A Life Worth Living

by Pnina Baim

  “Yeah, I’ll go get us seats.” She took the bag of croissants back from him and went up the steps of the bus to find them seats in the back. Hillel came up the steps a few minutes later, after depositing his duffle bag underneath the bus, and sat down next to her.

  Gaby turned to him and leaned her head against his shoulder.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said.

  “So am I,” he said.

  She put her hand on her necklace and shook her head in wonder.

  “What?” Hillel asked.

  “You bought me the sun,” she said.

  “It was my pleasure.”

  Then, in a low voice, so low she wasn’t sure he could hear her, she told him, “You’re like the sun to me. You’re the only one I want. You’re the only one that’s real to me. You make me so happy.” Please come back to me, she silently begged. Please, please, please.

  Hillel tilted her head up and kissed her softly on the lips.

  Gaby smiled against his lips and asked him, peering up into his eyes, “So are you my boyfriend again?”

  “I always was. I always will be.”

  They kissed again. He wrapped his arm around her, and she snuggled into his warm body.

  The bus wound around the rocky hills of the Shomron until it entered the gate of Shiloh, and the two of them got off. Hillel dragged his bag off the bus and put it on his back, adjusting it as he looked up the steep hill.

  “That’s one crazy hill, dude.”

  Gaby looked up at the hill and laughed. “You’ve seen it before,” she said.

  “That was the one night I had a car,” he retorted.

  “You get used to it,” she said. “Come on, let’s go.”

  They walked up the hill hand in hand, Gaby showing him the few sights Shiloh had to offer.

  When they got into the house, Gaby was relieved to see that Rafi had followed her instructions and that the house was clean, the floor sponja-ed and the table already set with a white table cloth. Impressively, even the paint that Rafi had dripped on the tiled floor last week after he gave in to the inevitable truth that Gaby would never get around to painting his room and did more than a half-decent job painting his room himself, had been cleaned up. Rafi came out of his bedroom and stood shyly in the hallway as Gaby led Hillel to her room.

  “Hillel, you remember Rafi?” Gaby asked as the three of them stood crowded in the little hallway.

  “Sure,” Hillel said, with a broad smile. “How are you?”

  “I’m good. How are you?” Rafi politely said.

  Gaby walked into her bedroom, and Hillel followed, leaving the door open for Rafi, who stood just outside in the hallway.

  “So what’s going on, Rafi?” Gaby asked, taking Hillel’s duffle bag from him.

  “Nothing.”

  “The house looks great. Thanks for taking care of everything.”

  “No problem. The food is in the oven already.”

  “Thanks. You got vegetables from the makolet?”

  “Yeah,” Rafi said. “You want me to start peeling them?”

  “It’s okay, I’ll take care of them, you did enough already. Actually, if you have some time…” she looked questioningly at Hillel who nodded, and then continued, “Hillel has something for you.”

  “Really?” asked Rafi, coming fully into the room. “You have my tefillin?” he whispered hopefully.

  Gaby laughed at Rafi’s excitement, but Hillel was serious. “Yeah, that’s why I came,” Hillel said, pulling the cardboard box out of his duffle bag. “Here, take a look.”

  “Wow. Cool, thanks,” Rafi said, still whispering. He opened the cardboard box gingerly and took out the navy blue velvet bag. His full name, Rafael Yisrael Kupfer was embroidered in thick silver thread on the front, above an image of a set of tefillin. “Wow,” he said reverently. He sat down on Gaby’s bed and gently unzipped the bag and peeked inside. “Wow,” he said a third time.

  Gaby started leaving the room, letting Hillel take over. She paused as she heard Rafi say, “My dad will probably come to Israel soon, and he’ll want to teach me how to put on tefillin.”

  She looked back into the room and watched Hillel casually unzip his own tefillin bag from a side pocket of his duffle bag. “Yeah, probably he will. But meanwhile, we can practice, right?”

  “Right,” Rafi said.

  Gaby let out a breath and closed the door behind her.

