And in the dark night of my sorrow, which knows no consolation, nothing but longing for a beloved man (and only a man), you still won’t give an inch. Again you allude to your unspeakable fantasies.
(To think I once loved you so much.)
Your father, with whom I genuinely sympathize, is still tormented by our failed marriage. He believes that you don’t understand what happened.
You?
You don’t understand?
I’ve conveyed your condolences to my mother. She thanks you. For some reason, she still grieves for you.
Please, don’t answer this letter. Let’s return to our old silence. It may not be so honorable anymore, but it’s just as important.
Galya
27.
RIGHT UP TO the day of the wedding, Ofra, fearful of being left alone with Yo’el’s family, tried persuading her sister and brother-in-law to join them. Yet having had the foresight to purchase two tickets for a biblical play in Tel Aviv that evening, Rivlin was not going to let even an exemption from gift-giving force him to attend a wedding he didn’t have to be at. Hagit’s efforts to sway him, born of sympathy for her sister’s plight, only led him to deliver a harangue. What did Ofra want of him? She spent her life traipsing around the world like a middle-aged princess, with no worries or family duties. It would not be so terrible if for once she had to meet her obligations unassisted. At most, he was prepared to drive her and Yo’el to the wedding. Perhaps even to drive them back, although this was already going too far.
Now, nearing Nature’s Corner, he found himself growing gloomier by the minute as his car followed the lanterns waved in the fading light by the young parking attendants whose job it was, before changing costumes and turning into waiters, to divert him from the highway onto a dirt approach road that looped through fields of crackling stubble. He stepped on the brakes as soon as he reached the parking lot—whence, pounded by music that would grow more savage as the night progressed, a stream of elegantly dressed guests flowed toward a green buckboard propped decoratively on its shaft as though on loan from an old Western, beyond which a bridal gown and bright glasses of wine glimmered through the branches of trees. This was as far as he went. Putting his foot down, he refused even to congratulate or greet the parents of the bride, fearing to encourage the illusion that he might stay. Although his sister-in-law, wearing the dress he had failed to talk her out of, delayed their parting as if still hoping to change his mind, he swung the car determinedly around, wove through a phalanx of arriving vehicles, and sped back to the highway and their biblical drama.
The audience entered slowly, advancing toward a stage in the round, on which they were invited to sit as though part of the performance. To heavy but clear-toned music, twelve young actors and actresses dressed in black took their places, microphones attached to them so that they might speak, or even whisper, the words of the ancient text naturally and from the right inner place.
28.
My heart is sore pained within me,
And the terrors of death are fallen on me.
Fearfulness and trembling are come upon me,
And horror hath overwhelmed me.
And I said, Oh that I had wings like a dove!
For then would I fly away and be at rest.
Lo, then would I wander far off, and remain in the wilderness.
Selah.
ALTHOUGH RIVLIN HAD no idea how the play would develop or what was in store for them, the somber prologue from the Book of Psalms, cast into the black space of the auditorium, made him sit up. He smiled encouragingly at his wife. She nodded back, secretly pleased to have been rescued from a wedding that, even if it did not arouse her envy, was eminently forgoable.
Two actors began to recite? declaim? read? speak? act? passages from the story of the Creation. In the day the Lord God made the earth and the heavens. . . . The story of Cain and Abel . . . This is the book of the generations of Adam. The grand biblical language soared with contemporary freshness. Though hardly a sentence or word did not come from Scripture, the female director had taken liberties, rearranging and editing the text for the benefit of the spectators, who sat in the dark with quiet yet skeptical attention, slowly sipping old wine, its taste unfamiliar to many of them, from a new bottle.
And Adam lived an hundred and thirty years, and begat a son in his own likeness, after his image; and called his name Seth: And the days of Adam after he had begotten Seth were eight hundred years: and he begat sons and daughters: And all the days that Adam lived were nine hundred and thirty years: and he died.
And Seth lived an hundred and five years, and begat Enos. And Seth lived after he begat Enos eight hundred and seven years, and begat sons and daughters. And all the days of Seth were nine hundred and twelve years: and he died.
And Enos lived ninety years, and begat Cainan. And Enos lived after he begat Cainan eight hundred and fifteen years, and begat sons and daughters.
Emerging from a far corner, a solemn young actress enumerated the generations while crossing the stage in a long, slow diagonal, her floating gait trancelike. In the middle of her path several young men lay twisted on the floor, tormented by the venerable ages of the endlessly begetting ancients. Slowly, the tedious list of names and numbers, accompanied by a distant peal of bells, took on meaning and drama, perhaps because of the way the young actress enigmatically paused before each repetition of “. . . and daughters.”
Rivlin sought to catch his wife’s eye, to convey that he liked the performance so far and hoped it would continue to hold his interest. But Hagit’s gaze was riveted to the stage—to which he, too, turned intently back so as not to miss a movement or a word. He admired the director for seeking to breathe life into forgotten and unpoetic biblical texts that were tediously plain: dry laws, harsh commandments, blessings, warnings, curses, lists of clean and unclean animals—all backed by electronic music and made amusingly real by sprightly actors in striking costumes.
