Assaf Gavron - The Hilltop

One hundred or so years later, a number of circumstances joined forces to alter the path of Josh Levin’s life: achieving the expectant, ripe-for-rebellion age of twenty; the Zionism forced down his throat day and night at the Aish HaTorah yeshiva; a touch of hot-bloodedness (the Irish genes again, perhaps); and the spark that ignited them all, September 11, 2001. The rage burned hotter inside him and told him “to do something.”

And so he immigrated and settled in the holy land of his forefathers, and ended up at a religious college in Ma’aleh Hermesh, because one of his teachers in Brooklyn had a friend there. Josh wasn’t too taken by the college, but at the grocery store one night, he met Jehu and helped him out with some small change “to make up five shekels seventy” for his shopping, and Jehu suggested he “come take a look at C.” Already sick and tired by then of the endless philosophizing with his fellow students, Josh quit college and left for C. that same week, moving in with Jehu to share his trailer.

Now he was translating the Washington Post article that Yakir had printed off the Internet. Othniel burst into laughter on hearing the headline “U.S. Donor Supports Renegade Settlement in ‘Wild West’ Bank,” and he continued to chuckle to himself while Josh, in broken Hebrew, pausing between words to think of the correct translation and not always coming up with one, told the story of the real-estate and money-market tycoon with close ties to the Republican leadership who showed up a few months earlier, in February 2009, at the small outpost on the edge of the desert to take part in a dedication ceremony for a playground he had donated. Othniel remained smiling through the article’s description of the place, its homes, its motley bunch of people, and the ceremony and the tour afforded the American millionaire. Hilik, in contrast, wasn’t smiling, and even appeared concerned when the piece proceeded to imply the writer’s unsurprising political viewpoint: “Mr. Mamelstein neglected to mention in his emotional speech the fact that the Ma’aleh Hermesh C. outpost was established in part on private land that is owned by Palestinians. Another portion of the settlement sits on a nature reserve, where the construction of residential homes is strictly prohibited.”

Othniel remained unmoved even when the writer described years of neglected laws and regulations throughout the West Bank. He lost his cool only when the article, with the help of quotes from “a high-ranking IDF officer,” embarked on a critique of the outpost’s historical background. Like Hilik, he shook his head in the face of the painful inaccuracy of sentences such as “In 2005, they established an office for the farm, and then brought in a trailer for a guard that soon turned into a residence for an entire family,” and he started to get really incensed on hearing himself described as “a farmer who grows parsley and organic tomatoes there.”

“Parsley? Where on earth did he get that from? And did he say tomatoes? Not cherry tomatoes? Have a quick look.” Josh had a quick look and confirmed. “Tomatoes!” cried the horrified Othniel. “Has he lost his mind? It’s a different kind of compost entirely, not to mention the seeds…”

The details of the political and legal history of the settlements elicited yawns, and as the article proceeded to discuss American legislation — the Clinton administration’s Executive Order 12947, which prohibits activities that disrupt the Middle East peace process; the George W. Bush administration’s Patriot Act, which, among other things, prohibits governmental funding to educational institutions except for educational or sporting activities; the law concerning tax deductions for American charitable donations abroad — the audience stared up at the sky or shifted uncomfortably and loosened bits of gravel from their sandals.

But when the report explained that by granting tax breaks on donations like Mamelstein’s, the U.S. Treasury and the American taxpayer were, for all intents and purposes — and contrary to government policy — actually funding illegal outposts such as Ma’aleh Hermesh C., smiles returned to the faces of the congregation, and some laughter and clapping erupted, too. The journalist’s “revelation” that some of the money Mamelstein donated to the outpost went toward the purchase of several pairs of night-vision binoculars was greeted with amusement. “Since when does spotting foxes on guard duty disrupt the peace process?” and “That Mamelstein is one son of a gun.” And toward the end of the article, as the reporter revisited “last week’s dramatic development”—the High Court ruling on the route of the fence, and the incident with the bulldozers — everyone again listened attentively to Josh, and even cheered the description of the action. (“The incident climaxed in a bizarre act of solidarity: The Palestinian owner of the olive groves, a religious settler woman, and an Israeli man whose ties to the area remain unclear all leaped together onto the blade of the bulldozer to bring it to a halt.”) Even Neta cracked a smile.

When Josh finished, the prevailing mood was upbeat — particularly concerning the role played by Sheldon Mamelstein. The bottom line—“The hodgepodge of laws and conflicting authorities, like something out of Joseph Heller’s Catch-22 , has allowed the Jewish settlers to create a kind of Wild West, where they behave like outlaw sheriffs”—did produce several angry curses from Neta Hirschson and a worried look from Hilik Yisraeli, but there was nothing new in that. Neta was usually on edge, and Hilik was always worried about something.

Yakir was in his second life, Second Life, on the virtual island of Revival, where he and his bearded friends, in their broad skullcaps and baggy sharwals , had established their settlement, off-limits to foreigners — Christians, Ishmaelites, Amalekites, and anyone else who dared to challenge the laws of the place, which declared it holy land, Jewish land, and only for them, no one else. In keeping with the rules of Second Life, King Meir knew, he could close Revival to outsiders.

The day before, his friends had again visited Second Life’s Muslim area. “We went to the mosque,” said King Meir, the Texan lawyer. “And when we went inside, we didn’t take off our shoes like we were supposed to. And we took those veils that they hand out free to women and put them on. LOL!!!”

Yakir smiled and typed: “Cool!”

“It’s a shame we can’t drop a little bomb there,” wrote King Meir. His eyes, hair, and beard were black, his skullcap yellow, and his shirt, with the Kach Movement fist logo, also yellow.

“Maybe we can write some code?” Yakir typed.

“You can do that?” King Meir asked. Yakir explained to him that while it was impossible to damage the belongings or property of another user without his consent, you could make something yourself and then destroy it. For example, you could create a copy of a mosque, and then blow it up, or a Palestinian flag, and then burn it.

“Awesome,” King Meir enthused. “That’s way better than wandering around with the Uzis and not doing anything with them — like aiming them and saying boom-boom… But do they have any rules regarding this kind of thing?”

Yakir did a search and showed him Second Life’s Community Standards: “The use of derogatory or demeaning language or images in reference to another Resident’s race, ethnicity, gender, religion, or sexual orientation is never allowed in Second Life… Physical assault in Second Life is forbidden.”

King Meir gestured with his hands. “What a load of crap. Isn’t it supposed to be like real life? And what if the mosque offends me?”