Assaf Gavron - The Hilltop

“Othniel. His decision. And I think also because Elazar Freud, her husband, forgave her, so the people here went along with it. They didn’t want confrontation. So she made a mistake, so what.”

“Tell me, you know what they call a mistake by someone whose name is Freud, right?” A foolish grin spread across his face as he glanced over at Gabi with his albino eyelashes. “A Freudian slip!” Herzl exclaimed, pleased with himself.

Gabi could still feel his heart fluttering in his throat. He finished the sandwich and said to Herzl while still chewing the last bite, “Back to work?”

“Just a moment, no rush, bro. We’ll smoke a cigarette. Take a piss. Say the afternoon prayers, if you like.”

Only that evening, in his cabin, before going to sleep, while chewing on a pickled cucumber from a can, would Gabi replay things in his mind and understand that Herzl had guided him, Herzl the righteous man, the good-hearted man, who came there in the heavy rain so that the outpost residents would be able to pray in an orderly and clean and comfortable synagogue on the Sabbath, come in the rain to make Gabi a better person, to help him conquer the sins of the past, praise the Lord, thanks, Man, for sending him to me, with Your wisdom watching over me and saving me, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil for Thou art always with me.

Herzl went out for quite a while and Gabi remained alone in the synagogue and prayed. He asked the Holy One blessed be He what he should do about a man who has suddenly recognized him as a criminal who once threw a stun grenade into his room while he was sleeping, and caused him hearing loss and anxiety and loss of control over his bowel movements; and now he’s a righteous man and is helping to build the settlement, a day care for the toddlers and a roof for the families and the renovation of the house of worship. The Holy One, blessed be He, gave him the harsh but right answer, and Gabi finished praying and thanked Him and kissed the Torah scroll. He continued to work, his body weak but his faith burning strong, until Herzl returned and trumpeted, “Okay, my bro, one last push and we’ll have you a beautiful little synagogue for the Sabbath!” Gabi remained silent. Herzl asked in surprise, “What’s happened, your face has gone green. Gavriel?”

As was the case every afternoon in winter, the winds started whistling loudly. Pre-cast concrete structures, containers, and trailers swayed, straps and ropes lashed against the walls. Even a synagogue clad in rough Jerusalem stone felt it. Herzl and Gabi worked in silence on the final beams until Herzl said, “I’d get a small radio or something, but perhaps it’s not appropriate in the house of God.” He spoke about the day care he had built, which he called “nice work.” Silence ensued again, and Gabi tried to address his proprietor, feeble, fainthearted, knowing what he has to do but incapable.

Several minutes went by and then Herzl said, “That’s it.” And then: “Come to the day care. The children have gone by now. I want to take care of a few things that Nehama asked me to do.”

They walked between the large pools of mud that adorned the hilltop. The Civil Administration orders were visible on the trailers. It was bitterly cold, not a soul was outdoors. Gabi wondered if this was the right time, and decided it was, this was the moment, he opened his mouth, and then the Nokia tune rang out. Natan Eliav, the secretary of A., had a number of jobs for Herzl. “Sure, my bro, speak to Dr. Hilik about freeing me up for you next week.” He turned to Gabi. “I swear, I should come live here, with all the work you’re giving me.”

At the pre-cast day care they dealt with the doors and the electrical sockets and filled a hole that had opened up under the steel stairs. “I owe you the end of the story,” Herzl suddenly said, “where were we?”

“Your wife behaved badly,” Gabi said. “You took your son from school. But you didn’t have a chance.”

“Wow, you were listening, huh? So, yes, I didn’t have a chance. My wife’s brothers caught me that evening. I have no idea how they knew where I had gone. I didn’t even know where I was going, I simply drove north, I got to Galilee, God knows, I saw a sign for a bed-and-breakfast and went in. Two hours later they were there. Took the boy, and then came back with clubs and smashed my arms. Know what I mean, smashed? Crushed to bits. They said so I wouldn’t think about stealing children or beating their sister, like I beat her. I never touched her. She was the one who behaved badly. Anyway, they took the boy, he cried, ‘Daddy, Daddy,’ but those guys were heartless, left me on the floor, poured acid on me that made holes in my clothes and bleached my right eyelash and eyebrow — here, here, you see?” As if he had to show. “Luckily I kept my eye shut tight and the stuff didn’t get in, I would’ve gone blind. I barely remember how I got to the hospital, barely remember anything at all, but the plaster, permanent, probably.” He looked at his arms, held them up on display, and his eyes wandered to the large watch wrapped around his wrist precisely at the edge of the plaster. “Wow, wow, it’s already four. I need to get moving before dark, c’mon, dude.” He pulled out a thick wad of notes from his pocket and started counting hundreds.

“No,” Gabi said in a feeble voice, and placed a hand over the hand with the banknotes. “For work on the synagogue I don’t want money. It’s sacred work.”

Outside in their coats they stood opposite each other. The pompom on Gabi’s white Rabbi Nachman skullcap was standing upright because of the wind. Herzl embraced him, and Gabi embraced him hesitantly in return. “You’re a good guy,” Herzl said, and Gabi, the words got stuck in his throat. Now Herzl gripped his shoulders and fixed him with a stare. Two men on a rain-swept hilltop. Gabi couldn’t, he just couldn’t, I’m letting You down, Man, he whispered to his God from his faint heart, I’m letting You down, forgive me, guide me, and Herzl moved his face closer, Gabi felt the vapor from Herzl’s mouth fluttering against the skin of his face and the hairs of his beard when he said in a quiet and stern voice, “I swore to get revenge, dude. But you really are a good guy. You found God, truly found God, you have faith. You’ve repented for your deeds. I did things, too, bless the Lord.” Herzl held Gabi’s face between his rough hands, felt the sparse beard, the pale skin. He kissed both his cheeks and embraced him again.

“I sinned,” Gabi said. “There’s no redemption for me.”

“There’s always redemption. I sinned, too, Gavriel, my bro. I didn’t make food for you.”

“Forgive me.”

“Forgiven, righteous man, forgiven.”

And with that Herzl concluded his embrace, got into his four-by-four, turned the key, and revved the engine a few times. Gabi remained motionless, his hands in his pockets. He was cold but a fire burned in his heart. The pickup drove off and Gabi turned and walked slowly to his cabin. It would be dark soon. He’d make tea. Something to eat. Evening prayers. Thanks, Man, You helped me, You watched over me. Thanks for sending Herzl Weizmann the righteous man to me. I am Your son.

The tears came, washed over him. He was happy.

While Gabi floated home on the waves of his absolution, Yoni was conducting a routine patrol along the ring road. He was being discharged next week. He had no idea what he was going to do. He thought about learning a trade through one of the courses the Welfare Ministry offered to discharged soldiers — he had heard an infomercial on Army Radio, and one of the options mentioned sounded appealing, but as he huddled in his padded coverall with the fur-trimmed hood that covered his small head, he couldn’t recall which it was. His Ray-Bans lay folded in the front pocket of the coverall, one arm poking out.