Now, as two shaven-headed actors leaned over a large table, discussing between them, with the cackling pedantry of old men, ancient sexual prohibitions both commonsensical and bizarre, a tall, striking actress with golden curls falling to her shoulders took out a small white handkerchef and alternately brandished and tore at it with dancelike, repetitive movements as though it were a flag of protest or surrender. With sorrowful irony she joined the exchange, reciting the mordant laws, intricate and outrageous, meted out by the biblical legislator to the virgin raped by a stranger in a city or a field:
If a damsel that is a virgin be betrothed unto an husband, and a man find her in the city, and lie with her; then ye shall bring them both out unto the gate of that city, and ye shall stone them with stones so that they die; the damsel, because she cried not, being in the city; and the man because he hath humbled his neighbour’s wife; so thou shalt put away evil from among you.
If a man find a damsel that is a virgin, which is not betrothed, and lay hold on her, and lie with her, and they be found; then the man that lay with her shall give unto the damsel’s father fifty shekels of silver, and she shall be his wife; because he hath humbled her, he may not put her away all his days.
“Marvelous!” he whispered to his wife, watching with pleasure as a barefoot actor and actress sat down near them to lament the childlessness of Abraham and Sarah prior to the birth of Isaac.
“Now Sarah and Abraham were old, the plump actress related, and well stricken in age; and it ceased to be with Sarah after the manner of women. She moved contortedly in her envy of the concubine who bore Ishmael to her husband, describing in a deep, sobbing voice not only her own anguish, but that of the bondmaid she tormented:
“And Abram said unto Sarai, Behold, thy maid is in thine hand; do to her as it pleaseth thee. And when Sarai dealt hardly with her, she fled from her face.”
All at once, without knowing how or why, the Orientalist felt a lump in his throat. It was as if the sobbing of the barren Sarah were meant for him, were in him. And while Abraham, the
defiant believer, promised Sarah in God’s name that she would have a son before the year was out, the plump actress writhed on the floor, clinging to her despair and renouncing all hope in a tragic, sardonic voice:
“After I am waxed old, shall I have pleasure, my lord being old also?”
So powerful and convincing was her renunciation that a wordless sorrow moistened his eyes. He froze, afraid to let his wife see. She, however, aware of his tears, laid a light hand on his knee.
29.
“THAT’S THE END of the first act,” Rivlin said. “Now there’s an intermission.”
He leafed through the program, looking for the name of the actress who played Sarah. Putting his arm around his wife, he declared with satisfaction:
“I was on the verge of tears.”
“Do you know why?”
“It touched me. It hit a nerve. Didn’t you feel that way too?”
“Yes. I did.”
They headed for an opening in the human wall besieging the buffet. Suddenly Rivlin saw his wife stop short and duck.
“What’s the matter?”
“Don’t move,” she whispered.
But it was too late. The burly man ahead of them had caught sight of her and was staring at her in astonishment.
“Don’t I know you?”
Hagit said nothing.
“You’re the judge!”
She was unable to move.
“Don’t you remember me?” He reddened, the bills he was holding to give the counterman trembling slightly in his fingers.
Although she shook her head, the shadow of a smile crossed Hagit’s face. Rivlin sensed that she knew this handsome, well-dressed man.
“Is this your husband?” The man pointed, staring at Rivlin.
Hagit said nothing. The Orientalist nodded.
“I’m Amnon Peretz.” The man whispered his name dramatically, as though it were a dark secret. “You still don’t know who I am?” He grinned. “You gave me twelve years.”
Solemn and pale, Hagit bobbed her head. It wasn’t clear what she was confirming—her memory of the trial or the length of the prison term.
“You’re out?”
“For the past three years. For good behavior.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
She bobbed her head again, regaining her composure. Gently she asked:
“Are you enjoying the play?”
Eager to discuss other things, the man was surprised by the question.
“Very much,” he answered with a smile. “And you?”
“Also,” Rivlin replied, heading for a new opening at the buffet.
Back in the dark auditorium, on whose stage silhouettes were slowly moving, Hagit whispered that the man had been a chronic wife- and child-beater until brought to trial. There was no time for further details, for the Children of Israel, having left Egypt with the battered suitcases of European refugees, were now beginning their trek through the desert.
And the children of Israel removed from Rameses, and encamped in Succoth.
And they departed from Succoth, and encamped in Etham, which is on the edge of the wilderness.
And they removed from Etham, and turned again unto Pi-hahiroth, which is before Baal-sephon; and they encamped before Migdol.
And they departed from before Pi-hahiroth and passed through the midst of the sea into the wilderness, and went three days’ journey in the wilderness of Etham, and encamped in Marah.
And they removed from Marah, and came unto Elim; and in Elim were twelve fountains of water, and threescore and ten palm trees; and they encamped there.
