by Pnina Baim
Rafi and Mrs. Kupfer listened intently. Ignoring Gaby’s indifference, Mark continued, “Do you know the names of the three holidays when the Jewish people traveled to the Beit haMikdash?”
“Succos, Pesach and Shavuos!” Rafi blurted out.
“That’s right,” Mark said, smiling. “Very good.”
Mrs. Kupfer looked on proudly.
“Here’s an interesting side note for our young lady.” Mark looked directly at Gaby. “Did you know that many of our laws of prayer originated from when Chana came to Shiloh to daven for a son?”
Gaby nodded politely, unable to resist his genial eyes.
“And God answered her prayers! You know who her son was, right?”
“Shmuel haNavi,” Gaby answered instinctively, some deeply buried memory of learning Tanach by osmosis coming to the forefront of her conscience.
“And who was the kohen gadol at the time?”
“Eli haKohen,” she said, trying unsuccessfully not to smile. Beside her, her mother beamed in delighted surprise, as if this was proof that Israel was the best thing that ever happened to them.
“Since modern Shiloh was established next to this historical site, we built a shul that is a close replica of the actual Mishkan. It’s very beautiful. Make sure you go visit it.”
Gaby bobbled her head, unwilling to indicate either way if she would actually go look at the tourist attractions Shiloh had to offer. She wanted a change from New York, but it didn’t mean that she had to become a die-hard Zionist.
“Shiloh is a thriving community. We have our own school, Ohel Shiloh, where seven hundred students learn, and we have a yeshivat hesder that serves over two hundred students from Israel and abroad.”
“A yeshivat hesder is a place where boys split their time between learning in yeshivah and serving in the army,” Henny explained.
Mark continued talking, unperturbed by Henny’s interruption. “We have a lot of industries here including our own factory that makes aluminum doors, a small printing press, and a tefillin plant, where they make the finest tefillin available in the world.”
Rafi perked up. “Mommy, maybe we can get my tefillin there!”
Mark gave him an apologetic look. “They’re pretty pricey. You can get a cheaper pair in Jerusalem.”
“Oh,” Rafi said, looking dejected and sliding back into the seat. Gaby looked over at her mother, but she was completely absorbed by Mark as if he was making the most fascinating speech ever.
“What else?” Mark continued. “We have winemakers who make organic wines, cabinet makers, artists…”
“That’s right!” Henny interrupted. “We have art festivals, and there is some incredible art and sculptures and silk paintings on display.”
The husband and wife tag-team continued on in this vein, seemingly going through every single person’s occupation in Shiloh until the car drew up to the town that the Hoffingers thought of as the most marvelous place in the entire world.
The heavy yellow metal gate slid open as they pulled up. Mark drove through, waving to the guard, a middle-aged man busy with a laptop who barely looked up as they passed.
Shiloh looked like a mid-sized suburb, with houses of various sizes and appearance filling the lanes. They passed a small market near the town entrance, situated next to a playground and a kindergarten. The spaces between some of the houses were crowded with evergreen trees, creating a forest-like appearance.
Mark accelerated so that the car could climb a steep hill, honking hello to a few pedestrians trudging laboriously up the red-bricked sidewalk. Gaby watched them with a sinking feeling, knowing that she too, would have to walk up that ninety-degree-incline. The Kupfers, never with a car in Brooklyn, would definitely not be splurging on one in Israel.
“Here we are!” They pulled up in front of a small stucco house with a concrete front yard, sitting unevenly on a mound of earth.
Rafi bounded out of the car to check out their new home, and Gaby followed cautiously behind.
Flower pots with a few hopeful purple anemones lined the steps leading to the house, and a small bush adorned with some kind of skinny, purple-pink lily stood near the front door. Other than that, the gray-ash stucco house’s exterior was devoid of color.
