IT

He doesn't hate Israel, he doesn’t. He’s been accused of late of not fulfilling the mitzvah of loving this bowl of sand, Sabras and Arabs… But he doesn’t. What he hated, he realized was what Israel was supposed to be. Finding an apartment, buying furniture, making shabbos and becoming a responsible citizen of Am Israel were all that he’d hoped for, dreamed for, in the years when he hammered and twisted himself into this new self. The patterns that they’d built together, rising with the sun to divide into their separate selves until sundown when they’d reunite as a fractious shared identity, had begun to be the template through which he viewed his life. But the rhythms of that life were far-away music for him, like the sound of a waterfall relentlessly drumming away in the distance, the deep bass vibrating the air in a way that fools you into thinking the rushing water is just around the next bend, near but tantalizingly intangible.

It was hard to believe that there was no way out. That there was no way he could have prevented this from happening; a bit of advice before they’d gone on that last date, some early counseling, or the right combination of words to smooth over a fight seemed like it could have completely changed the course of things for him… But as he sat there in the antiseptic office he was told that since IT had already happened it must have been Gd’s will.

Before IT had even happened everyone knew, the whispered secret passed from woman to woman like wine in a paper bag; intoxicating and delicious at first but nauseating the moment that one compared situations. So when IT was done he remembered thinking, “I suppose there’s no use trying to hide.” But when he emerged from the basement he didn’t want to be seen trying to move on with life, trying to enjoy himself; it seemed fitting to live life like an elegy for what should have been. Each second of time passing was another footstep away from the dream; to not move, secluding himself behind closed doors seemed like a way to stay immobile, to slow the gradual slide… The few things he’d done to keep himself going while he was in the basement had only gotten him dirty looks and cold shoulders. What person wouldn’t glare at this “destroyer of worlds”; his actions, scary in their implications for her own union. He hadn’t heard what they were saying about him, but the silence that enveloped him when he tried to interact with any of the other “friends” he’d had was palpable. And any attempt to bridge the gap just provided fodder for the rumor mill; so he stopped trying, and went back into the basement…

“When good things happened, like when you raced did your coach deserve the credit? Did you?”
He knew that it was a trick question, the old man certainly didn’t believe that he was the first to tell him the punch-line so he surely wasn’t surprised when he answered, “No, Gd.”
“So isn’t it chutzpah to think that you are in control now?”

Eventually the sympathetic eyes began to stand out from the hard stares of the crowd. Besides the feeling of relief, was disappointment that he’d made such a superficial impression in the land of milk and honey… The wheels of his plane seemed to have only touched land long enough to be singed by the hot soil. A few times someone came up to him and said, “I didn’t take sides.” At the time he thought these entreaties to be insincere, it couldn’t be easy to speak to the person that had hurt HER so; but in retrospect maybe it wasn’t Gd given blind obligation that had propelled the words out of their mouths… But he didn’t want to burden them with the responsibility of keeping the mask on their face, or test their loyalty; so when he swung open the door this time he didn’t try to connect to them. And it was easier. He remembered taking a breath, swinging open the door and plunging back into life; his pallor helped, it reminded the multitude that he too had a piece carved out of him. “Eventually,“ he thought as he met a glower eye to eye, “I’ll dance beyond this.” But during his first visit out he needed constant reassurance, “I’m still ok?” He asked, as if he couldn’t check his own body for cuts and scrapes. In one of the dark times when he was alone he realized that the nagging pain wasn’t loss, but the lingering ghost of his dream; disappointment haunting his every moment, every decision…

“If you are alive, then you are loved. If you begin to stumble, begin to falter then you must remember that we are all of us, and the Ribono Shel Olam… Just as you will go ask your corporeal friend for help, how much more so that you should ask “He-That-Created-You” for help.”
“But for some reason he doesn’t want me to be happy, I wish he’d just leave me alone”
“The fact that you are sitting before me is proof that he is sustaining you… But you’ve forgotten the ultimate purpose of good in this world that I taught you.”
“No. It’s a tool for more good; along with all that is bad in the world.”

One day it all changed, he couldn’t remember when or how; just that one day he woke up and it was over. Because one impossible dream had died it gave birth to two new ones; two shiny and bright practical dreams. They may not have been as enticingly vivid as the dead illusion, but they were real, and whole. This realization that ultimately the whole experience was not a world being turned upside down, but rather right side up changed the palette. That’s all this was, a return to normalcy. There are 10,000 people just like them in Israel each year, but this was their catastrophe their own “death in the family”, they were two people that happened to each other. The professionals told him that if IT hadn’t happened they might still be chasing around the same circles, might still be singing two different discordant songs; only this time destroying the ears of another generation. He knew that he didn’t want to leave another generation living with the ghost of what should have been, to spend a moment at 5, 10, 16 or 32 in a shadow…

“Should I start work, or continue in America?”
“Learn learn, isn’t it a schus to give money so other people may learn Torah!?! Go, learn…” He swayed for a moment with his eyes closed then nodded, “Go learn in Yiddish.”
“Do you have a shidduch?” He asked.
“Uhm, no… IT happened.”
More swaying, then he pinched his cheek and nodded his head while he intoned, “A good shidduch.”

Labels: divorce