David Grossman - To the End of the Land

Ora pursed her lips and did not reply. She thought to herself, Shut up and listen, what harm could it do to gain a little strength, even with his help? Do you have such reserves of strength that you can pass up even a drop of reinforcement? For a moment she considered offhandedly pulling out her shiviti from her blouse, so he’d see that she too had an elated Jewish soul. Oh, you miserable woman, she rebuked herself. You beggar. Or maybe it was just that this Akiva was arousing something in her, despite his tzitzit and all his jumping around and his religious nonsense.

Akiva wiped the anger off his face with both hands, smiled at her, and said, “Now, ladies and gentlemen, we shall go to Ya’ish and Yakut’s house to cheer them up, and maybe we’ll cheer ourselves up as well.”

Even before they arrived, a small, round, laughing woman came out to them, wiping her hands on her apron and calling, “Oh my, we’ve been waiting so long, we could’ve died! Hello, Akiva! Hello mister and missus, such an honor, really. What happened to you, lady, did you fall, God forbid?” She kissed Akiva’s hand, and he put his palm on her head and blessed her with his eyes closed. The house was dark, despite the midday hour, and two young boys were dragging a table with a chair on it across the room to replace a burned-out lightbulb, and there was great rejoicing when they walked in. “Akiva brought the light! Akiva brought the light!” When the family members saw Ora and Avram, they fell silent and looked at Akiva for guidance. He waved both arms and sang, “Hineh ma tov! Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity!” Avram was quickly seated in an armchair with much fanfare, and Ora was taken by a big-boned woman to the bathroom, where she washed her face and hair for a long time, flushing out streams of mud. The woman stood watching her with kind eyes, then handed her a towel and some cotton wool and gently applied yellow iodine to her cuts and scrapes. She said it was good that it stung, that meant all the germs were burning off, and then she took Ora back to the living room, washed and placated.

Meanwhile, from the bustling kitchen, there had emerged a silver platter adorned with little silver fish around the edges, bearing sunflower seeds, almonds, peanuts, pistachios, and dates. Then came a round copper platter with glasses of tea in delicate silver holders, and the lady of the house urged Ora and Avram to snack, saying lunch would be served soon. With some horror, Ora noticed a muscular young man with both legs amputated, darting around on his arms with amazing speed. Akiva explained that the three boys in the family were born deaf-mute, and it was from God: “The girls came out all right, praise God, but not the boys. Something hereditary. And that one you see there, Rachamim, the youngest, he decided in childhood that the handicap wouldn’t get in his way. He went to high school in Kiryat Shmonah, got all Bs on his finals, and had a profession as a bookkeeper in a metal factory. Then one day he got sick of it and decided he wanted to see the world.” Akiva turned to the young man and announced: “Isn’t that true, Rachamim? You were a real jet-setter, hey? Monaco?” Rachamim smiled and gestured with one hand at his no-legs and made a warmhearted yet terrifying cutting motion, and Akiva explained that two years ago, in Buenos Aires, Rachamim was working in a quarry when a heavy machine flipped over and crushed him. “But even that didn’t stop him,” Akiva said as he leaned over and put his arm around Rachamim’s shoulders. “Last week he was back at work in the moshav, doing night shifts as a guard in the egg storeroom, and God willing”—he gave Ora a look that denied his grin—“next year we’ll marry him off to a kosher Jewish girl.”

They were urged to have lunch at this house too, and this time Akiva did not immediately reject the offer. He hesitated, closed his eyes, and consulted with himself, using broad hand gestures, and murmured, “Let thy foot be seldom in thy neighbor’s house; lest he be sated with thee, and hate thee.” The others crowded around him and yelled out, “No! They won’t be sated with thee and they won’t hate thee!” Akiva’s eyes lit up, and he raised his right hand and called out musically to the housewife: “Make ready quickly three measures of fine meal, knead it, and make cakes.” The swarm of women dispersed and hurried to the kitchen, and Ora guessed from his look that he had accepted the invitation because this house was slightly less poor than the others and could withstand the burden.

Akiva himself went into the kitchen to make sure they didn’t go overboard, and Ora and Avram were left in the room with a few of the family members, mostly girls and young children. There was utter silence until one boy plucked up the courage to ask where they were from. Ora told him she was from Jerusalem and Avram was from Tel Aviv, but originally he was also from Jerusalem, and when he was a little boy he lived in a neighborhood near the shuk . But they were not impressed with her folkloric image of Jerusalem, and a thin young girl who was very pale and bundled up asked with some alarm, “You’re not married?” The others giggled and shushed the impudent girl, but Ora said softly, “We’ve been friends for over thirty years.” Another boy, with thin side locks tucked behind his ears and long black eyes like a young goat’s, jumped up and protested: “Then why didn’t you get married?” Ora said it just hadn’t worked out that way and resisted saying, It seems we weren’t meant to be together. Another girl giggled and held her hand over her mouth as she asked, “So did you marry someone else?” Ora nodded, and an excited whisper frothed up the room. All eyes were drawn to the kitchen to seek help from Akiva, who would certainly know how to behave in such a situation. Ora said, “But I don’t live with him anymore,” and the girl asked, “Why? Did he divorce you?” Ora ignored the painful blow, although it was like a punch in her stomach, and said, “Yes,” and without being asked, she added, “I’m alone now, and Avram, this guy, is my friend, and we’re hiking around the country together.” Something a little unctious, the same thing that had tempted her to specify “Jerusalem” and “a neighborhood near the shuk,” now compelled her to add, “Our beautiful country.”

The thin pale girl persisted with a stern expression. “And this man, does he have a wife?”

Ora looked at Avram, waiting for an answer, and he hunched over and stared at his fingers. Ora thought about the earring that looked like a horseman’s spur, and the purple hairs in the brush in his bathroom, and when his silence persisted, she answered for him, “No, he’s alone now.” Avram gave an imperceptible nod, and a shadow of worry passed over his face.

Other men and women came into the house, placed dishes on the table, and brought chairs. The thin boy with the goat eyes jumped up and asked, “But what’s the matter with him? Why is he like that? Is he sick?” Ora said, “No, he’s sad,” and everyone looked at Avram and nodded understandingly, as if all at once he had been deciphered and was now clear and simple. Ora said boldly, “His son is in the army, in that campaign that’s going on now.” A coo of understanding and sympathy spread through the room, and blessings rolled off tongues, for this particular soldier and for our Defense Forces in general, and there were declarations, and God curse the Arabs, with everything we gave them they still want more, all they think about is killing us, for Esau hated Yaakov , and Ora, with a very broad smile, suggested that today they not talk about politics. The difficult girl furrowed her brow in surprise: “That’s politics? That’s the truth! It’s from the Torah!” Ora said, “Yes. But we don’t want to talk about the news today!” An unpleasant silence congealed in the room, and at that moment, fortunately, Akiva came back from the kitchen and announced that the food would be ready soon, and meanwhile they should rejoice, “For he who eats without rejoicing in Hashem, it is as if he eats sacrifices of the dead.”