  ***

  It was surreal, watching Hillel leave the house with Rafi to go to shul, both of them dressed in their bright white shirts and dark suit pants.

  Once they were out of sight, Gaby turned back from the window to Shira who had come over, ostensibly to help make salads, but really to see how awkward it was going to be with Hillel back in the picture. When she saw how quickly and seamlessly Hillel had integrated himself back into Gaby’s life, Shira had gotten bored of the non-drama and was sitting on the daybed next to Mrs. Kupfer, leafing through old copies of Israel haYom.

  “Isn’t that something,” Gaby said, overwhelmed with joy and disbelief that this was really happening. Hillel was back, and she was never going to let anything come between them again.

  “That you two are back together?” Shira asked without looking up. “Nothing short of a miracle.”

  Gaby rolled her eyes at her, a pointless gesture, as Shira was still absorbed in the pages of the newspaper. She went over to the counter to start chopping up the vegetables for the salads. At least her mother, who was playing along with the charade that Hillel was simply Gaby’s friend, feigned ignorance at Shira’s comment, and turning the page of her novel, asked Shira, “How’s life at the kibbutz?”

  “Boring, same as usual. I can’t wait to finish the year.”

  “Do you have any plans for next year?” Mrs. Kupfer asked.

  “I’m thinking of going to Tzfat next year.”

  Gaby perked up at that tidbit and paused her vigorous mixing of vinegar and oil. “Tzfat? What’s there?”

  “They have a place where you could train horses.”

  “Horses?” Gaby said, turning around to look at Shira.

  “Yeah, like Yael did.”

  “Yael? Who’s Yael?” Did Shira have a whole life without her?

  “How do you not remember? Yael, from Sdei Avraham? She fought off the Arab guy who broke into her house?”

  Gaby thought back for a second. “Vaguely.”

  “Of course, I remember. It was all over the news. What a special woman,” Mrs. Kupfer said, putting her finger on the page of her paperback as a bookmark. “What she managed to do…to resist him, right in front of her children! I’m sure they were all completely hysterical. She must have incredible physical and internal strength.”

  “I know! I think she’s the coolest woman in the world,” Shira said, her eyes glowing with admiration.

  “So what do horses in Tzfat have to do with Yael?” Mrs. Kupfer asked.

  “Well, Yael trained horses in her moshav, so it inspired me.”

  “Ahh,” Mrs. Kupfer said. “She was a horse trainer. That might be one reason why she had the strength to fight back.”

  “Yeah, exactly,” Shira said.

  “Isn’t there a horse training farm not far from here?” Mrs. Kupfer asked. “Why do you need to go all the way to Tzfat? Wouldn’t your family miss you?”

  “Tzfat is not so far,” Gaby said. “It’s like a four-hour drive.”

  “The truth is,” Shira said slowly, ducking her head. “I think my family and I could use a break. There’s a school there that I want to go to.”

  Gaby’s mouth gaped open in shock. “A school? Like a seminary?” Would wonders never cease? Shira in seminary.

  “Yeah,” Shira said, not looking up.

  “I think that’s great,” Mrs. Kupfer said, patting Shira on the arm and giving Gaby a reproving look. “It’s great to learn more about our heritage.”

  “You can learn about your heritage without being stuck in a building,” Gaby mumbled,
turning back to her salads.

  “No, it’s true,” Shira passionately said. “I never really learned anything in school. I always just sat in the back and fell asleep.”

  “Like me,” Gaby agreed.

  Shira didn’t laugh. “I don’t know anything about the things we’re supposed to do, or why we do it. Like, how come you cover your hair if you aren’t married?”

  Gaby turned back around to see what her mother would say. Her mother covering her hair drove Gaby crazy. It felt like a symbol of allegiance to her father, something that man definitely didn’t deserve, but she had stopped bothering her mother about it a while ago. It was her mother’s life; she could do what she wanted with it, including covering her hair. But why on earth would someone do that if they didn’t have to?

