Assaf Gavron - The Hilltop

“Sure,” she said. “But don’t you have to remain here at the gate?”

“There are other soldiers here,” Yoni said, pointing into the guard hut. “And it’s a quiet day.”

“Praise the Lord,” Nehama responded. The fear of running into an Arab was always there; having another soldier with them could only boost everyone’s sense of security.

* * *

The group walked slowly, hats on heads, water bottles and sandwiches in colorful knapsacks. The older children hurried ahead confidently, the younger ones and pregnant kindergarten teacher waddled like penguins, and the tiny tots sat in a wheeled crib pushed by Gitit. As a treat, the kids were lifted one by one onto Killer’s back, where they rested securely in Jehu’s strong arms. They all made their way down the dirt road to the lowest point in the wadi, between the hills of Ma’aleh Hermesh C. and Ma’aleh Hermesh B., where the path turned toward the Hermesh Stream riverbed. A vulture soared overhead, one of two that could be seen almost daily from the hilltop. Nehama pointed at the bird and asked, “What’s that?” The response came in the form of excited cries from the children.

Some fifteen minutes into the hike, as they neared the cave, they stopped for a sandwich break in a small, withered field, alongside a modest Jewish National Fund sign bearing the words The Jennifer Shulman-Zimmerman Wood . They washed their hands and recited the customary blessing, and then, after the blessing over the bread, they dove in. Nehama pointed out various plants — white wormwood, thorny saltwort, prickly alkanet, Dominican sage, Jerusalem sage—“And what do you think about that chubby little mourning wheatear resting there in the shade?” The children turned to look wearily at the bird. Tili Gotlieb and Emunah Assis, both missing a single bottom front tooth, the one in a white dress and the other in a yellow one handed down from her sisters, were holding hands and singing “Kol Dodi Hineh Ze Ba,” and Yoni clapped for them until they started giggling shyly and began all over again.

Nehama lowered her burdensome body onto a rock. Her denim skirt wrapped around her swollen ankles and beads of sweat appeared from under her black head covering. “Let’s go, guys,” she said. “We’ll go on from here a short way into the cave, cool down a little inside, and then turn around and head back.” The children stood. “Just to remind you, hold hands when we’re inside the cave and be careful not to slip. Yoni, you’re bringing up the rear. Jehu, tie up your horse and come inside with us.”

The opening to the cave revealed itself after a short descent into the steep ravine, which sloped sharply on both sides — white limestone and sand-colored rocks, with thorny burnet and Israeli thyme growing among them. A quiet pair of Nubian ibexes roved farther down the incline, and the rustling sound of bats rose from the crevices, and Chukar partridges skimmed across the ground in the color of the earth, and an alarmed snake-eyed lizard zigzagged away at the sound of their footsteps. They reached the entrance to the cave, one of several large caves in the side of the mountain that had served as hideouts for the Maccabees and Romans, for monks and bandits, for shepherds and commando unit fighters and Crusaders; also for foxes, and for porcupines, and for leopards and snakes — for any living creature that passed through that desert at some point in time.

On reaching a wide slab of rock at the mouth of the cave, Nehama called a halt and asked everyone to cast their eyes farther down the ravine. She quoted a verse describing a landscape from the book of the Prophet Amos—“New wine will drip from the mountains and flow from all the hills”—and warned: “We’re going in now, so I’m telling you again, everyone hold hands and take good care, because the floor of the cave may be slippery.”

“Mommy, I want to go wee-wee,” came the sound of Shneor’s voice.

“Shhh… Shneor, I’m talking. Go with Yoni to find somewhere.”

She told the children about the history of the cave and its size, and in they went, stepping hesitantly into the murky, low-ceilinged, dank interior.

“Mommy, Mommy,” Hananiya Assis said, and he tightened his grip on Jehu’s hand. Jehu lightly stroked the back of the young boy’s neck in an effort to soothe him.

“Pay attention,” Nehama continued in her teacher voice, “the cave has twenty-three rooms, and it splits up and branches out, so it’s very important to walk slowly and not to let go of the hand of whoever is next to you.”

Hananiya trembled. The light from the outside grew ever weaker, blocked out by small bodies. It was cooler and more pleasant inside. Hananiya whimpered, “I want to go back out, go back out.”

“Quiet, Hananiya, everything’s okay, we’re going back soon,” said his sister Dvora. Contrary to the explicit instructions of the kindergarten teacher, she let go of his sweaty hand and entered one of the side rooms, fearlessly feeling her way.

“Dvora, Dvora!” came the high-pitched voice of her brother, Hananiya, and Nehama followed suit, “Dvora? Where are you? Dvora?”

There was no response. The sound of a sob rose up, followed by a second, and then a third. Nehama raised her voice in the darkness, “Children, don’t be afraid, just keep holding hands,” but the hands were sweaty, small, smooth, and the floor was smooth, too. “Older children, pick everyone up and go back to the entrance!” Nehama commanded, afraid to lose control, her heart pounding now. “Dvora? Are you here? Dvora?” That was the key, the source of the distress, she sensed, she could feel the silence that failed to offer a response. “Dvora?” The whimpering of the little ones died down, Yoni and Jehu and Gitit comforted and caressed, and everyone returned to the mouth of the cave.

Dvora stood rooted to the spot in one of the inner rooms. Nehama heard whispers, entered the room, placed a hand on her narrow shoulder, and peered into the darkness beyond.

“I don’t know, something drew me here,” whispered Yakir’s twin.

“Did you hear anything?”

“No, I didn’t, not with my ears, at least.”

They stood and looked, not sure at what, exactly, but they were sure it was something unusual, it was hard to see in the dimness, a heap in the corner of the room. Had someone been here recently and forgotten something? What is that? Dvora approached and reached out her hand to touch, it jingled… Coins?

Dvora turned her head and gave Nehama a puzzled look, and then, a few seconds later, her ears pricked up, because a new sound was heard in the room. What was that? Water? Nehama turned her head to listen, too, they stood next to each other, their heads tilted in opposite directions. Could there be water flowing through the cave? After all, there’d never been water here… The water sounded very close, and Dvora asked, “Nehama? Can you hear it?” And Nehama said, “Yes,” and only then did she get it — it was from her. Her waters, the life fluid of her third daughter, flowing between her legs in the middle of the cave, and she said to Dvora, “Go — slowly — slowly — to the entrance — of the cave — and tell — Gitit — and Yoni — to come — get — me — out — and Jehu — to ride — to the outpost — and call — Hilik — with the car — urgently — now.” And then she sat down, exhaling deeply, and Dvora went on her way.

And there Nehama remained, on the verge of motherhood, tenderly embracing her belly, her cheek pressed against the cool wall of the cave, her lips moving in prayer, and the young maiden Dvora made for the mouth of cave in measured steps, and cried out. Jehu spurred Killer into a gallop, and the youth’s hair and thick sidelocks flapped in the wind under his broad skullcap, and the two ascended through the field and along the dirt road to the settlement, and Killer whinnied, the steel gate opened, and rider and horse raced to the fifth property on the right on the ring road.