Assaf Gavron - The Hilltop

Nir tried to recall who was on guard duty now. He was excited, sweating as he scrolled through the list of names in his cell phone. Who could he message? Who was up? The power was suddenly restored, the guard must have noticed and turned on the generator — and there he was, there he was! Caught up in her own excitement and Shaulit’s final cry of pain, Shifra went quiet for a moment and prayed to the Holy One, blessed be He, “So God was kind to the midwives and the people increased,” and then she spoke again, her voice calm, “He’s the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen, we thank God for his gifts.” Shaulit held her hand, and Shifra embraced her and kissed her forehead, and then she placed the wrinkled, dark pink, bewildered baby on the breathless mother’s body, and the dumbstruck Nir thought, Things happen so slowly and yet so quickly, and here I am now, a father of three already. And the sun rose over the mountains of Moab and Edom and a golden light colored the land and a new day dawned on the hilltop.

Shaulit’s mother, widowed by an act of terror, stayed home to look after the two girls, and Nir, Shaulit, and the baby left for the city to register the newborn at the hospital. They headed out slowly in the light blue Subaru and were greeted by a gleaming white smile and “Mazel tov!” from Yoni on guard at the gate, and after descending from A. and turning onto the main road, Shaulit said, “Oy, I forgot to tell Mom where I keep the diapers,” and Nir dipped into the pocket of his pants, only to find that his phone wasn’t there. And then, ahead of the checkpoint, a traffic jam, which appeared to be rather severe, halted their progress. The tension in the car mounted. Shaulit wanted to speak to her mother, Nir would have liked to learn something about the traffic situation, an eight-hour-old baby was in the car with them, and they were phoneless.

“Never mind,” Shaulit said, and asked Nir to tune in to Radio Kol Chai. The chatter soothed her and eased her ever-present anxiety, heightened now due to the absent phone. They finally crawled by the checkpoint. Elderly Palestinians peered at the baby. Pregnant Arab women smiled, and Nir and Shaulit flashed sheepish grins in response. The radio cut out and kicked back in, and a sweet odor spread through the car. “Oh God, I forgot that the poop is black to begin with,” Shaulit said with a smile that only a mother could display toward a lump of flesh and bones that had just excreted black feces.

The fact that Shifra had been present for the birth didn’t satisfy the authorities. She wasn’t registered as a midwife with the Health Ministry, and in the absence of a doctor, Nir and Shaulit had to undergo DNA testing to prove they were the parents, another hassle. They eventually collected the infant and the gift packages the hospital routinely handed out to parents of all newborns, freebies from the diaper and baby formula companies, and got back into the dusty Subaru. Nir readjusted his skullcap, stroked his beard, and, with a smile on his face, reached out to tuck in an errant curl that had slipped out from under his wife’s hat. That’s it, we have a son, who’s been duly registered in the computer system of the hospital and the Interior Ministry, approved as a rank-and-file citizen, soon to be receiving mail from the health maintenance organization and the bank. As soon as Nir arrived home and was reunited with his mobile phone, he began dispatching excited text messages about the birth.

* * *

The Sabbath touched down on Ma’aleh Hermesh C. like a space shuttle on the moon — purposeful and precise.

The Rivlin family home abounded with chaos and joy. Shaulit and her widowed mother and mother-in-law — the two grandmothers arrived together from Beit El — were hard at work on pastries in the tiny kitchen, and had also branched out and elicited help from the kitchens of Neta Hirschson and Jenia Freud, who themselves were busy preparing their own Sabbath meals, but happily and generously donated the use of an oven and countertop space (in addition, of course, to contributing toward the outpost’s customary gift to every family with a new mouth to feed — a fortnight of meals prepared by the women of the hilltop in rotation). Nir had been running around since morning and had bought wine and disposable tableware and pretzels for the children and, of course, the essential arbes —soft, savory cooked chickpeas — to snack on. The hilltop was a beehive of warmth and activity, all in honor of the little one, who for his part was interested only in the body part that provided him, in private, in the master bedroom, with his food every two hours, and the crib in which he would then drop off into sweet slumber, spread-eagled and happy.

Sabbath eve. A packed synagogue. The prayer service to welcome in the Sabbath. Humming to the tune of “Lecha Dodi” while meticulously reviewing the pages containing the Torah portion of the week. The evening prayer service. Adon Olam. With the service over, Hilik, in the role of the gabbai , the synagogue warden, gave word of a Shalom Zachar gathering at the Rivlin family home, as is the custom in Ashkenazi Jewish circles on the first Friday night after a baby boy is born. After dinner at home, the members of the community rained down on the Rivlins. The women sat with the mother in a separate room, passing the infant from one to the other, and the men occupied the living room, snacking on the arbes and drinking arak.

The following day in synagogue, Nir was called up to recite the blessings over the Torah and gave a reading, and Hilik the gabbai recited the customary Mi Sheberach blessing over him, and then everyone sang and Nir thanked God for watching over him.

And eight days after the birth, when it was time for the Brit Milah, the circumcision ceremony, the newborn screamed and squirmed to mark the event. Nir, more festive in appearance than ever before, his beard trimmed and neat, his hair brushed, cradled the boy, and the air of anticipation in the room was almost unbearable in the minutes leading up to the naming of the baby:

Zevulun — after Shaulit’s father, may God avenge his blood, who was murdered by terrorists in northern Samaria.

Yedid’el — a friend of God, for truly the infant is a friend of the Lord, and he will seclude himself in woods and on rocky plains and call to his friend and be at one with Him.

Shir — song, for although the righteous child may not yet speak, he can surely sing and play beautiful songs and melodies, and rising up from his melodies are praises surely to the Lord, blessed be He. For song is a path intended for each and every individual, and surely for Nir, who sang a song to his son, almost nightly, until he was born into this world, and will continue to sing to him, he promises, until he matures and puts his foot down and says, “Enough, Father!” Until then, however, there’s still time, bless the Lord.

And thus, his name in the Land of Israel will be Zevulun Yedid’el Shir Rivlin. Mazel tov!

On Saturday night, following the Havdalah ritual to mark the end of the Sabbath and usher in the new week, and after reciting the prayer for long life and then the customary melaveh malkah meal to escort out the Sabbath Queen, the Kupper-Nehushtan brothers walked together from the synagogue to the home that could now be called their home. They walked in silence, broken occasionally by the discordant barks of Beilin and Condi. Gavriel was troubled by Roni’s desecration of the Sabbath. He wondered whether or not he should say something, or if he should question the rabbi about the extent of his own responsibility. He decided to send a text message to Rabbi Aviner’s cellular Q&A service: “When a secular guest comes to stay, am I responsible for his desecrations of the Sabbath, for example, placing a dairy spoon in a meat sink, or turning on a light?” The rabbi always told him to ask, not to agonize over things, not to ponder, because a newly observant Jew has many rules to learn, and he must then decide which of them he accepts. It doesn’t come naturally like it does for someone who was raised in a religious home. He recalled an example the rabbi once gave him: It is permissible on the Sabbath to use a pair of scissors to cut open a bag of milk for consumption purposes, but cutting paper is forbidden — how would a newly observant Jew know that?