A Life Worth Living (19 page)

Normally, Gaby would stay up late the whole week and then catch up on her sleep on
shabbat
, sometimes sleeping the whole twenty-five hours with just short interruptions to go to the bathroom and be present at the
shabbat
table. Now, though the only thing she had to do was to finish painting the house as she had promised, she just couldn’t muster the energy. Shira was in the kibbutz, Rafi was busy with Eitan all the time, her mother was avoiding her as much as possible, there was little access to internet… all she did since she got back from the kibbutz was sleep. How much could a person sleep?

So, for the lack of anything better to do, Gaby woke up early one
shabbat
morning, drank a quick cup of coffee standing at the counter overlooking the scenic mountainous view, and then went to find an outfit that would be appropriate for the
Mishkan
-shaped shul Rafi had been speaking about at the Friday night meal.

The
yishuv
had the laid-back atmosphere of the countryside, and if she showed up wearing one of the fitted textured dresses, stockings, and heels the girls liked to wear back in New York, she would likely get laughed right out of shul. A peach-and-white striped maxi dress with a white t-shirt underneath was much more fitting for the occasion, not to mention far more comfortable.

The huge rectangular stucco structure was situated at the head of a paved path, with neatly tended lawns on each side of the path. Large stone pillars on the front of the shul, and a flat roof sculpted to look like a heavy rug draped over both sides of the building, provided a very close, if not exact, replica of the portrait of the biblical tabernacle hanging inside.

She went upstairs to the women’s section and found a seat at a wooden pew. She plucked a
siddur
from the stand in front of her, but didn’t bother opening it to pray. That would be fraudulent; to suddenly become pious as it suited her mood.

The shul was different from the ones she was used to. In the neighborhoods of
Brooklyn, shuls were more modest one-story buildings, and the women’s sections were generally an afterthought – a small area partitioned off in the back or the side of the room. Only the women sitting right next to the curtain could see or hear what was going on with the
minyan
. The men – and most of the women, too – dressed in black, so that when people left shul once the prayers were over, they appeared to be a sea of black, broken only by white
talleisim
.

Here, in
Israel, where the women’s section was a spacious balcony, Gaby could easily peer down to see the men, dressed in an expanse of white, with white knitted kippot, white shirts and white
talleisim
, swaying and praying loudly in lyrical Hebrew accents, allowing anyone who wished to easily follow along.

She sat back in her seat, looking at the women, their eyes closed tight in prayer, or holding their
siddurim
close to their faces, communing with God. Although a few were dressed in formal attire, most were dressed in soft, flowing skirts and dresses. Married women covered their hair with silky, colorful scarves tied elaborately around their heads.

Gaby fell into a semi-meditative state while she watched the congregants stand and sit and stand and sway. She had hoped
Israel would be a break for her, that she would act like a different person, but it was just more of the same. The same embarrassing mistakes with boys, the same disappointing jobs, the same arguments with her mother. If anything, she had done even worse in Israel. She finally got the chance for a real relationship with someone who cared about her, but she had passed it up for the instant gratification of short-lived recognition.

Before
musaf
, the rabbi stood up in front of the congregation to give a short speech. He spoke in an easy Hebrew, and to Gaby’s surprise, she was actually able to understand him.

He spoke about the recent news report about a religious man in
New Jersey who was arrested for insider trading and warned people not to judge him. After all, he said, who among us has not made mistakes? He quoted the famous proverb from King Solomon, that a righteous person falls seven times.

It is not the fact that he gets up that makes him righteous, the rabbi explained, but the fact that after the man falls, he gets up, falls again, gets up, falls again, and so on, and does not give up. He finished off with a blessing that everyone should have the strength to keep trying to achieve their utmost potential, and all the congregants answered
amein
.

It was a good speech, Gaby conceded. And in that spirit, for the first time in what seemed like years, she opened up a
siddur
, and turned to the appropriate place so that she could pray along with the rest of the shul.

When shul was over, she stood up to leave with the rest of the ladies. They wished her a peaceful
shabbat
, and she responded
shabbat shalom
in turn. And when she returned home, she did feel sort of, kind of more peaceful.

After a strained lunch, where Rafi kept up a steady stream of conversation to cover for his mother and sister’s silence, Gaby went over to Shira’s house to get a break from her mother’s avoidance of her.

