Assaf Gavron - The Hilltop

“Guys, guys, let her—” the minister tried, turning to look at the major general. “Giora… Madam, allow me to finish. There’ll be adjustments, there’ll be a price to pay, but the government of Israel won’t stop supporting—” His address was then interrupted by the intensely loud barking of a large, angry sand-colored dog.

“Beilin! Quiet, Beilin,” Gitit shouted in an effort to silence the dog. “Beilin! Beilin!” The defense minister, his eyebrows scrunched up, looked at her, and then, unable to restrain himself, a half-smile appeared on his lips.

“Woof ! Woof ! Woof !” Beilin roared incessantly, drowning out all conversation, and Condoleezza joined in, running to the scene and barking loudly, and Killer started snorting, and the goats at Othniel’s farm down the slope bleated in panic, and Sasson’s camel cow looked up inquisitively from somewhere near the sentry post at the gate, chewing vigorously on some vegetation. But Beilin appeared to be directing his barks at one of the soldiers, who stared back at him.

“Beilin?” The soldier laughed. It was Yaakobi, who was part of the squad of reinforcements that was brought in from the base in Hebron. “Is that his name? What’s up with him?”

Neta Hirschson, no longer in the clutches of the soldiers at the instruction of the major general, began yelling again. “Shame on you, coming here with the American ambassador and talking about adjustments. What adjustments? You’ve got a nerve!”

The minister threw in the towel. Much to his dismay, he wasn’t going to get to the line he had intended to make the day’s sound bite — a catchy, original phrase to come at the height of his address and later make the news headlines, to be relayed by the ambassador to his secretary of state, who would then convey the same to the president, a phrase he was particularly proud of, because he had thought of it himself. He turned and began walking toward his car, surrounded by bodyguards, sweating, reaching up a finger to undo the knot in his tie, and not caring who took his picture or what would appear in the newspapers. Grumbling to himself quietly, he removed his jacket and deposited it in the hands of Malka.

Neta Hirschson continued to shout, and approached the dignitaries. “Tell the American president that he doesn’t stand a chance against us, because the king of the world is on our side!” she yelled as the ambassador walked past the slide. “What do Americans understand about the Israeli people’s struggle against Arab brutality? Who asked you to come here? Have you come to weaken the Jewish people, who’ve returned to the Land of Israel after two thousand years of exile and persecution and wars and pogroms and the Holocaust? Are you forcing us out of here — here, God’s sanctuary, the land of our forefathers? You’re throwing us out of here? And you dare to call that peace? Chutzpah!”

“Will someone shut that dog up!” barked the major general of the Central Command.

As the defense minister walked past, Neta Hirschson gathered up saliva in her mouth and spat. She hit one of his bodyguards. The minister observed the spit land on the bodyguard’s shirt, turned his head toward Neta, and the next sentence to escape his lips — which, aside from one unmistakable word, wasn’t picked up by any camera or recording device — became the subject of endless debate, consuming liters of ink and creating mountains of words and commentaries over the following days and weeks, and it, instead of the phrase he had thought up, became the sound bite heard round the world.

According to Neta Hirschson, the defense minister said: “Scram, you insolent savage! You and all your dog friends, scram!”

According to associates of the defense minister, he said, “Insolent savage,” and then turned to face the other way and said, “Scram! Will someone make those dogs go away already!”

And Beilin and Condoleezza said, “Woof, woof, woof ! Woof, woof, woof !” and bared their teeth.

And at that moment, it dawned on Yaakobi from the reinforcement squad: The extra row of teeth! The cross-eyed look! He was a lot bigger than the puppy Yaakobi had cared for a year earlier on the streets of Hebron, the one he’d sent away on the Hummer bound for Jerusalem, but it was him, no doubt about it.

“Holy shit!” the soldier cried out. “You named him Beilin? I don’t believe it! Come here, sweet boy. Remember me? It’s Yaakobi, from the base in Hebron.” And Beilin stopped barking and wagged his tail and walked toward Yaakobi with his head bowed and his tail wagging and snuggled into his embrace, abandoning himself to his caresses. And Condoleezza followed suit, happy and wagging her tail, and the commotion died down. The dignitaries climbed into their official vehicles, which immediately sped off, creating a cloud of dust on their way out of the outpost, and the residents dispersed to their respective homes, the soldiers to their bases, the reporters to their offices. But as for the reverberations caused by the minister’s visit, and as for the incident that would long be remembered as the “Scram Affair,” they had just then come to life, and wouldn’t die down for a long time to come.

“There’s never a dull moment with you guys, huh, Doctor?” said Herzl Weizmann when he turned up at the outpost that same afternoon. Though he was dark-haired and dark-skinned, the man’s defining feature was albino-white eyelashes over one eye, which added a mysterious dimension to his every stare.

“Despite all the hoopla,” Herzl continued, “I wanted to come before Tisha B’Av. I’ve let you down too many times. Come, let’s have a look. Oh my, what a sweet child! What’s his name?” He stretched out a finger, with its blackened nail, to touch the nose of the tiny baby girl on Hilik’s forearm.

Hilik lowered his gaze to his infant daughter and smiled at her under his mustache. He had almost forgotten she was there. “ Her name,” he said, “is Yemima.” He didn’t bother revealing to Herzl her full name, Yemima-Me’ara, with its reference to the incident in the cave. He didn’t have the energy to go into the whole story. His memory drifted back to Simchat Habat, the naming ceremony for newborn Jewish girls. How long ago had it been? Two weeks? Three? After the birth of a child, the days and nights all seem to run into one another, a sweet jumble of constant fatigue, adapting to the new family structure, wondrous moments of awareness of the existence of this new living, demanding, nagging being, of efforts to somehow maintain a semblance of normal life — a meeting with the adviser at the university, reading books for his doctoral thesis, the appointment with Herzl Weizmann to move ahead with the renovations. At the naming ceremony, the blessing after the Sabbath morning prayer service, Nehama and Hilik had explained their choice to the community: Yemima, Job’s beautiful daughter, the Hebrew expression yamim-yemima , days gone by, which evokes historical and deep-rooted ties to previous generations, the words yam and mayim , sea and water, which occur in succession in the Hebrew spelling of the name; and the second part of her name, Me’ara, the Hebrew word for cave, the place where she chose to emerge into the world.

Hilik showed Herzl around the trailer, all the while wondering why he had allowed himself to get involved with the handyman in the first place, why he had given in to Othniel’s pressure. With all due respect to Jewish labor, Hilik wasn’t planning on building a villa. He was merely adding on half a shipping container, due for delivery any day now — a simple job that Kamal could complete within a few days and at a cost of next to nothing. Now this Herzl Weizmann guy, after rescheduling his visit several times, was talking to him about ideas that appeared to be too complicated and far too expensive.