Shelly Oria - New York 1, Tel Aviv 0

I left Israel for personal reasons, Avner said, glancing in Maya’s direction. She was sitting on the floor and seemed engrossed in her drawing, but she could be misleading in this way. None of my business of course, Abe said, switching back to English and still smiling, but seems to me personal reasons should have kept you from leaving, if anything.

Avner shifted in his chair. What the fuck was going on today? Maybe Abe, too, would like to know if he was staying in New York forever. Avner’s face must have been showing his discontent, because after a few seconds Abe said, I apologize if that was too blunt, Avner — I truly don’t mean to offend. Only to see if we have a good … rapport, so to speak. If we see eye to eye on things. I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, Avner said, but why does it matter? If you like my paintings, you like my paintings. It was the sort of thing you weren’t supposed to say, of course, the sort of thing Gillian would never let him ask if she were here. But Abe didn’t seem surprised. That’s a fair question, he said, and then paused — perhaps to think, perhaps for effect; Avner couldn’t tell. Let me first say, Abe finally said, that I’m looking at getting about twelve pieces. Two for each office, three for the conference room, three for the foyer. Okay, Avner said, doing his best to keep his voice steady. Gillian never mentioned twelve anything. Usually they looked at a few and chose one if he was lucky. Selling twelve works — he could never do the math in his head while talking, but it meant he’d be okay, more than okay, for a good while. He’d be able to see Maya much more often. He’d be able to take her to Disneyland.

So to be honest, Abe said, that’s part of the answer to your question — it’s a considerable investment, and I’d like to know who’s benefitting from it. Avner nodded. Perhaps that was all he needed to do, perhaps he could nod his way to the end of the meeting. But also, Abe said, shaking his head lightly and pursing his lips as if not quite sure how to put it — I’m always … on the lookout. For the right kind of people. For people who I may collaborate with on different projects. Avner had no idea what Abe was talking about, but suddenly felt like he was being vetted for something. What kind of projects? Avner asked. In a minute, Abe said, but let me ask you this first, Avner: what’s your competitive edge? My competitive edge? Avner repeated, and immediately wished he hadn’t. Abe said, Sorry, I’m used to thinking in business terms; if you think of yourself as a one-man venture, if this is a value proposition — what’s your edge? You mean as an artist? Avner asked. Sure, Abe said. And Avner started to explain about his real work then, how it captured the relationship between man and urban space, but Abe stopped him. I must have not explained myself very well, he said, his hand raised in the air between them. And he went on then to answer his own question. Avner’s competitive edge was that he was Israeli. Or, more specifically, that he was an Israeli and an artist and relatively young. He could appeal to some people, important people, who were afraid of the word Zionism.

I’m not only a Zionist, Avner, Abe said, I’m an active Zionist. Being Jewish and being Zionist should be synonymous. It stands to reason, doesn’t it? And yet in some circles it’s a become a word people hesitate to use. Do you know why that is, Abe asked, but didn’t wait for Avner to respond. Self-hate, he announced, if you ask me. Self-hate is what’s keeping so many Jews, so many Israelis , from supporting Israel. It’s so sad, when you think about it, Abe said, bringing one hand to his chest in a gesture so preposterous Avner struggled not to look away. So much hatred has been directed at the Jewish people over the years, and Israel was supposed to be the answer to that. Instead, Abe said, it’s become the main excuse for many people to hate Jews, and for many Jews to hate themselves. Don’t you agree?

This was a familiar feeling, his arm being pulled on in this way. It was the same with Netta — the convictions were different, but the pull the same. People who believed they had the answers were like paparazzi — so focused on getting the shot they wanted, so narrow in their aim.

Of course, Avner said, self-hate never leads anywhere good. If this idiot wanted to buy his affirmation for thousands and thousands of dollars, Avner would sell it. There, I agree with you. Now pay up. Terrific, Abe said, terrific, but his expression seemed troubled, and he paused before he continued. Because the thing is, now more than ever, it is crucial for Jews to stand together, be united. Avner wasn’t sure why “now more than ever,” but he knew Abe believed what he was saying, believed, probably, that any moment now Israel might cease to exist. That was a fundamental difference between Israelis and American Jews: Israelis, at least those born after ’48, born into the reality of Israel as a state, could never imagine any other reality. And whether they were right or wrong, what Avner had come to recognize through his time in New York was the comfort that belief provided. American Jews didn’t seem to share that comfort; most of them, at least the ones Avner met, seemed to believe every time they opened the paper there might be an ad announcing the demise of the Jewish State. And Avner often felt guilty in these conversations, because what a luxury it was, taking the existence of anything for granted.

He glanced in his daughter’s direction. I agree, Avner said to Abe, and smiled; Jews should support one another. But again, what … projects are we talking about? Abe laughed. See, that’s why I love Israelis, he said — never let you get away with anything. But I truly wasn’t talking about anything in particular, Avner, not yet at least. Generally speaking, I’d love to invite you to some events, some galas. You can sell your pictures, talk to some people. How does that sound? Paintings, Avner said, although he knew that was petty, not the thing to say right now, but he couldn’t help it — I’m not a photographer. Of course, of course, Abe said, as I told you, I’m no big mavin when it comes to this stuff. Avner nodded, tried to smile. One more thing, though, Abe said. If we’re going to do all this, I’d like to make sure the … paintings carry that message. It seems to me it’s all a bit … open to interpretation, don’t you think? I mean, I look at those gorgeous pictures of Sinai, but all it says is Nuweiba, 1980 . What does that mean?

It means it’s a painting of what Nuweiba looked like in 1980, Avner said. Yes, yes, Abe said. But you know what I’m saying, Avner. This was Israeli territory back then, but months later it was given to Egypt. Given back to Egypt, Avner said. For peace, Abe said slowly, looking straight into Avner’s eyes. Because that’s all Israel’s ever wanted.

Maya wasn’t drawing anymore. She was looking up now, looking serious. What was she able to pick up on from the Hebrew and English mix they were speaking? All I’m proposing is that the subtitle be a bit more accurate, Abe said. Something like Neviot in Sinai, Israel, 1980 . A gentle reminder of Israel’s many sacrifices.

Avner felt Maya’s eyes on him. She probably didn’t understand what Abe was saying, what he was asking. And even if she did, Avner could explain it later. He’d say something like, This man loved my paintings so much he wanted to be part of them. He should be able to avoid the politics of it altogether, that wasn’t the point.

Abe was still talking. With some of the other pictures, he was saying now, changes might have to go a bit further, but I’m sure we can figure it out. He paused and looked at Avner. Avner knew what he was talking about — some of the older paintings had racier text, for sure, and he’d be lying if he didn’t admit they were inspired by Netta’s politics more than his own. And yet the paintings were what they were, the text part of the work. Could he really … change them? This was only a test, that much was clear. This man didn’t care about Avner’s art any more than he cared about Palestinians dying in Gaza. Neither was real to him in the full sense of the word. But if Avner was willing to “edit” his paintings, that would prove he was the kind of man Abe and his friends wanted to … bring into the fold.