Inside the house, it was equally colorless, with white walls and the floors tiled in speckled, stone tiles. There was a living area with a daybed that doubled as a couch, and a round table with a collection of mismatched chairs. Against a nearby wall were a few cheap pine cabinets, a refrigerator, a smallish stove, and a single sink; this was to serve as their kitchen.
Mrs. Kupfer walked into the house and paused at the doorway. She turned slowly, taking it all in. “What a privilege,” she breathed.
“Privilege?” Gaby asked.
“Just think of all the thousands of Jews who yearned for years to return to Israel, and here we are! Aren’t we so lucky?”
Gaby nodded, thinking about how unlucky all of those other Jews were. Her mother had taken the sentimental route and named her after a Holocaust victim, a small child who was killed in January of 1945, only a few short months before Hitler was defeated. This little soul came to haunt her at the most unexpected moments, such as when her mother expounded on their luck at being alive in the right decade.
Mark came in and out a few times, dragging their luggage behind him. When all of the suitcases were in the house, he departed with warm wishes and blessings for success on their homecoming.
“Come look, I have a special surprise for you.” Henny led Mrs. Kupfer to an arched doorway in the kitchen.
“Oh my! Henny! I can’t believe this. Gaby, Rafi, come look! We have our own washing machine and dryer!”
Gaby’s heart beat a little faster, and, unable to control herself, she ran to check it out, with Rafi right behind her. This was a huge deal. In New York, they had to use a laundromat to wash their clothes, an embarrassing and detested task that usually fell to Gaby.
She ran her hands over the two machines. They were obviously used, but they seemed to be in good condition.
“I don’t understand. Someone just gave this to us? There has to be a catch.” Gaby looked at Rafi to see his reaction, but he was too busy playing with the dials on the washing machine to hear her.
“Well, not a catch per se,” Henny said slowly, looking a little embarrassed. “But there is a favor you can do for the Rosenblums. They are the ones who gave you their used machines.”
“Sure, what can I do for them?” Mrs. Kupfer asked eagerly.
“Well, you know how new immigrants can ship appliances without having to pay customs tax?”
Mrs. Kupfer nodded.
“They want to know if they can order a new washing machine, dryer and fridge from the U.S. under your name and have them shipped to Israel, so they can save money on the VAT. They’ll obviously pay for everything.”
“Absolutely! It would be my pleasure,” Mrs. Kupfer promptly agreed.
“I know we haven’t been in Israel long, but isn’t that illegal?” Gaby interrupted.
“Wow, I like how you suddenly became so ethical, Gaby,” her mother said, a touch of sarcasm in her voice.
“I could be ethical,” Gaby said, more to herself than to her mother.
“That’s good to know. I’ll have to keep that in mind.” Mrs. Kupfer turned back to Henny. “I’ll be glad to do that. I would love to thank them personally. Do you have a phone I can borrow?”
“Guess what? As a welcome home present, the community of Shiloh set up all of your utilities, and paid the first month’s bills. Here is your new number.” Through her mother’s exclamations of joy and thanks, Henny directed them to a telephone hanging on the wall, on which a phone number was written in thick black marker on a piece of masking tape. 02-555-2138, Gaby read to herself.
“Can I call home from this line?” Gaby asked.
“This is your home,” her mother said.
“You know what I mean. Can I call New York?”
�
��I’m sorry, international phone service wasn’t installed. But you can buy a phone card from the makolet,” Henny offered.
“What about Internet? Is that set up?” Gaby asked.
“Oh, I didn’t think you had a computer,” Henny said apologetically.
“We don’t,” Mrs. Kupfer said. “It’s just an unnecessary expense.”
“But feel free to come over anytime you want and use my computer,” Henny said quickly, seeing Gaby’s disappointed face.
Gaby bit her lip, reluctant to say thank you for this additional kindness on top of all the others. How much charity could a person accept before they start feeling like someone’s ticket to heaven?
“Okay, so what else?” Henny rummaged around her oversized purple leather handbag and came up with a stapled sheaf of papers. “Here is a list of all the families in Shiloh. There are some important emergency numbers on the back.”
