"I don't want to die anymore. I want to live."

In the last few weeks, every second sentence I read, takes on a new meaning through the lens of the war. So does the sentence from the book, said by Hila Saban and quoted above, "I don't want to die anymore. I want to live", feels accurate.

I write this column once a week and this is the third time since the iron swords began to sear into the soul and heart of the nation that I am here, at my desk, eating, breathing, living. The first rain has already visited here and passed. I'm here, and they are...Name. 

19th day of war, 19th day in captivity. I try to control the thoughts that run by themselves - are they hungry? are they cold What thoughts do they want in these endless moments?

No, Lily, don't describe to yourself in detail, don't imagine the kind adults with the bright smile you saw in the pictures, don't look at the one who is the husband and the one who is the wife, and above all - in no way, don't imagine the children, the babies. don't do it to.

What is the importance of reading these days? Post another chapter? What right to continue when others no longer? The guilt of life is a force not to be underestimated. 
and words. I'm still looking for them to testify about a place I didn't ask to be in, about a war that none of us could have foreseen the asteroid that hit us with a dark force. 

Alongside all the guilt, pain and doubts - the duty to live is upon us. And the way I see it, the duty to write is on me. I am a man of words, this is my job and this is my part. Must live, must document, must find the words to tell our story. As Harley Davidson was quoted, "When you come to write the story of your life, don't let anyone else hold the pen." 

In this week's episode, Hila allows herself to live and also to be a little jealous of Dr. Bell. Feelings are a good sign. When there are feelings there is no crippling numbness.  

Happy reading and take care please,

Lily

Chapter 37

Hila was lying in bed in their room in the Gregorius Church and looked at John. He didn't know, but many nights she would wake up and lie for hours, watching him sleep. If he happened to open his eyes, her eyes would immediately be closed. He was also watching her, it turned out. She wasn't surprised by that, he must have done it quite a bit, especially in the first months, when they met.

There was something nice about knowing he cared for her like that. Sometimes she would hear him breathing deeply. There were times when he muttered his 'Little Darling' and she was sure he would find out she was awake as her heart raced when he said the words.

He suddenly moved in his sleep and she immediately closed her eyes, thinking he was waking up. But she only heard movements and a few murmurs. When she dared to open her eyes she saw that he was dreaming. What disturbs John Bell's sleep? Among the mutterings she clearly heard something that made her skin crawl. "Sylvia." who is sylvia She knew it wasn't his mother or anyone he mentioned to her. She straightened up in her bed. John in the meantime stopped his movements and fell into a peaceful sleep again.

In the kitchen the water was boiling in the pinjan and she poured herself the cup of tea she was taught to love here. She thought of the mate they used to drink at home. John thought the English tea was strong - it didn't taste dull. She smiled as she imagined him trying to drink the drink. He must have refrained from shrinking his face. She remembered the faces her friends didn't bother to hide when the mat slid down their throats.

"I can join?" Pastor Martin smiled at her from the kitchen front door. 
She smiled at the dear man. The similarity between him and John was exactly that, in that 'almost' smile. Maybe it's an English thing, a kind of slight movement in the lips, which don't allow themselves to stretch. 

"This is your kitchen, Reverend Martin. I just boiled water, are you ready for me to make you the English tea that only you and John think you know how to make?" By now he had already laughed and sat down at the dining table, indicating that she had permission.

They drank in pleasant silence, but she felt there was something he wanted to say to her. She also feared that she knew exactly what it was.

"I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart, Reverend Martin. I haven't had the chance to stop for a moment and tell you how much I appreciate what you are doing for me. You and Father Francis are angels that God has sent into my life. I can never thank you enough for sheltering me and opening the Your home, and your hearts. I appreciate it even more because I know how unacceptable it is."

"There was no other option, my daughter. Any man would do that. I am no different than anyone else who has God's way in his heart."

"I wish it were true, Reverend Martin. I can assure you that not every person would act like that. Not even the ones who are supposed to." She looked at the half-full teacup. After Yiffit's reaction, who stood by her side and banished all the bad from her, she realized how much injustice Emma had done her when she asked her, after that time in the hospital, to keep things within the family. This thought hurt her a lot. 

