by Assaf Gavron
He would have forgotten about that episode had Ariel’s friend from Boston not come in the following day in the company of someone else, someone whom Roni recognized immediately. It was Idan Lowenhof, who’d served ahead of him in the commando unit. They shook hands and smiled. He had studied business together with the other guy and was now living in New York and working as an investment manager for Goldman Sachs. “What about you?” he asked Roni and looked around. “Cool place. Yours?” Roni nodded, and felt just as pathetic as the evening before. He was again drawn to their corner of the bar, again failed to understand half of what was said, and this time, when Idan went to the bathroom, heard in a drunken whisper from his friend the size of the yearly bonus Idan had just received.
He was captivated not only by the sums but also by the sense that these guys were living real lives, not some phony bullshit. They were at the very heart of things, at the pinnacle of the world economy. Were involved in real matters, serious business, were responsible for portfolios worth billions, consultants to leading companies. Just as the two were leaving, Oren Azulai replaced them at the bar and began talking to some guy from the Haifa suburbs about opening a megaclub in a hangar at Tel Aviv Port. Azulai appeared so bloated with self-importance and so small.
Idan, the army commando–turned–Wall Street analyst, continued to show up at Bar-BaraBush every evening for a week. His mother lived around the corner, and after having dinner with her, he had to escape for a while. Sometimes he came with friends, sometimes he came in late, after a night elsewhere, but during the course of that week, he and Roni connected. He told Roni of the path he had followed, and Roni lapped up his words. Law school and a quick rise through the ranks at a large firm in Tel Aviv, a loan of tens of thousands of dollars, MIT’s Sloan School of Management in Cambridge, an internship at Goldman Sachs while still at school, a job offer from the same firm after graduation, a gradual rise up the ladder and a move to New York. The work also sounded interesting, a competitive world filled with risks and opportunities. Endless hours of work, mountains of money. Idan used terms that were Greek to Roni—private equity, hedge fund, margin call—but he was mesmerized. And Idan said if Roni wanted, he’d help him.
“Your business experience is impressive,” Idan said. “A chain of bars, new concept. We could piece it all together in an application just the way they like—an entrepreneur in the food and entertainment industry. Dressed up nice and pretty.” He chuckled. “And we’ll include the whole story of the kibbutz, the humble socialist background, they’ll love it.”
Roni smiled. “They’d probably like the fact that I’m an orphan, too, right? A real Cinderella story.”
“You’re an orphan?” Idan cried out. “You’re kidding me! Awesome, you’re in without doubt, we’ll weave them a heart-wrenching personal story.” Roni smiled, until Idan said, “But you have to finish your degree with good grades. What are you studying? Economics?” Roni nodded but felt as if the wind had been knocked from his sails. He was far from completing his degree, and not all of his grades were high. “Listen,” insisted Idan, who saw the expression on Roni’s face, “there aren’t any shortcuts here. You need to put in the effort, work hard. But it will repay the investment, big-time. It’s a different world. You’ll love New York, it isn’t Tel Aviv, it’s the real deal. And half of our commando unit’s already there.”
Roni was busy behind the bar that night, caught up in that whirlwind of activity, but Idan’s words echoed in his mind while he rushed back and forth to the kitchen and the bar and the tables and the customers. Idan arrived the following evening, as usual, and asked Roni if he’d already downloaded the application, if he wanted to go through it together. Roni said he hadn’t had a chance yet. He didn’t know if it really suited him. It would take him at least another year to complete the degree, and if he wanted good grades, he would have to devote more time to school. Then another two years of studies in New York, all in English, not to mention the fact that he didn’t have money, and a loan of that size stressed him out.
“I haven’t got it too bad,” he said. “Why are people always hungry for more? I have a successful business, an income, a good life.”
“Yes, people are apprehensive about the loan thing,” Idan said. “It’s a lot of money, but with hard work, you pay it back in five years at the most, and then you are left with a job on Wall Street. On top of the world.” Idan flashed a white smile and said, “And you know, after having worked with the cattle and completed the commando training course and established this business, you can handle hard work with ease. I’m telling you, you can.”
“And all that time? And the English?”
“Your English is just fine,” Idan responded. “I heard you earlier with the tourists. And I’m not going to say anything about the time, because the time will go by whatever happens. But if you’re content with your life, that’s cool, forget it.”
Roni didn’t respond, he simply towel-dried a beer glass and stared at Idan, and did the math in his head and said to himself, God, it’s been ages since I last spoke to Uncle Yaron. Just then a pretty customer signaled him, and he hurried over with a smile to serve her. Even Idan, who hardly knew him, noticed something amiss in the smile.
The Dinner
Meshulam was pleased with Gabi’s success in New York. He’d received enthusiastic calls from Jennifer Shulman-Zimmerman and her father, and was happy about the additional donation of the forest. It was a promising start, he said to Gabi one evening as he grilled steaks on the small barbecue in the yard and sipped beer from a bottle. Gabi simply had to want it, and he’d be able to move up in the organization. “What’s most important,” the boss said as he flipped a bloody steak with a pair of tongs, the drops of blood and fat fueling the flames under the grate, “is that you’re doing something for your country. Zionism, right?”
