A Life Worth Living (2 page)

“Um, why do you think? Because we can’t afford it,” Gaby sing-songed the standard response whenever any of them wanted anything that wasn’t absolutely necessary.

“If we have no money, how are we gonna buy more furniture in Israel?”

“It’s cheaper to buy new furniture than to ship what we have. Besides, I think the house in
Shiloh comes with some furniture already. We’re lucky they allowed us to take three suitcases each. Otherwise, we’d only be able to take two.” The family was making
aliyah
with the assistance of Nefesh B’Nefesh. As organization was not Mrs. Kupfer’s strongest skill, the non-profit’s help had been crucial to the family’s immigration.

Gaby finished distributing the plastic bags of toiletries in her suitcase. “Okay, I have some space left. You can put a few books in here.”

“Awesome, Gaby! You’re the best.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Gaby, but she smiled, happy that she could do something for her brother. She leaned back against the bare bed. “Isn’t it a little sad that all of our possessions can fit into nine suitcases?”

“I don’t think it’s sad, I think it’s good. It will be so easy to unpack.”

“Will you shut up? You’re so annoyingly optimistic.” Gaby shoved Rafi on the shoulder and he laughed. “Come join me for breakfast when you’re done. Our last meal in
Brooklyn.”

“Make me coffee,” Rafi called after her. “Don’t let Mommy see.”

“You got it, monkey.”

Mrs. Kupfer was busy in her bedroom when Gaby entered the kitchen. She made two sweet coffees in Styrofoam cups and stacked two paper plates with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Sitting down at the rickety table, she took a sip of coffee and closed her eyes. If she tried hard, she could almost feel Benny’s lips on hers, the feel of kissing the skull tattoo on his chest.

“What are you doing?” Rafi sat down noisily, scraping back his chair and biting into a sandwich.

“Nothing.” Gaby blushed and took another sip of her coffee to hide her face. She had been careful never to mention Benny to Rafi. At least one person could have a good opinion of her. “Drink your coffee before it gets cold or Mommy comes out.”

A horn beeped and Mrs. Kupfer called out frantically from her room, “The car service is here! We have to go! Ask the driver for help loading the suitcases.”

“You do it, Rafi,” Gaby begged.

“Sure.” Rafi stood up, taking a big gulp of his coffee and grabbing his sandwich. He opened the door and clattered down the stairs.

“Gaby, just put everything on the counter into bags. They’ll let us take it on the plane.” Her mother came out of her bedroom, still buttoning a gray cardigan over a white shirt.

Gaby glanced at the counter, littered with open spice bottles and half-used condiments. “I think they have lemon juice in Israel.”

“I know, I know. But we're going to have to buy groceries and lots of other things once we get to
Israel.” Her mother put her hand to her forehead as if just the thought of shopping was overwhelming to her. “I’m just trying to limit our expenses as much as possible,” she said feebly.

Of course. Always the money issue. That’s all that ever mattered to her mother. Gaby slowly got up and began to shove the contents into bags, not bothering to make sure they were packed properly. Rafi reappeared with the car service driver, an older Russian man. Rafi, the driver, and Mrs. Kupfer dragged the suitcases down the stairs, leaving Gaby alone. She took one last look at the apartment that had been their home for less than six months.

“Adios, amigos,” she said to the empty room, then lugged the four bulging shopping bags down the stairs.

Her entire family fit in one row of seats on the airplane. How sad was that? Gaby was the only girl in her grade with just one sibling, not to mention a divorced mom, and she constantly had to fend off questions about what it was like to have such a small family. As if she knew anything different. Not to worry; there were plenty of problems with having a small family, and the seating arrangements on the plane were not the least of them. Her mother was making herself comfortable in the aisle seat, so either she or Rafi would have to sit next to their mother for the next ten to twelve hours.

“Hey, Rafi! Let me sit by the window,” she whispered urgently.

Rafi looked at her, a smirk appearing from under the brim of his tan Nefesh B'Nefesh cap. He had pulled on a royal blue tee-shirt that proclaimed ‘Follow me to Israel’ in big white letters to complete his look. “What’s in it for me?”

“I’ll give you all the money in the world,” Gaby said.

“I’ll just add it to your tab.” Rafi stood aside to let Gaby pass, and she slipped into the window seat.

It was an ongoing feud in their family that they weren’t allowed to keep their own money. Whatever small monetary gifts their father gave them for birthdays or graduation, or the money Gaby earned in the summer, chained to a desk making cold calls, was duly handed over to their mother. Mrs. Kupfer liked to say that it was for safekeeping because she didn’t want the money to go to waste. Gaby would mutter under her breath that it wasn’t like she was going to blow the little money she had on booze and drugs. But the real reason they handed over their money to their mother was that since their parents’ bitter divorce three years earlier, the money Mrs. Kupfer earned as a bookkeeper wasn’t enough to cover their expenses. Their dad, who worked as a manager in a warehouse where he was paid in cash, convinced the court to grant their mother a mere one hundred dollars per month of child support. When he did remember to send the checks, it was more of a joke than any help.

