning to her sister’s cheeks and her energy seemed restored. She joined them at supper rather than eating in their room and even began to laugh at her uncle’s jokes and share in her aunt’s gossip.
“Do you like him?” Annalise asked after Avital finally confided in her about Benjamin.
“I don’t know,” Avital admitted in a whisper. “How do you know if you like someone?”
“You know,” Annalise breathed, her voice becoming distant. “You yearn to be with them every minute of every day. You long to take their hand and feel them next to you. You want to tell them every thought in your head. You can’t imagine life without them in it.” Avital heard her sister shift in bed and glanced over to find Annalise staring at her in the dark. “If you feel that way, don’t hide from it. Benjamin is here, and you can be with him. And I’m happy for you.”
Avital knew in the silence that followed that Annalise thought only of David.
The more time she spent with Benjamin, the more her sister’s words rang true, and she finally had to admit to herself that her feelings for him were romantic. One day when they were lying on a blanket beneath the olive tree where they always met, David described a huge olive tree that grew close to his home in Galilee. “Its trunk is massive and gnarled, and its root system burrows deep into the land. It’s ancient. One day, hopefully I can take you there.” His hand brushed hers, and their fingers entwined for the first time. Avital, breathless, stared up at the low branches of the young tree, the sky visible between the leaves. “This reminds me of a tree in a book I used to read when I was younger,” she mused. “The Secret Garden. It was one of my favorite books.”
“I know it well,” he said. “My mother used to read it to me.”
“I feel like I’ve somehow stumbled upon my own secret garden,” she continued, turning to meet his eyes. She noticed his mouth was parted gently, and he smiled at her in a way that made her lean closer to him. When their lips touched, she felt alive for the first time.
The next afternoon, he slipped a bound version of The Secret Garden into her hands. “It was mine,” he said. “I want you to have it now. This place can be our own Secret Garden.”
After they parted, Avital opened the cover and the book fell open to a page he had marked with a dried Anemone coronaria, its bright red color subdued to a darker crimson. Looking at the page, Avital saw that he had highlighted the following passage:
“ . . . since I’ve been in the garden I’ve looked up through the trees at the sky and I have had a strange feeling of being happy . . .”
Inscribed in the book’s margin were the words, “To my Mary . . . You make me happy . . . from your Dickon.”
Now, a rumble of thunder brought Avital back to the present. Rain began to fall in earnest, and Avital turned away from the garden and picked up her pace, choosing instead to seek refuge in her uncle’s office. Sadly, the garden, and Benjamin, would have to wait.