Shira’s mother opened the door with a friendly hello, and called Shira to the door. Shira jumped out of the house as if she was on fire, and the two girls walked to the top of the hill, to the same spot where they had first met.

There, on top of the hill, with
Shiloh spread peacefully around them, Gaby admitted she went to shul that morning.

“Wow,” Shira said, without any reservation in her voice. “I haven’t gone to shul in forever.”

“I know,” Gaby said. “But it was nice.”

“Good for you.” Shira plucked a piece of grass and twirled it between her fingers. “Would you believe that Devorah Leah is still with that guy from Tzfat?”

“What?” Gaby exclaimed. “I don’t believe she pulled that off. She was dying to have a boyfriend. ”

“Yeah, I met him, and I gotta say, he’s not half-bad. After all that chasing boys, she finally ended up with a decent guy.”

Gaby shook her head, absorbing the information. “Crazy. Devorah Leah finally settling down.”

“Yup, crazy is the right word,” Shira agreed. Then a minute later, she said, “Chen called me.”

“And?” Gaby said, hoping against hope that Shira wouldn’t say they were back together.

“And nothing. I didn’t even pick up the phone.”

“That must have been tough.”

“You know, not so tough,” Shira said. “There was so much drama in our relationship. We were always on and off. I felt so unsettled around him. Now that we’re officially done, and I mean it this time,” she swatted Gaby’s knowing grin, “I feel much more centered.”

“I’m happy for you,” Gaby said, sincerely.

“And guess who sent me a text?” Shira waited until Gaby finally said, “Who?”

“Saar!” she said with gleeful excitement. “He said, and I’m paraphrasing here, but this is more or less what he said: ‘I don’t want to get in between you and Chen, but can you call me? I have a question.’ I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure it’s about you. He never texted me before.”

Gaby winced. Just hearing
Saar’s name brought all that tantalizing pressure back. “Don’t even. I’m done with that guy. He just brought me unnecessary stress.”

“Yeah, but he’s pretty hot,” Shira teased.

“He might be hot, but like you said, I want to be centered.”

“Good answer,” Shira said, leaning back against the grass.

“So, can I ask you something?”

“Mmm,” Shira said, closing her eyes against the afternoon sun.

“What’s the story with your family? They seem so normal, and you’re so…” Gaby tried to think of the least offensive description for Shira.

“Off-the-derech? At-risk?
Arse
?” Shira supplied.

“Sure, any of those.”

“I don’t know.” Shira shrugged. “It was hard for me when we moved to Israel. I was only six, and supposedly I should have adjusted quickly, but I didn’t. I missed my friends and my school, and I didn’t learn Hebrew easily, so school was difficult for me, and my parents kept pushing me to try to make new friends, try to do better in school…” She was silent for a minute. “It isn’t that I want to be this bad person. I’m not a bad person! I just don’t want to do exactly what everyone else thinks I should do at the exact time they think I should do it.”

“You’re not a bad person,” Gaby assured her. “You’re honest, and genuine, and dependable.”

“Really? You think I’m dependable?” Shira asked.

“Yes,” Gaby said. “I forgave you for that one time you abandoned me in a stranger’s apartment.”

“That sounds like a song,” Shira mused. Then she added, “I guess I sorta just fell into this habit of not doing what everyone else was doing...” She looked away, somewhere over the Arab village. “Sometimes,” she said in a quiet voice, “it gets tiring.”

“I know,” Gaby said. “I know.”

“Gaby, Henny needs a babysitter, do you think you can do it?” Mrs. Kupfer asked.

Her tone was neutral, as was all communication between Mrs. Kupfer and Gaby these days. Mrs. Kupfer hadn’t said anything over the phone when Gaby called to say she was on her way home. She just gave a non-committal grunt of acknowledgment, and, saying she was tired and going to sleep, hung up. In the past few days, the two of them had avoided each other, which was fine with Gaby. The one serious conversation Gaby had with her mother had been about Rafi’s bar-mitzvah and the issue with the
tefillin
, and that, too, her mother had pushed off, saying she was too tired to talk about it.

“Yeah, sure!” Gaby said, jumping up from the daybed where she had been lounging, reading an out-of-date Jerusalem Post.

