Assaf Gavron - The Hilltop

“We don’t need Jews here,” Nimer said. Like many others in the village, he didn’t buy into Roni’s alibi. He wanted to respond to the settlers’ aggression. His father, Musa, who was standing next to him, thought they could wait for Roni and hear what he had to say. Roni promised him, after all, that he’d find out who damaged the trees, maybe he’s here now with the answer?

“We don’t need Jews who are dressed up for the hajj,” another youth said, and hurled a stone along a lengthy ballistic trajectory that culminated about a meter behind Josh and startled the Israeli delegation.

“Take it easy!” ordered Roni, the head of the delegation. “It’s okay. They’ll realize in a moment that we’ve come with good intentions. As soon as they recognize me, everything will be fine. Show them, show them the Purim gift.” He waved his arms. “Musa! Musa!” he yelled. “It’s me, Roni! Don’t throw sto—” Another stone landed some two meters to their left. “No! Salaam!”

“Should I get the gun out?” Yakir asked. His heart was beating so intensely that he could feel it in his throat.

“No! Don’t be crazy!” Roni shouted. But Josh picked up a stone and threw it back.

“Fuck you, sons of bitches,” he yelled. “Go fuck off, Arabs! Afterward you don’t wonder why we fuck you.”

“Josh, take it easy. It’s a mistake to, don’t throw…” A barrage of stones rained down around them in response to Josh’s stone, and in the cries in Arabic that were heard, Roni recognized the words “Go” and “Jew.” Josh picked up another stone and threw it hard. A sudden gust of wind carried from behind them the sound of a loud blast, and a snippet from a song, and also a few — what are those — stray snowflakes?

* * *

Jehu gives me a saw. He pours gasoline. So it shall be done to a man. Dude, you’re testing us. Want to see what we’re made of. Sending soldiers to destroy my home, the fruits of my labors. There, take that, you bastards. You’ll learn who we are. I can smell the wood from the cabin I built with my own two hands for a full year and they came and dare to… I close my eyes and saw. Take that. Jehu kneels with his Zippo. Josh went to smash windshields and slash tires. Nir kept watch to make sure no one was coming. Jehu organized us in secret, on the ruins of the cabin. Othniel saw us getting together and must have known what we were discussing. So shall it be done. Take that, treacherous Arabs, we come to you with good intentions and you stab us in the back. Roni gave you money — my money — and you screwed him over. You threw the money into the trash, Roni into the trash, my trip to Uman into the trash. How dare you. And next thing it’s my home that gets destroyed? Sawing and sawing with eyes closed, vigorously. The bush is burning. You are holy and Your name is holy. I touch my sweaty neck, my wet shirt, wood chippings. Us you don’t hurt. Us you don’t screw over. Because You chose us and exalted us. I touch my face and smell the burning trees.

* * *

The stone that Josh hurled struck a young boy who was standing on the edge of the gathering, and the growl that rose from the Arab congregation did not bode well. More youths emerged from the homes, armed with sticks. Stones rained down from every direction. Roni looked back in bewilderment at the hilltop, where he could hear the indistinct sounds of creaking metal and random bangs. “Fuck,” he said, and ducked down. The Purim gift wasn’t going to happen. “Let’s go back before they start going crazy. Josh, stop throwing!”

There was so much noise on the hilltop that no one was aware of the drama unfolding in nearby Kharmish. Even Othniel, who minutes earlier had followed the progress of the three figures who disappeared down the slope, was now entirely focused on screaming at Omer and at the D-9. Not that they heard him. This time there was no one to jump onto the D-9—Neta was pregnant, bent over on the sideline, nauseated, Roni was on a mission behind enemy lines, and Musa was at home. Beilin and Condi barked viciously at the soldiers.

Pippi ran this way, and space shuttle that way, and Bigfoot another way, and the dressed-up IDF officer wanted to but felt strange about taking on the real IDF soldiers, and Herzl shook his head in disbelief over the shattering of the dream, and the infant rock band burst into a coordinated symphony of howls, and drunk Rambo couldn’t decide whether to help his family or forcefully oppose the soldiers, so, in the meantime, as a compromise, he stood next to the table with the wine and went on sipping from the plastic cup and moved his head to the rap music that the DJ suddenly decided to play. The wind blew cold and the tigress rose from her nausea to scream in a hoarse voice, “No! No! No! How can you feel no shame? Evil bastards!” Kareem asked the penguin if she was okay, and the prisoner who went crazy sucked on the breasts of the Dutch girl in the tower, and Rambo suddenly sat down in the middle of everything and strummed sad notes on a guitar. More tear gas was fired, startling the little ones and stifling the big ones, and the D-9 completed the crushing of its first trailer, flattened it, cleared it away, and prepared to move on to its next target, moving slowly along its tracks, and the crowd behind it. Tchelet-Rivlin-corn-on-the-cob cried woefully by the playground, because she had lost her parents and dropped the Torah she’d won, and the gift box of treats and candies lay scattered everywhere and no one was paying any attention to the costume champion.

Something shook the guard tower. Maybe the large bulldozer that was making the earth shudder, or a stray rock, but it was enough to startle the Dutch girl out of her dream. No, it’s not right. Not with a soldier in the deportation army, and certainly not while that army is demolishing the homes of Jews. She pushed away the prisoner’s small, thick-curled head, fastened the bra and shirt buttons, descended from the guard tower still sensing his small agile tongue on her nipples, the moistness of his saliva, the arousal of her body, but she placed all that under lock and key, to remain thus for a long time, and ended the story without even a final glance to bring down the curtain.

Tchelet-corn-on-the-cob found her mother and her father. Her small hands warmed in theirs and she smiled up at the sky. Soft and slender flakes landed on her pretty face.

* * *

The residents of Kharmish, incensed and increasingly self-assured, took off in pursuit of the uninvited. The blasts and smoke coming from the hilltop told them something was happening, and when something happens, that means the Arabs are going to get it, even if the settlers get it first. They neared the trio. Someone next to Nimer fired two flares into the air to frighten them. Nimer himself drew a pistol and fired twice into the air. Why is the one dressed for the hajj? And why does that one have a rubber bald wig and Roni a curly wig and glasses without lenses? They’re making fun of us? They’re drunk?

They were drunk. They stumbled and tried to flee. They were so afraid. Yakir wept in fear and rage at his father. Roni was no longer trying to convince anyone of his peaceful intentions. Josh continued to throw stones and curse. They ran toward the outpost. When Yakir heard the shooting and blasts, he threw down the Purim gift, pulled out the Desert Eagle, released the safety, and fired into the air. The thunderous blast startled Roni, who screamed, “What are you doing, jackass!” The pursuers scattered — like Jenia’s cookies from the torn packet — but then renewed the chase with increased vigor. Roni was sweating, but somehow it didn’t occur to him to remove the wig and glasses. Josh, too, stuck with the kaffiyeh and Yakir with his leftist paraphernalia — you don’t think about such things when you’re running for your life. Yakir fired into the air again, and again the shot momentarily deterred the chasing Palestinians, but then more shots and blasts came from them, too.