  Mrs. Kupfer patted her scarf as if she forgot she was wearing it. Then she shrugged, slightly embarrassed. “There are many reasons why women cover their hair after they get divorced, but the reason why I do it is because even though I may not be a wife, I’m still a mother. If people see me with my hair uncovered and without a ring on my finger, they’ll think I’m a single lady without children.” She paused for a minute, and then said quietly, looking down at her novel, “My children are everything to me.”

  Gaby stood still, the knife in her hand. Her mother caught her eye and gave her a half-smile. Gaby tried to smile back, and whispered, “Oh, Mommy.” She almost went over to give her a hug, but she hadn’t done that in years. Besides, Shira was sitting right there, nodding sagely.

  The boys walked in just then, and Gaby quickly adjusted herself and put a smile on her face to greet them properly, just as she imagined, whenever she actually considered the possibility of having a religious home of her own one day, she would greet her husband when he came home from shul. Then, also just as she imagined, she put everyone to work finishing the salads and preparing the fish and setting the table.

  Hillel poured the wine into the plastic cup they were using as a becher and began to sing shalom aleichem, welcoming the shabbat angels into the house. Gaby sat next to him, filled to the brim with an emotion she couldn’t quite place.

  Rafi, her mother, and Shira sat with Hillel and Gaby around the table that was covered with fresh salads and dips, singing the ancient hymn, while the food warming in the oven filled the house with savory scents. From the windows, the reflections of her family winked back at her, and she knew that the hills of Jerusalem were just behind the glass.

  She breathed deeply, feeling her lungs expand with air and happiness. Although she knew that later, when she would tell Shira how she felt, Shira would laugh at her, there was no denying it.

  This finally felt like home.

  The End

  Additional Information and Acknowledgements

  This novel is based on many of my experiences in Israel. It is a country filled with fascinating people, incredible energy, delicious food, and the sense that history is not just under your feet, but being made every day.

  Shiloh is a wonderful, warm community. I spent a lot of time there when I was a teenager in Israel, and the communal feeling of family and relaxed lifestyle made a deep impression on me. Learn more about the community here.

  Military enlistment is mandatory for all Israeli boys and girls. Many volunteers come from overseas to partake in the cultural experience of either the army or national service. Read more here about serving in the Israeli Defense Force and lone soldiers.

  I may not have portrayed the kibbutz lifestyle so favorably, but nevertheless, I highly recommend checking out this link or to visit one yourself on your next trip to Israel. I spent six weeks on a kibbutz in the summer of 2001, and although I was too immature to appreciate it, it was a very cool experience in retrospect.

  Yad Vashem is Israel’s world-renowned Holocaust Museum. The administrative offices are located at the site, but for the purpose of story, I separated them. The recovery project is a monumental project that was recently inducted into the UNESCO registry. For the novel, I took the liberty of fictionalizing Gaby’s job description. Read more about the arduous, awe-inspiring work Yad Vashem does here.

  My great-aunt Lee Rubin was a phenomenal, brilliant woman who passed away in 2002 and is sorely missed. Everything I wrote about her is factual, and is based on my memories of her and the reminiscing of her sisters, Dotty Stein, Simi Strum, and Mickey Smith. The one exception is the story about the boy who lost his shoe on the train, which I overheard in conversation and falsely attributed to her.

  When I came upon the story that a large number of descendants of Nazis converted to Judaism, I knew I had to include it in my story. It is rumored that close to three hundred Germans have done so. Read more about this astonishing story at aish.com.

  A huge thank you goes out to my many supporters who helped me fund this book, among them: Sora Moss, Miriam Goldblatt, Iris Baumgarten, Shaindy Gross, Shulamis Soffer, Tina Imani, Nillie Goldman, MaaYanky Davis & Co, Ben & Abby Feferman, and last but never least, my ever-suffering husband who is always there whenever I ask. Thank you, Jacob.

  A special shout-out to my niece, Eliana Goldblatt, who volunteered to proof-read my book one more time. That’s dedication.

  I would love to hear what you thought of the book. Please write a review, and let me know what you think!

  Pnina Baim

  Brooklyn, New York