Gaby flipped through the pages. The names were listed in English and Hebrew. On the back was the number for Shiloh security and for the nearby IDF base.
She outlined the emergency numbers with her finger. If something happened, how quickly could their protectors come to rescue them? She would have to go to the phone, find the number, call them, and then wait for the soldiers to burst through the door and save them from whatever hairy situation they found themselves in. There was no way help could come in time to make a difference. She thought of the gruesome pictures of the Fogel family from Itamar. Stabbed in their beds by two Palestinian teenagers.
“Are we gonna have a gun?” she asked.
“Do you know how to use one?” Henny chuckled, apparently amused at the idea of Gaby carrying a gun.
“I could learn. If my mother lets me join the army.”
“Gaby, I already told you! I sent in your p’tor to the rabbinate a long time ago. You were already excused from army service.”
“But I really want to go. It would be so much fun.” Gaby sat down on a chair and crossed her arms in front of her chest.
“We’ll find something else for you to do. Let’s talk about this later.” Her mother turned back to Henny, who was discussing where to buy groceries and which neighbors had volunteered to bring over dinner later that day and for the rest of the week.
Ignored, Gaby got up from the chair and went to inspect the rest of the house. Three small rooms opened up off the hallway, each furnished with a large wooden armoire and twin-sized bed. Rafi was already unpacking his suitcases in the middle one, a small square room that boasted an admittedly gorgeous mountain landscape view.
Gaby stood in the middle of the room next to Rafi’s. The white paint on the walls was dirty and peeling, and when she switched on the light, the naked bulb overhead flickered on, then immediately blew out. The room was small, with just enough space for the closet-like armoire and a bare bed with a thin mattress, sans headboard, the kind you’d expect to find in a low-budget sleepaway camp. Gaby did not enjoy the one summer she had spent at camp, courtesy of the generosity of parents from her sixth grade class. She had felt so alone, with her hand-me-down clothes and empty canteen account. She remembered meeting her mother in tears on visiting day, begging to go home. Her mother had insisted she finish off the remainder of the month.
But despite the painful memories triggered by the thin mattress, the room had some potential. It had two windows, and a shaggy, leafy tree was visible right outside. Gaby had seen worse. With some paint and maybe a funky light fixture, this wouldn’t be such a bad room. She might even be able to fit in a desk if she could find one.
She went to go find her mother, who was still talking with Henny.
“Ma, do you think I could paint my room?”
“That’s sounds like a great idea!” Mrs. Kupfer gave her a relieved look. “While you’re at it, you could paint the whole house. We could use some color to brighten up this place a bit. I’m sure if Rafi helped, it wouldn’t take any time at all.”
“Oh, you know what would be a good idea?” Henny added. “We’ll have to go into Jerusalem tomorrow to get your teudot zehut, that’s your Israeli IDs. We can stop into a Tambour after we’re done. Tambour is an Israeli chain of hardware stores,” she explained to Gaby. “We should leave around nine,” she told Mrs. Kupfer.
“I’m pretty sure I’ll be free,” Gaby said to no one in particular. She headed back to her room to start unpacking, feeling somewhat more positive now that she thought up the painting idea.
Later that night, after all nine of the suitcases were unpacked, and dinner was delivered by a warm, bubbly neighbor who spoke only Hebrew, but managed to kiss all three of them multiple times, Gaby took a shower with leftover pink Suave shampoo and a white bar of Ivory soap and got into bed. She pulled her comforter over her head and took a deep breath. It still smelled like home, although she never considered their old apartment on East 16th street to be her real home. It was hard to remember the last time she had felt at home somewhere.
She stroked the comforter with her hand and reflected on the crazy fact that only a few hours earlier she had been sleeping on the same couch with Benny, and now…he couldn’t be further away. Maybe Henny would let her use the computer tomorrow. Then she could send him a message and see what was up.
