A. Yehoshua - Friendly Fire - A Duet

How strange and special, thinks Daniela. Two grown people dealing with the Bible in the middle of the African plain. I came all the way from Israel to Tanzania to translate the Bible back into Hebrew.

She opens the book, finds Jeremiah, and says, maybe I'll read it first in English. No, he says, the English will get fancy and lure you with linguistic decorations. Translate it spontaneously, a page at random, but into simple Hebrew, please, Hebrew that your children can understand.

She translates slowly, pressing her finger to the page, attempting to make herself heard over the wind that has started to howl.

"Therefore said God, the Lord of the regiments, Lord of Hosts… God of Armies. Because you say this word, then see, I'm going to turn my words in your mouth into fire, and this people into wood, and it will gobble them up. You'll see, I'll bring a nation against you from far away, O House of Israel, says God, and it's a strong nation, an ancient nation, a nation whose language you do not know, and you won't understand what they say. Their quiver of arrows is like an open grave, they are all violent men. And they will eat up your harvest and your bread, and eat your sons and daughters, and eat your sheep and cattle, and eat up your grapes and fig trees, and with their sword they will ruin your fortified cities, which you depend on for safety. And yet, at this time, God says, I will not put an end to you. And if they ask, Why does our God do all these things to us? Then you tell them, just as you left me and served strange gods in your own land, so you will also serve foreigners in a land that is not yours."

"Oof, enough." She closes the book and puts it in the glove compartment. But Yirmiyahu is delighted by her translation.

"You see? Just a random passage, and the violence is immediately revealed. A prophecy of destruction, with relish. Disaster and death and cannibalism, and suddenly, this is typical, he panics at his own prophecy, and says, Wait, for all that, it won't be the end. But why shouldn't it be? If their sins are so great, why not finish them off once and for all? Very simple, because then there won't be anyone to prophesy to; he'll have no one to torture with his curses. He will be unemployed. And why is the foreign nation entitled to such a great victory? The simple answer: jealousy and control. Not justice, only betrayal. You worshipped other gods, so you deserve that your sons and your daughters be eaten."

Daniela feels drained. The journey is not over, and Yirmi's driving has become slow and distracted. The haze in the air is turning into a yellow fog. The ancient prophet is wearing her out with his hatreds, and the philosophizing driver with his complaints.

"But there is one marvelous passage there," Yirmi goes on, riding the crest of his speech, "in chapter forty-something there's a section in the prophecies of Jeremiah that the editor needed a lot of courage to include. The exiles in Egypt rise in protest against the prophet, who has also ended up there, and they dare to tell him to his face: 'Enough, we've heard everything you said, and we have no intention of obeying you. It's good and pleasant for us to burn incense to the goddess — who is called by a unique name, the Queen of Heaven.' The men and husbands suddenly come to the defense of their wives who burn the incense, and say to the infuriating prophet plain and simple, 'Enough, that's it, we will keep doing the pagan ritual, because when we and our wives served this Queen in Jerusalem, we were happy, we had plenty of food.' The main thing — and this is the line I find so touching — they say to Jeremiah, listen to this: 'In Jerusalem, without all your admonitions, we were good, we felt we were good, but as soon as we started listening to you and stopped burning incense for the Queen of Heaven, we lost everything, and then came the sword and the famine.' Do you hear me? You hear?"

"Of course I do, you're yelling."

"I came upon that passage simply by chance — two or three months after we buried Eyal — and I was so moved I wanted to hug those exiles in Egypt from a distance of twenty-five hundred years. People who stood up bravely against the cursing crybaby, the professional killjoy, who also inflicted his name on me."

The road has become bumpy and is suddenly blocked. The driver goes out to inspect the wheels and finds them tangled in some thick vegetation with small purple flowers. Well, he says to his sister-in-law, with all this talk about the Queen of Heaven I neglected the earth, and didn't notice that we should have arrived at the farm a while ago. But not to worry. Don't panic. We'll find the right road, we're not far away. There's a walkie-talkie in the car, and also an old pistol.

NOFAR NOW HEARS for the first time about the old man's girlfriend, and listens with great interest to her sister-in-law's description. Ya'ari is astounded how from a few random details that he dropped last night at dinner Efrat has been able to concoct a whole story of long-standing infidelity. Wonderful, says Nofar to her father. How encouraging to know that we have such a romantic and sophisticated grandfather, and really, why not go have a peek at her? Given her age, tomorrow may be too late, and we'll all be sorry for missing a good story.

"Even if we're dying to peek at her," Ya'ari says, surrendering to his daughter and daughter-in-law, "that still doesn't mean she can or wants to peek at us at this very moment."

"If she really loved Grandpa," Efrat declares confidently, "she'll also be interested in meeting his granddaughter and great-grandchildren and their mother. Tell her this is only a short visit. No more than fifteen minutes. Just to see Yoel's unique elevator. And she shouldn't put herself out."

Devorah Bennett is surprised to hear Ya'ari's voice on the phone, after all they had scheduled their meeting for tomorrow.

Then it is Ya'ari's turn to be surprised; secretly, without saying a word to him, his father promised to come to her in person, to feel the vibrations of the elevator with his very own body, and to listen to the cat.

"You didn't know about your father's visit tomorrow?" The old woman is astonished.

"Not even a hint."

"Because your father is probably afraid you won't let him make the trip. So listen to me, young man, and permit me to call you a young man even if you are a grandfather, I insist that you come along so he won't roll down my stairs."

"Don't worry, I won't leave him, not even for a minute."

And of course, it would give Devorah Bennett great pleasure to show them his father's elevator, and get a glimpse of his family.

Nofar runs to her department head for permission to be released a teeny bit early from her shift. When she returns without her nurse's gown, she looks thin and pale, but squeezes with youthful joy between the car seats of her niece and nephew. It's nearly four o'clock, and wintry Jerusalem, soon to be deprived of its Sabbath, seems to be blending religiosity and secularism into one gray experience. Ya'ari parks the car right in front of the Old Knesset, drawing on his own faith that an Orthodox mayor will not countenance violating the Sabbath by the writing of a parking ticket. Nofar and Efrat unfasten the drowsy children from their seats and zip up their coats. And Nofar, who is especially attached to her little nephew, smothers him with hugs and kisses before picking him up and carrying him across King George Street.

"Why are you carrying him?" Ya'ari scolds his daughter. "He's very heavy."

"To me he's cute and light, and he enjoys being in my arms. Right, Nadi?"

The child says nothing, but hugs his young aunt tightly.

With considerable clamor Ya'ari leads his family up the stairs of the old Jerusalem building. Nadi insists on being carried up the stairs as well. You're spoiling him, grumbles Efrat. No problem, mutters Nofar, staggering under the weight of her favorite boy.