She had thought of finding a job either in Shiloh or somewhere nearby, and had vaguely asked around if anyone knew of anything for her, but hadn’t gotten any affirmative responses.

There was a chance Henny might know of a job, or at least she would pay her for the night. She didn’t care about creative work anymore; now she just wanted to make some money. She had about a hundred dollars from the month she worked on the kibbutz. If she could just earn a couple hundred more, she could buy the
tefillin
herself.

She walked over to Henny’s home, hoping they would have an opportunity to talk. She pressed the bell of the charming ranch-style home, and Henny opened the door immediately. Henny gave her a hug and apologized for running out, muttering something about being late for a play, and rushed out with her husband and three oldest children, rattling off a list of instructions over her shoulder as she left.

Gaby waved goodbye and turned to look at the three children left under her care. They sat on the couch, in matching pajamas, holding their soft blankets and sucking their thumbs, watched her. They looked like three matching munchkins.

“Hello,” Gaby said as she knelt next to them. “What’s your name?” Henny had reminded her of their names when she left the house, but she had already forgotten them.

The oldest one took her thumb out of her mouth and said, “I’m Shayna.”

“Hi, Shayna. What about you? What’s your name?” Gaby asked the next one in line.

The small boy just looked at her, his soft blond curls framing his face. “His name is Yehuda,” Shayna said, helpfully.

Gaby smiled, remembering the time she had met someone named Yehuda, that last night out with Rikky and Serena. Those days seemed so long ago. “Thank you, Shayna. What about your baby brother?”

“He’s Noach. He isn’t even one yet.”

“I see. How old are you?”

“I’m five. Yehuda is two and a half.”

“That’s nice. I’m Gaby.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m eighteen,” Gaby said. “Okay, now that we got that out of the way, what should we do?”

“Ima said we could watchy.”

“Watchy?”

“Rebbetzin Tap.” Shayna pointed to a DVD player on the side of the room.

“Sure.” Gaby bent down in front of the console to figure out which button to press, something that always confused her.

Shayna jumped off the couch, still holding her blanket, and said, “I can do it.” She pressed the power button, then the play button, and the screen came to life. Shayna ran back to the couch and placed her thumb firmly into her mouth, careful not to miss a single word.

Gaby sat down on the couch and watched the cute singing/tap dancing production with the three of them. When the children’s movie was over, the kids marched upstairs into their room like good little soldiers. She made the baby a warm bottle and rocked him to sleep in the rocking chair in the bedroom. When he had stopped sucking and his eyes were closed, she laid him down gently in the crib. Shayna and Yehuda were already sleeping in their beds. She smoothed their blankets and kissed them softly on their foreheads. She left the room and closed the door, leaving it open a crack so the light of the hallway could come in, just in case they woke up and were afraid of the dark.

What lovely lives these children had. If only she could give Rafi some of that same security. There had to be some solution to this problem. There just had to be.

She sat down on the couch and looked around the silent house. It was a spacious home, painted in sunny, bright colors, and furnished in light wood and soft textures. Gaby idly picked up her phone and thought about calling Hillel again, but she hadn’t spoken to him since she first came home, and she wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear from her. It would be better to let him be the one to call.

She flicked through the DVDs lined up over the DVD player and pulled out
The Notebook
, a movie all her old friends back in New York were crazy over.

The movie was decent, not as heart-strings-pulling as everyone said it was. The girls had said it was the most romantic movie ever, but while the cute young couple in the picturesque 1941 set were busy playing wrong-side-of-the-tracks romance, millions of people across the ocean were being sent to their deaths.

Henny came home before the movie was over, but insisted that Gaby stay to finish watching it while she shepherded the big kids upstairs and into bed.

Mark said a quick hello, how’s everything, and before Gaby could respond, disappeared into the home office.

A few minutes later, Henny came back downstairs and sat down next to Gaby as the movie wound down.

“Ah,
The Notebook
. I love that movie.”

Gaby looked at her, puzzled. “Everyone says that! What’s so good about it?”

“Oh, all that unrequited love.”

Gaby wrinkled her nose. “I kept thinking about all the people being killed in the Holocaust while they were busy dancing.”