Chapter Four
Gaby swiped one more coat of paint on the windowsill and sat back down to take a look. She had done a pretty good job, if she said so herself. The walls were painted a pretty mauve color, and the windows, moldings, and ceiling were all in French vanilla. The contrast was pretty and feminine, and the fluted metal ceiling fixture that Henny had found for her in a neighbor’s shed was just eighties-style enough to be cool.
“…tell me what you want from me…” One Republic sang in the background on her American phone. It was useless for accessing data or making phone calls, but she was still able to play her stored music.
Gaby stretched and looked at the time on her phone. She had been painting for over five hours. It was time to get out of the house.
She went to check on Rafi, but he wasn’t in his room. Knocking on her mother’s door to find out where Rafi had gone, she found Mrs. Kupfer sitting in bed, hunched over a large black laptop.
“Mommy! Oh my God! Where did you get that laptop from?”
Mrs. Kupfer looked up guiltily. “It doesn’t have internet access.”
“Okay, but where did you get it from?”
“Shimmy is letting me work some hours from here. I will go to Henny when I need to e-mail him files.” Shimmy was Mrs. Kupfer’s boss in New York. Gaby had thought her mother had quit her bookkeeping job, but apparently she had not.
“Wow, that’s nice of him.” Gaby sat down at the edge of her mother’s bed. “What hours will you be working for him?”
“Every evening from five to ten.”
Gaby calculated quickly. Together with her day job at the daycare center, her mother would basically be working around the clock. “How are you going to manage working so many hours?”
“Well, the arrangement is tentative, but hopefully it’ll work out. I’ll need you two to help out around here.”
As usual. “Are you’re really not gonna get Internet? That doesn’t seem so efficient.”
Her mother took a deep breath and placed a conciliatory hand on Gaby’s arm. “Listen, Gaby, I will most likely will get an Internet connection next week, but you can’t use this laptop. It’s for work only.”
“I don’t believe you! Why do you have to be so mean? What do you think I’m gonna do with it already?” Gaby stormed out of her mother’s bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
Apparently, her mother had been listening to those anti-internet lectures. As if the lack of internet would magically transform her into a stereotypical Flatbush girl, desperate to get married, working as a therapist, and if she were worthy enough, perhaps she would have the honor of supporting a husband who sat and learned all day.
She’d choose internet access over a future like that. And right now, in her me
ssy life, when she didn’t know if Benny had responded to any of her messages she left him that morning from Henny’s computer, she needed internet.
If Benny didn’t get back to her soon, she was just going to assume it was over. She was fine with it, or at least, she would make herself be fine with it. It wasn’t like she thought they were going to get married or something. She just wanted to know already. It was the not knowing that was driving her crazy. How was she supposed to know if he responded to her if she couldn’t check her messages? The fact that there was a computer just a few feet away from her that she couldn’t use, for absolutely no reason whatsoever, was maddening.
The worst part about all this was that she technically didn’t even have to go to Israel with the rest of her family. She was eighteen. Nobody would have forced her. She could have found some cheap basement apartment, got some fifteen-dollar-an-hour job at some boring office, and gone to college at night like everyone else who lived in New York by themselves did.
But she didn’t do that.
Maybe it was because of Rafi, that she didn’t want to leave him alone, or perhaps it was some latent love of Israel soaring up inside of her, but the reality was that there wasn’t much to keep her in New York. Just a few friends, half a boyfriend, and a nasty label that had been attached to her since she was twelve. She had no idea what she would have studied in college if she’d had the chance, and she wasn’t aware of any office skills she might have. Her short stint as a cold-caller had convinced her that if she didn’t like what she was doing, she could not force herself to do it.
She had picked up and moved to a new country, six thousand miles away from everything she had ever known, under the pretense that she was being forced to do it. Deep inside, though, she was thinking that maybe, just maybe, that old adage of a change of place, a change of luck, could work for her. Here, in this land of six million Jews, there had to be more categories to fit into than the few that dominated North America; religious or not, working or learning.