A couple hundred dollars didn’t do anything to alleviate their bills that included a thousand dollars each month for rent, the already heavily-reduced yeshivah tuition of twelve thousand dollars per year for the two children, food, utilities, clothing… the list went on and on.

Their debts were a crushing burden that affected all of them, and all three were acutely aware at any given time of how much money they had versus how much they owed. The tipping point was when Rafi turned twelve, and his bar-mitzvah appeared on the horizon like a great, big, flopping travesty waiting to happen. On the advice of a good friend who had emigrated years earlier, Mrs. Kupfer decided it was time to move their little family to
Israel. In no time at all, they were crowded into JFK with a whole multitude of eager, soon-to-be Israelis.

The Kupfers weren’t moving to
Israel because of some Zionistic fervor like the rest of the passengers, who boarded the chartered El Al flight with singing and dancing, inspired by the endless speeches before departure. They were moving because they just couldn’t afford to live in the U.S. anymore. Their mother was counting on the
sal k’litah
benefits granted by the Israeli government to new immigrants to cover the gap in what she earned and what the family needed. The long list of benefits included incentives such as rent assistance for six years, thousands of
sh’kalim
deposited into their bank account, free health insurance, free tuition through graduate school, tax breaks on major purchases, free Hebrew language classes, and more.

It would have made more financial sense for Gaby, having recently turned eighteen, to make
aliyah
at least one year after her mother so she could get her own benefits, but it was clear, without any discussion needed, that her mother needed the money now. So that was that.

Gaby zipped up her sweatshirt, pulled the hood over her head, and hugged her pillow. Staring out the window at the airport employees loading the luggage onto the plane, she wondered if she’d be back any time soon.

The announcement came on to turn off all electronic devices. She quickly checked her cell phone to see if she’d somehow missed any calls or texts from Benny. Nope, no response to the three messages she had sent earlier.

“Turn off your phone, Gaby,” her mother said.

“I am,” Gaby said, already annoyed. She powered off her phone, slipped it into the pocket of her sweatshirt, and leaned her head against the window, ignoring the vivacious flight attendants presenting their safety instructions.

Finally, after what seemed like an extraordinarily long time, the plane began to move. She watched the view from the window as the plane slowly tipped up and took off, the
New York landscape shrinking rapidly until it completely receded behind them.

The seatbelt sign blinked off, and Gaby got up to use the bathroom. She climbed over Rafi, who already had his headphones on and was watching an Israeli sitcom, and jumped over Mrs. Kupfer, deep in a paperback novel.

“I think we’re officially in Israel. You don’t have to wear your
tichel
anymore,” she reminded her mother.

Mrs. Kupfer absentmindedly patted her scarf. “Hmm, soon.”

That was unlikely. Her mother held onto her hair covering like some type of weird security blanket. What was the point of covering your hair if you weren’t married anymore? If she was ever divorced, Gaby thought as she stumbled down the aisle and waited in the line for the restrooms, she would never cover her hair. Not that she thought there was a boy in the world that would want to marry her so that she could then get divorced, but who knows? Miracles do happen.

Standing by the exit row was a young father holding a small baby wrapped in the softest green blanket against his shoulder, humming softly and rocking gently on his heels. The baby was fast asleep, a pacifier moving rhythmically in his mouth. Gaby instinctively pulled out her phone, turned it on and snapped a picture. The father didn’t notice.

She stared at the picture and felt that familiar ache. Why couldn’t she have a dad who cared if she was safe and secure? Then, feeling stupid, she deleted the picture and stuck the phone back into her pocket. What’s the point of wishing for something you can’t have? She had bigger things to worry about, like why Benny wasn’t returning her texts. She rubbed her eyes, and hoped that the line would move. She was so tired. She just wanted to get back to her seat and get some sleep.

***

“You’re here! You’re here!” A deeply tanned woman, dressed in a long loose skirt that billowed around her as she ran, came to greet them. She grabbed Mrs. Kupfer and hugged her, both of them squealing like teenagers.

Gaby, a few steps behind the two women, watched them in bewilderment. “Have you ever seen Mommy so happy?” she asked Rafi.

He shook his head, his eyes opened wide as he took in the chaotic scene around them.

