A Life Worth Living (3 page)

Her mother turned to look at her, her eyebrows knitted together. “There’s no need for that. I already got your
teudah
. You’re exempt from army service.”

“I know, but I want to do it. It would be fun.” It would also be something that nobody else she knew was doing, but Gaby knew better than to rub in that little fact.

“It’s not the place for a religious girl; we’ll find something…” Mrs. Kupfer was interrupted by a loud drum roll announcing the arrival of the President on the stage. She jumped up and started clapping along with the rest of the exuberant crowd.

Gaby also stood up. She didn’t want to seem rude. Anyway, if she played along and acted happy about everything, her mother would be more likely to support her idea of joining the army. She’d bring it up again later. There was plenty of time.

The drive to Shiloh wasn’t exactly resplendent with milk and honey, as all the school songs insisted the
land of Israel would be filled with. They drove down a regular highway, with plenty of traffic. The only difference between this highway and Brooklyn’s Belt Parkway was that the ubiquitous green-and-white signs were in English, Hebrew, and Arabic.

Until the car reached a military checkpoint. A young soldier in full combat gear, his semi-automatic machine gun prominently displayed, approached them. That was definitely something you didn’t see in
New York. After the soldier checked and returned Mark’s identification card, Henny announced the Kupfer family’s status as new immigrants.

The soldier removed his sunglasses and with a broad smile, said in thickly accented English, “Welcome to
Israel!”

Rafi peered up at the soldier. “Is that a bullet-proof vest?”

The soldier nodded. “
Ulai hem rotzim t’munot
?” he asked Henny.

Henny turned toward the backseat. “Do you guys want to take pictures with the
chayalim
?”

Rafi’s eyes popped open with excitement and he jumped out of the car. Mrs. Kupfer and the Hoffingers followed behind, laughing good-naturedly. The other soldiers gathered around to pose for the picture, and one of them gave Rafi his green helmet to wear.

Gaby got out but stayed by the car, watching the scene impassively.

“You know it’s considered your obligation to take pictures with soldiers, right?”

Gaby turned her head. A young soldier leaned against a post nearby, smoking a cigarette. His dark sunglasses shaded his eyes.

“Are you sure about that? Obligation sounds a little intense,” Gaby said.

“Not intense enough. Every time these American girls see me or my
achim
, they beg us to take pictures with them.”

“Didn’t you hear? I’m not American anymore. I’m an Israeli citizen now,” Gaby retorted.

“Just like that, huh?” The soldier smirked. He pushed off the post and walked over to the car.

“Yeah, we took care of all the paperwork before we even got on the airplane. I think they were scared we would change our minds.”

The soldier stubbed out his cigarette and took off his sunglasses. Gaby was startled to see how green his eyes were against his dark skin. “So, where are you going now?”

Gaby was about to answer when everyone came back to the car, laughing and calling out their goodbyes. The soldier stepped back toward his post. As the car began to drive away, Gaby looked back through the windshield. The soldier grinned and waved. She quickly turned back around, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her smile back.

The roads after the checkpoint were emptier; the scenery consisted of rolling hills covered in short shrubs and the occasional tree.

“Where are we gonna live if
Shiloh is given back?” Gaby asked suddenly.

“Given back?” Henny turned to look at her from the front seat. “
Shiloh has always been Jewish land. There’s no one to give it back to.”

Gaby raised her eyebrows. Henny had to know that there was more than one opinion on that matter.

Henny continued. “Shiloh isn’t going anywhere, Gaby. We built this town with our own hands, and we’re staying in it. Do you know Mark and I were one of the first families to move here?”

Gaby shook her head.

“At first, we lived in caravans, like in a trailer park. And now, Shiloh is a real town. We have almost three hundred families, a daycare center where your mom will work,” Henny reached over to give Mrs. Kupfer a reassuring pat. “Farms, archeological digs, a grocery store… it’s a great place to live. There are a bunch of kids your age, too. You’ll see. ”

Gaby smiled politely, though she was far from convinced by Henny’s sales pitch.

“You know, Mark works occasionally as a tour guide,” Henny said. “Mark, go ahead, tell them a little about Shiloh.”

Mark looked through his rearview mirror at the three Kupfers sitting together in the back seat and smiled.

“Ancient Shiloh was a very special place,” he began. “It was the first capital in Israel, and the place where the
Mishkan
rested before the first
Beit haMikdash
was built in Jerusalem, when Jerusalem became the new capital of Israel. Every Jew would make a pilgrimage to Shiloh three times a year to celebrate the three festivals there. The old Shiloh is now called Tel Shiloh, and large excavation projects have led to the discovery of incredible ruins. You can go there and see the ruins for yourself. We organize tours every holiday.”

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.