Gabi himself would admit perhaps, albeit only years later, that Meshulam’s talk about a career, and certainly Zionism, must have struck a chord in his heart. But at that precise moment his heart was elsewhere, seized for Anna. The aura of the twenty-four hours they’d spent together enveloped him. They had soared together to unscaled heights and struggled to come back down to earth—and time froze there, from their perspective, and their thoughts fanned the fire like the fat that dripped onto the orange coals of Meshulam’s barbecue grill. Gabi asked Meshulam if it would be okay for him to have a female friend come stay, and kept a close eye on the expression on his boss’s face—surprise? disappointment? apprehension?—as he responded, “Certainly.” Three weeks later, Gabi and Anna shared an excited embrace when she landed at the airport with a large backpack filled with everything she owned, everything she needed.
And Gabi, all he needed was her. The following months were a perfect honeymoon. Florida’s pleasant weather, the freestanding house with the yard, the warm turquoise sea along which they walked hand in hand every evening, taking in movies at the cinema. Most of the time they made dinner together at home, then stretched out on the sofa to watch a video. Sometimes they borrowed Meshulam’s car and drove around Florida: sea, alligators, sleepy Southern towns that appeared to have stepped out of old movies.
Anna worked as a waitress at one of the beach restaurants and sometimes went along with Gabi to his meetings with donors. Meshulam was happy to pass that sort of meeting on to Gabi after the success in New York, and Gabi was happy to get away from the routine of the office, which included endless phone calls to Jewish institutions and potential or existing donors, and arranging in-home meetings or similar events for Meshulam. There was something refreshing about the one-on-ones with the donors, and Gabi discovered that he was fond of many of the old folks and enjoyed listening to their stories. Meshulam was all for the idea of Anna tagging along to the meetings, because he knew the old men loved the company of a young, pretty woman, a typical born-and-bred kibbutz girl (the volunteer father wasn’t mentioned), and Anna and Gabi were pleased because they got to spend time together at dinners, some of
them excellent, with wine flowing freely, for which they paid not a cent, and Gabi also received a salary. The old folks were for the most part likable and harmless gentlemen, happy to have the opportunity to spend an evening among youth. Only one tried to ask her out on a private second date, and even offered to transfer a portion of his inheritance into her name. Meshulam managed to find a dignified way out of the awkward situation.
One evening they had dinner with Samuel Lax, a Jew born into a wealthy family. His father had done very well for himself in the real-estate business in Chicago after World War II, and the son went on to diversify the business among several additional fields in which he did no less well for himself, like the manufacturing of paper products, primarily paper take-away cups—for a long time he was the leading producer of the cups in the United States, until people discovered China.
The main topic of conversation at these meetings was, naturally, the State of Israel: its future, its internal politics, foreign relations; the donors were ardent Zionists, and it was Gabi’s job to fan those feelings. But Gabi enjoyed trying to identify the personality types hidden behind the Jewish-Israeli patriotism: the ones caught up in themselves and their successful business biographies, who spoke endlessly about money; the bitter ones who focused on family members who had annoyed or abandoned them; and the open ones, the ones who showed an interest, who knew a great deal, were full of fascinating stories about trips around the world and surprising encounters, and displayed a lot of curiosity. Lax was of the last type. He asked about their kibbutzim, their families, their childhoods, and told them about his visits to kibbutzim in the ’60s—he even tried to establish a paper-cup manufacturing plant in the Galilee, but at that time, drinking coffee from a paper cup was unthinkable in Israel.
After inquiring about the background of the young couple, Lax asked about their plans. They looked at each other. They had discussed the future several times. Gabi was happy to stay here for a while. To save a little more, and at some stage down the line return perhaps to the kibbutz, or maybe to Tel Aviv, to join his brother, who knows. Anna said she was thinking of going to university, but she didn’t know where or what she’d study. At Tel Aviv University, Lax said, there was a business school named after his father. His family donated a lot to the university, the next time they were over, they had to go see the sign on the building. After Lax said that, he looked at Anna with his kind eyes and said, “Why don’t you go study there? I think it would suit you. I’m good at recognizing people with the right instincts, with intelligence, and with courage. And those are the three most important things in business, in the end, although there are those who are successful without them, too. I think we’re lacking female entrepreneurs in Israel. I like to see girls at our school.”
Anna’s fork had just slipped a portion of creamed potatoes into her mouth, and she froze and stared at Samuel. She drew the fork out of her mouth, laid it gently and attentively on the table, fluttered her eyelids, and lowered her gaze to the plate. Lax and Gabi watched her all the while in silence. “I . . . I didn’t think about . . . I mean, thanks . . . I . . .” She smiled. When her gaze found Gabi’s eyes, in them she saw question marks and a tinge of sorrow.
When they returned home later in the night, with several glasses of wine throbbing in their heads, they made love, after which they lay there sleepily in each other’s arms.
“Interesting, what he said,” Anna said.
“About what? He said lots of interesting things,” Gabi responded.
“About going to school. Business. I’ve never thought about taking that road, but some people are perceptive. Don’t you think?”