And they removed from Elim, and encamped by the Red Sea.
And they removed from the Red Sea, and encamped in the wilderness of Sin.
And they took their journey out of the wilderness of Sin, and encamped in Dophkah.
And they departed from Dophkah, and encamped in Alush.
And they removed from Alush, and encamped at Rephidim, where was no water for the people to drink.
And they departed from Rephidim, and pitched in the wilderness of Sinai.
And they removed from the desert of Sinai, and pitched in Kibroth-hataavah, which meaneth Appetite’s Grave.
Once again, with slow movements and crystalline words, the actors held the audience in thrall, pulling after them strips of fabric on journeys that crisscrossed to far places and peoples, conquered cities and smoking ruins, while listing, besides the laws of illnesses, abscesses, lesions, leprosies, offerings, and priests, the numbers of men under arms in each of the twelve Israelite tribes. With a mixture of horror and glee, the astounded Orientalist noted how—transfixed by a zealous and restless God who, unable to leave them alone, promised and threatened, pummeled and soothed, resolved and decreed—the Jews never wearied of their wanderings.
And then, the journeys, wars, lesions, deaths, burials, homicides, and cities of refuge having come to an end, a thin actress with black tresses licking at her face like little snakes strode to the middle of the stage. Kneeling, she told the story of Jephthah’s daughter with soft, sinuous gestures.
Then the Spirit of the Lord came upon Jephthah, and he passed over Gilead and Manasseh, and he passed over Mizpeh of Gilead, and from Mizpeh of Gilead he passed over unto the children of Ammon.
And Jephthah vowed a vow unto the Lord, and said, If thou shalt without fail deliver the children of Ammon into mine hands,
Then it shall be, that whatsoever cometh forth of the doors of my house to meet me, when I return in peace from the children of Ammon, shall surely be the Lord’s, and I will offer it up for a burnt offering.
A muffled drumming accompanied the maiden as she hurried innocently out to greet her victorious father with a dance, never guessing that she was about to fall victim to his inexorable vow. A tense Rivlin hung on every word as she submitted to her fate.
My father, if thou hast opened thy mouth unto the Lord, do to me according to that which hath proceeded out of thy mouth; forasmuch as the Lord hath taken vengeance for thee of thine enemies, even of the children of Ammon.
And she said unto her father, Let this thing be done for me: let me alone two months, that I may go up and down upon the mountains, and bewail my virginity.
And yet by the end of this wrenching tale, the thin maiden with the snakelike tresses had not exactly submitted, for she now told her story again. The drumming grew faster. Her movements, stylized and measured the first time, were now sweepingly defiant.
Then the Spirit of the Lord came upon Jephthah, and he passed over Gilead and Manasseh, and he passed over Mizpeh of Gilead, and from Mizpeh of Gilead he passed over unto the children of Ammon.
For the second time she came to her cruelly loving father’s words as he rent his clothes: Alas, my daughter! Thou has brought me very low and art my downfall! For I have opened my mouth unto the Lord and cannot go back. The lump was back in Rivlin’s throat. The tears almost shed for the childless Sarah stung his eyes for the senselessly sacrificed maiden.
And yet in her despair, Jephthah’s daughter—having gone with her friends to bewail her virginity upon the mountains before being sacrificed by her father because of the vow he had vowed without stopping to think who might run excitedly to greet him—was not content with telling the story twice. As the drums’ frenzy mounted and the music gathered force, she told the tale of her immolation a third time. The staid, obedient child of the first version was now a proud, wounded tigress, snarling ferociously at her father’s mad vow and the vile deed about to be done her. Her at first sinuous and then sweeping movements turned out to have been but preliminary sketches for the savage paroxysm of her slender body, now lashing out at the world.
And so, when for the third time she uttered her father’s cry as he rent his clothes and blamed not himself but her—Alas, my daughter! Thou hast brought me very low and art my downfall—a shudder convulsed Rivlin’s being. Quickly, he removed his eyeglasses and hid his face.
30.
DESPITE THE
PLAY’S length, it was not yet midnight when the Rivlins’ car groped its way along the dirt road strewn with sputtering lanterns in order to bring Ofra and Yo’el back from their corner of nature to the glitter of civilization. Although the parking lot was mostly empty, the savage music still shook the tall eucalypti as if a great multitude were continuing to dance.
Yo’el and Ofra sat off to one side at an empty table. The former youth-movement counselors, eternally young themselves, looked weary, old, and sad. Their clothes damp from the night vapors rising from the stream, they ignored the commotion on the dance floor with its melee of fat aunts capering with small nephews and grandchildren and ecstatic youngsters hoisting on their shoulders not one bridelike figure but three, all in various states of undress.
Loath to let the last gasps of the wedding spoil his high spirits, Rivlin was for making a quick getaway with his exhausted brother-and sister-in-law. Genuinely indignant, however, the bride’s father insisted that the two shirkers at least have some dessert.
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