Assaf Gavron - The Hilltop

“I know. Of course. And what about Uncle Yaron’s savings plan? Is there nothing left in there?”

“That’s long gone. I live hand-to-mouth. And the little I do manage to save is set aside for a sacred purpose.”

“I didn’t ask you to forgo any purpose, God forbid. What purpose?”

Gabi wanted to travel to Uman for Rosh Hashanah. He had harbored the dream for several years, and this year, he was going to make it happen. “I will do everything in my power, spanning the length and breadth of the creation, to cleanse and save him. I will take hold of his sidelocks and pull him out of hell,” Rabbi Nachman said of all those who come to visit his grave, and Gabi needed that more than ever before. To air out his thoughts, to see green before his eyes, to feel the rain on his shoulders. To get away from where he was and to get as close as possible to the rabbi. To lie on his grave, to pray with the thousands at his tomb and in his kloiz , his synagogue. To experience the singing and dancing, and the Torah scroll and the outbursts of joy he had seen on YouTube. To seclude himself in the very same forests and under the very same trees that the elderly Nachman had, that Reb Natan from Breslov had, under the tutelage of the Baal Shem Tov in Medzhybizh, and with Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev. Nachman promised eternal salvation to everyone who comes to his tomb, everyone who offers a coin to charity for his soul and recites the Tikkun HaKlali , the ten Psalms that serve as repentance for all sins.

“Rosh Hashanah is what, four, five months away?” Roni said. “No problem. By then, I’d have sorted out a proper bank loan and orders will already be coming in. For sure. You won’t be missing out on Uman this year, bro, and I’ll tell you something else — you’ll go again next year, on your brother’s dime. So what do you have to say about that kind of bonus? That’s what you call interest with interest!”

Gabi didn’t know what to say.

And ten minutes later, he had yet to utter a word. Thoughts continued to crash into the roof of his mind. After all, it didn’t make any sense whatsoever. The scales weren’t even close to being balanced: On the one end, his dream, his money, earned by the sweat of his brow, working the land and building the country. On the other, a dubious enterprise, amateurish, with Arabs, on the part of an irresponsible man, with a chronic propensity for getting himself into a jam, who had cut ties, who hadn’t uttered a single word of sympathy during the toughest time in his own brother’s life. Not to mention his lifestyle and beliefs on the one hand, and their absolute heresy on the other. Nonetheless, his older brother was in distress, was asking for help; perhaps it was the only way for him to escape his entanglement into the light. Would he deny that to his brother for simply a fistful of dollars? And perhaps Roni was right and it really was a unique opportunity, a safe bet, and the loan really would be repaid quickly and yield the promised interest. Gabi wanted to consult God, the rabbi, his books.

Roni went out into the yard, smoked a cigarette, and returned, waited a while longer, and then asked bitterly, “Why the silence?”

“Silence. As if to say, ‘Be silent, thus is the highest thought.’ The righteous man is silent.”

Roni shook his head. He drew himself some water from the tap and went to sit in the armchair. “You used to be different,” he said, “more open, more inquisitive. I don’t know.”

“And what good did it do me?”

It was Roni’s turn not to answer.

“I suppose it’s better to manage a bar in Tel Aviv?” Gabi continued. “Or to go to America and lose millions of dollars — your clients’ and your bank’s and your own — and to shirk responsibility? Or to come looking for handouts for some shady deal with Arabs?”

“I don’t feel the need to apologize for doing business and living the good life. Is your life any better? Are you happier? Are your values any nobler? What are those values? To be silent? To pray? To stop using electricity at a certain time on a Friday? I don’t get it.”

“I know you don’t get it,” Gabi said.

“Explain it to me, then. What do you get out of endlessly reading and memorizing things said two hundred years ago by some Ukrainian rabbi who told you to be silent, or to sing, or to rejoice, or God knows what?”

“Peace of mind,” Gabi replied. “It brings me tranquility, love, happiness. For some reason, it’s hard for you to accept that. Maybe you’re trying too hard not to see it.”

“And maybe you’re trying too hard to see it.”

“I’m not trying at all. I’m feeling. I feel at home.”

“At home? What do you mean at home? Some home! An illegal home, according to the court. Do you feel at home by puncturing the tire of a military jeep that’s here to watch over you? Is there a quote about that? What about the law?”

“Disrespect for the law is better than disrespect for God.”

“And what about respect for people?”

“Now all of a sudden you care about respect for people? All you’re interested in is your ridiculous olive oil enterprise. Don’t go thinking that people around here are happy about it. People talk. They ask how long you’ll be staying and want to know why we’re putting you up if you’re working with Arabs. And you want me to lend you money for that?” Gabi’s voice rose. He didn’t want this confrontation, but if Roni was insisting, so be it, let him know the truth.

“Ah, so that’s what it’s all about. I get it. I’m working with the cruel enemy, I’m a cynical shit with no values who only wants to make money. I guess opposing hypocrisy and violence, and working with people who, for the most part, have it pretty rough, means having no values. People are talking about me? Great. Let them come tell me to my face, tell me to go.”

Gabi didn’t appear impressed. “I see you’ve adopted the line of the extreme leftists. Do me a favor! The Arabs have it rough, the Arabs are saints, the Arabs, the Arabs, the Arabs…”

“The Arabs are to blame, too, for the wife and child who won’t allow you near them, right?” Roni yelled. “The Arabs, and secular values, and lust for flesh and money, right? But the sanctity of the Land of Israel and singing praises to God and keeping quiet will allow you to forget Mickey and Anna, won’t they?”

Roni had more to say, but the expression on his brother’s face stopped him. He went outside and walked down to the edge of the hilltop, to the shining stars carried on the wind, to the dark night. Gabi was asleep already when he returned. But waiting on the table for Roni was a check.

A few days later, in the evening, Gabi’s phone rang. “Gavriel Nehushtan, hello,” he answered. The name Gavriel still managed to bring a smile to Roni’s face. “It’s for you,” Gabi said. Roni’s smile turned into a frown.

An hour later, Roni walked into the neighboring trailer of the Yisraeli family. Nehama made him tea with mint leaves and offered cookies. Hilik gestured toward a chair and Roni sat down.

“I don’t understand why you invited me over,” he said to Hilik, Othniel, and Jean-Marc Hirschson, who sat across from him on the sofa. “What is this, an Absorption Committee rerun?” He smiled, cookie crumbs clinging to his teeth. He was hoping deep down that they had changed their decision regarding the new trailer and were now going to offer it to him instead of the Gotlieb family.

“Look, Roni,” Hilik began, his eyes focused on a point slightly above Roni’s head as he scratched his forehead with his fingernail, close to his skullcap. Othniel looked him straight in the eye, while Jean-Marc appeared transfixed by the alligator on his pink Lacoste shirt. “Let’s get straight to it. We know that you won’t be able to confirm or elaborate on all we have to say to you now, but we invited you here nevertheless because we feel it’s important to tell you that we know.”