“Maybe he’s simply got his eye on you? Another dirty old man trying to make an impression with his money, buttering you up. He also looks relatively young for these old folks, no? His hair is black.”
Anna laughed. “Fool. Didn’t you get that he’s gay?”
“Gay? How am I supposed to know?”
“It was obvious, by the way he looked at me. And at you. And the fact that he didn’t mention family. And his hair was dyed, yes, he’s better groomed than most of the old folks we meet.”
“Are you sure?” Gabi asked.
“Pretty sure,” she said. “But you didn’t answer me. What do you think about me going to study business?”
Gabi caressed her flat stomach and thought for a few moments. He hadn’t liked hearing Lax say those things to her. Now, though, with the possibility raised that courtship wasn’t the millionaire’s motive, how did he feel? He still wasn’t enamored.
“Particularly because of that,” Anna continued before he answered, “like he didn’t have a vested interest in saying it, it’s more flattering, right?”
“Yes, it sounds good,” Gabi said. “If you think it suits you.” And after staring at the ceiling for a few minutes, he asked, “So we’re going back to Tel Aviv?”
“You want to?” she asked.
He wanted anything that included her in the plans, and said it. She turned toward him in the darkness and held his face between her small hands. “I love you so much, Gabi. I’m so lucky you fell into my lap.” Her voice trembled a little. She kissed him on the lips, a brief kiss. “I fell into your lap? You’re the one who fell into mine,” he responded. “So lucky,” she repeated, and now her voice squeaked, and the tears began to flow, and he sensed a huge wave was threatening to drown him, and he sniffed, too, and hugged her tight, and didn’t say a word. He wondered sometimes what she found in him, what she loved about him. She could very easily attract the attention of many men, and did. The answer he gave himself was that they simply had good chemistry. They were happy together, and that was that, and there was no need to go searching for any other explanations. With her at his side, he felt complete.
The Return
Living in Tel Aviv is living among power lines and solar water-heating systems and peeling plaster and plentiful young people, trees and stores that are open sufficient hours of the day and night to allow you to feel that you’re not at a way station to the real thing. Anna went every morning to university and returned in the evening. Gabi got up late, tidied the house, did the shopping, prepared lavish dinners, and thought about what he was going to do with himself. One of Roni’s former classmates from the kibbutz had opened a flyer-distribution business, so three days a week Gabi shoved flyers into mail slots, or threw escort agency calling cards onto the windshields of cars, using a technique he believed he invented—ambling along the sidewalk alongside the parked cars and throwing the calling card, in an arc, so that it landed in the center of the windshield and slid down under the wiper. Before long he became an area manager—no longer did he shove flyers or throw calling cards himself, but instead handled five young guys who did it. The work brought in a bit of cash, and together with Sam Lax’s support for Anna’s studies and the remains of Uncle Yaron’s savings plan, they lived comfortably.
Anna brought home the university catalog and they spent a few nights going over the list of courses, many of which appeared interesting: history, criminology, economics, film. But Gabi kept asking himself the same questions: Does it suit me? What would I do with a degree like that? Do we have enough money to be two full-time students? And mostly—is that what I really want to do with my life? The answer was always no.
Anna said he was making too big a deal of it. “You’re not being asked to decide the rest of your life,” she said. “You’re going on a journey, and even if you study something for a few years and go nowhere with it afterward, what’s the problem? Few people our age know what they’re going to do with their lives, but most of them go to university because a degree is a degree, because studying is an enriching experience, because—”
“Because that’s what everyone does and they have no idea what else they could do and their parents push them,” Gabi said.
“No one pushed me,” said Anna.
“You were lucky. You realized what it is you want. I don’t know what I want.”
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nbsp; He nevertheless registered as a criminology student, because it sounded exotic, and interesting, with potential employment opportunities in the future. But Tel Aviv University didn’t offer an undergraduate degree in criminology, so he registered at the College of Management Academic Studies. He continued with the flyer work while he completed high-school courses for his matriculation certificate and took the university entrance exam, and began his first year as Anna started her second at business school. Because they were studying at different institutions, they saw less of each other than during the previous year, too rushed in the mornings, too on edge at night. On rare occasions Gabi managed to get to the university and meet Anna in the cafeteria.
Gabi’s life, until then peaceful and laid-back—albeit filled with questions and fears concerning the future—now turned busy and stressful and cluttered, and still full of questions and fears. The quality of life dropped. The dinners were more simple, the home somewhat neglected. When he worked with the flyers, he felt guilty about not studying, and while he was studying, he stressed about not earning a decent living and not being able to focus on the reading or find it sufficiently interesting. The chapter in the catalog that outlined the criminology courses—social situations related to crime, detection, codes of ethics, conflict theories, analysis of topical crime incidents, tours of prisons and the courts—left him in no doubt that it was a fascinating field. But after getting down to the nitty-gritty, after spending long hours in the library reading endless sociology and anthropology and biology papers, all written in neoclassical, pompous, and boring academic language, he began asking himself what the hell was he doing and where his time was going.
And then Anna got pregnant. And all the stress until then—it was like someone twisted a knob and turned it up way higher.