“Hmm. That’s true. You have a sensitive soul. Most people forget that the world ignored us while we were being sent to concentration camps. But still, true love will conquer all.” Henny sighed dramatically, waving her hand over her head and collapsing back on the couch, and Gaby giggled.

“Want to join me for a cup of tea or coffee?”

“Sure,” Gaby said. “Tea sounds great.”

Henny went to the kitchen, and Gaby followed, settling herself down at the butcher block island.

“How’s it going at home?” Henny asked.

“You know,” Gaby said.

“Yeah, I know.” Henny busied herself with gathering mugs and teabags, and Gaby wondered if Henny would launch into a speech about being nicer to her mom. Instead, when Henny came back to the island with the kettle of hot water and the tea things, she asked, “Are you missing New York?”

Gaby wavered. “Somewhat. I’m not really in touch with my friends anymore. When I call them, they’re always so busy. Plus, the calls are really expensive.”

“Well, maybe you can get an American number soon. That would make it easier, no?”

“Maybe,” Gaby said. It wasn’t likely her mother would spring for that expense anytime soon.

“You’re welcome to use my computer for e-mail or whatever you want to do,” Henny offered again.

“Thanks,” Gaby said perfunctorily. At this point, there wasn’t really anything to gain by keeping in touch with the
Brooklyn crowd. It was clear from the little she did speak to her friends that they had moved on.

Henny tapped her spoon on the edge of her mug. “Tell me, what do you want to do with yourself?”

Gaby shrugged. “I don’t know.” She stirred her tea, watching the water turn a deep shade of amber. “Something meaningful. Something that I enjoy. I just don’t know what that is.” She laughed awkwardly. “All I know is, I need to do something. I really need money.”

“Hmm. You know, in the car we were listening to a class by Rav Noach Weinberg, may he rest in peace, and he was saying… hold on, I think I wrote it down somewhere.” She looked around for her large purple purse, and rummaged through it, pulling out a few sheets of wrinkled paper. She plucked a pair of reading glasses from her bag, propped them on her nose, and smoothed out the papers. “Here, he says that if you don’t know what you are willing to die for, then you haven’t begun to live.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that if you figure out what you’re willing to die for, then you’d know what you want to live for.”

“I have no idea what I’m willing to die for,” Gaby said. “What are you willing to die for?”

“Oh, I can say it easily. My kids, my family,
Israel, the Jewish nation…”

Gaby blew on the hot brew and took a tentative sip. “That sounds nice. I guess the same for me. But the truth is, I have a bigger problem, and I was hoping maybe you could help me with it.”

“Let’s hear.”

“I need to find a real job, but my Hebrew isn’t that great, and I don’t know of anything I can do. Do you know of anything?”

Henny eyes widen. “This is incredible. I never would have thought of this, but I think this is amazing divine intervention.”

“You thought of something?” No matter what Henny was thinking of, Gaby was going to act as if she was capable of doing it.

“While we were at the play, I was sitting next to a lovely woman who works at Yad Vashem. We got to talking and we exchanged numbers so I could invite her for
shabbat
sometime,” Henny said excitedly.

“I’m sorry, I’m not following.”

“This is what we’ll do. I’ll call her to invite her for
shabbat
, and you could meet her. Maybe she’ll have something available for you at the museum or at their research center. You said you were looking for something meaningful. Working with Yad Vashem helps commemorate the millions of Holocaust victims and survivors. What could be more meaningful than that?”

Gaby thought it over. “You think she’d like me?”

“Everyone likes you, Gaby. She’ll love you.”

“Okay,” Gaby said, not fully convinced about the everyone-liking-her part.

“Listen,” Henny said, placing a hand on Gaby’s arm. “Just talk about wanting to do something positive for the Jewish nation. She’ll love that.”

“Actually, I don’t know if my mother ever told you, but my real name is Gruna Brocha. I was named after my mother’s cousin who died in one of the concentration camps. I always felt connected to Holocaust victims,” Gaby said, evoking her little ghost to help her case.

“Great. Just talk that aspect up. I’ll call her tomorrow, and I’ll let you know what she says.”

“Wow. Okay. Let me know what happens,” Gaby said, starting to feel slightly hopefully about her prospects. Maybe it was due to some intense divine intervention that put her at Henny’s house just after she met this lady from the Holocaust center. If that was the case, some divine intervention would be really nice right about now.