It was absolute pandemonium. They had been bused from the plane to an old airport instead of the new and luxurious Ben Gurion airport, so that they could be greeted by the famous WELCOME TO ISRAEL sign hanging over the airport entrance and have full use of the terminal. Relatives and friends carrying posters and balloons rushed toward the new arrivals as they descended from the buses. Weeping men and women kissed the ground, their hands and lips pressed against the poured cement. Shofars were blown, as if the actual Messiah had arrived instead of a few hundred exhausted yet exhilarated
olim chadashim
.
Chayalot
stood on the sidelines, smiling and clapping, taking pictures with babies and excited families, and passing out bottles of water and bags of Israeli chips. Passengers were milling around, collecting their luggage and visiting the booths set up to help them exchange their American money and open up Israeli bank accounts. A stage had been erected in front of rows of hundreds of white folding chairs, and a military band played spirited national songs. A huge banner was strung up, emblazoned with the words
B’ruchim HaBa’im
in Hebrew, and Welcome Home in English.

“I don’t think we’re getting out of here any time soon,” Gaby muttered. Rafi, mesmerized by the celebration around him, didn’t seem to hear her over the noise.

“Ma,” Gaby called to her mother, who was holding hands with her friend and talking animatedly. “Ma. Mommy!” Finally, Mrs. Kupfer looked up. “When are we leaving?”

Her mother looked at Gaby and Rafi like she just
remembered the two of them were still standing there. “Come here, kids,” she said. “Let me introduce you to Henny Hoffinger, my dearest friend.”

Gaby pulled Rafi out of his trance, and they walked over to the women. Henny hugged them one at a time.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you! Your mom has told me so much about you. I can’t wait to get to know you better. You’re twelve, right, Rafi?”

Rafi nodded, a huge smile on his face. Gaby snorted in his direction. There was no reason for Rafi to be so disproportionally pleased that Henny knew that little about him.

“I have a boy, Eitan, just around your age. I’ll introduce you to him as soon as we get to your new home in Shiloh.” Henny turned to Gaby.

Gaby wondered if she had the same offer for her. But instead Henny said, “Hi, Gaby! I heard you finished high school already.”

“I guess you can call it that.” Gaby shrugged. She hadn’t actually completed 12th grade. School just wasn’t exciting enough for her to bother showing up day in and day out. She had zero desire to spend quality time with any of the five hundred girls in her school, the lot of them with seemingly perfect lives, or at least two-parent households. They were busy giggling and gossiping about teachers and tests, and planning every detail of their lives, down to the color of their future husbands’ eyes and the number of bedrooms they would have in their houses for their future numerous children. Instead, she was allowed to take the final exams without completing all of the required courses, and her school agreed to modify her transcripts to make it look like she had the credits she needed to graduate.

It was the biggest scam. They would have agreed to anything just to get rid of her. They couldn’t kick her out, not with her poor mother being a single mom and all, a situation worse than death in the eyes of her school. Gaby graduating and the Kupfer family moving to
Israel was the perfect solution for everyone concerned in the high school administration. One less at-risk girl in their school to sully their brand.

Not that Gaby was complaining. If she never had to see the inside of a school building again, it wouldn’t be soon enough.

“So, what are your plans now?” Henny asked enthusiastically.

“Um, I’m not sure.”

“I thought we agreed that you’ll be taking an ulpan course to improve your Hebrew,” Mrs. Kupfer said lightly.

“I’m not ready to go back to school,” Gaby said, trying not to whine in front of Henny. School, any type of school, brought back the sting of failure from the last twelve years that she thought she had finally escaped.

The two women exchanged a look. “We’ll talk about this later,” Mrs. Kupfer said. “Look, the speeches are about to start. I heard President Shimon Peres will be here?” she asked Henny.

“Yes, and also former Prime Minister, Ehud Olmert.”

“Really? I thought he wasn’t popular in this type of crowd.”

“Prime Ministers are always more popular after they leave office.” The two women chuckled heartily and walked toward the stage arm in arm.

Gaby and Rafi followed behind, Gaby shifting her backpack to a slightly more comfortable position. She really wished they could leave already so she could go to sleep in a real bed. She had tried to sleep on the plane, but thoughts of how not sad Benny seemed when she left him kept interrupting her slumber.

A
chayelet
came up to them, her long curly black hair held back in a loose braid and her green uniform showcasing her slim figure. In an exotic accent, she asked them in English, “Do you need help finding chairs?”

“
Todah
,” answered Henny in her American Hebrew. “
Anachnu b’seder. Yesh lanu kisa’ot
.” She pointed to where a middle-aged man, with a knitted white-and-blue
kippah
perched on top of his graying hair, sat near four chairs.

“
B’simchah
.”

They went over to their chairs, and Henny introduced her husband, Mark, to the group.

Gaby watched as the
chayelet
approached a different family, presumably to make them the same offer. Maybe she should enlist. It would be so cool to wear a uniform and carry a huge gun, although for some reason, she noticed that none of the soldiers in the airport carried guns. Either way, it would be a better way to learn Hebrew than sitting in a boring classroom.

She leaned toward her mother, who was sitting in front of her. “Ma, maybe I should sign up.”

“What?” her mother asked. She was jumping a little in her seat, excitedly waiting for President Peres to appear.

“I was thinking. Maybe I should sign up for the army.”