"Pastor Martin, can I ask you something?" He nodded and she swallowed before working up the courage to ask. "Do you know who Sylvia is?" 

He widened his eyes in surprise. "You mean Sylvia Plath? I'm surprised John mentioned her."
"He wasn't exactly talking about her. He was saying her name in his sleep." Pastor Martin nodded in understanding, but added nothing. "So? Can you tell me who it is?"

"You should ask John that question, daughter."

"You're right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't pry into his life behind his back."

"You have more feelings for him than just being your doctor." She noticed there was no question mark in what he said.

"And you're not happy about that. You don't think your nephew needs someone who's already damaged."

"That's not what I think at all, daughter. I'm not that narrow-minded."
"I apologize, Reverend Martin. I didn't mean to imply anything. But it is something to think about. Even my mother told me that I would have trouble marrying someone worthy." 
Until now he had answered her calmly, but the following things he said in a strained voice.

"If someone has committed a crime against another person, it does not mean that the victim should live his life in the shadow of the crime. Our duty is to withstand the trials that God puts us through and continue to be good and upright people. I see that your path is straight, despite what happened. I think that whoever you marry will be a bar luck." Dios mio, as her grandmother used to say. She didn't expect it.

"Thank you, Reverend Martin. It's hard for me to believe in myself. I don't know when I'll be able to go back to living a normal life, if ever."

"I see you're on the right track. I wouldn't worry too much."

"Reverend Martin, could this lucky man be your nephew?"

The priest closed his eyes before answering. "Look, my daughter. It's not because of what happened to you or him. The problem is deeper. Besides the fact that John is your attending physician and it is not appropriate for a doctor to fall in love with a patient, there is no way in Israel for a Christian to marry a Jewish woman. Certainly not a Catholic Christian, like us. "

"If I were Catholic, would you be willing for your nephew to be with me?"
"I don't decide for my nephew."
"But suppose, Reverend Martin."
"Isn't it right to assume that you will always be Jewish, my daughter?" She had no answer to that question. She didn't really intend to be baptized in the church and abandon her father's tradition.

They continued to sit in silence until John came running, his eyes startled. He stopped at the kitchen door and looked at her and then at his uncle and seemed relieved. It was clear as hell what he was thinking until a moment ago. He always feared that she would disappear from him and did not trust her not to try again to reach out to her soul. She hated it.

"There's a tea party and I didn't get an invitation?" he finally asked, but Pastor Martin got up from his chair and announced that it was time to lie down to sleep. interesting. Despite what he thought, he didn't try to separate her and his nephew.
"I didn't hear you woke up," John said after she resumed her tea and made him one too.

"It's okay, Doctor, you're allowed to sleep sometimes." She knew it upset him when she called him Doctor, but after his dream and the conversation with Pastor Martin she felt the need to put some distance between them.
John ran a hand through his hair. She already learned that he does it when he doesn't know how to behave with her or what to say to her or when he wants to ask her something sensitive and doesn't know how she will react.

"Did you… sleep well?"

"I slept very well."

"And how, too… I'm trying to ask what woke you up. I don't know if you needed me and I was asleep. I'm sorry if you did."

"You mean to ask if I woke up crying and you weren't there to entertain me? So no, I just woke up. You'll be surprised, but there was no drama. I slept and then got up."

"You're mad."

"No, John, I'm not mad. I just don't like to think that I'm so needy and that you start running around the church because you're afraid that I decided to die today and you didn't have time to stop me."

"It's not what—"

"That's exactly what it is. Don't try to deny it. You didn't see me in bed and immediately thought the worst. So let me tell you something, Dr. Bell. I know my reputation isn't that good, but I won't do it. I don't want to die anymore. i want to live More than anything else, I'd like you to believe me." 

"Alright, I'm sorry. I'll remember that next time." John examined her. "Yet you're mad or something. You keep saying, Dr. Bell."

"What's there to be angry about? I'm fine." the emphasis.

"And didn't you have some dream last night that woke you up?"

"No, color. I had no dream last night. Maybe you had?" Her voice shook. She didn't really want to tell him that she heard him say a woman's name in his sleep. John studied her for a long time. Finally he didn't continue the conversation. She didn't know if it was because he had no idea or because he preferred not to share Her. "You know, I've never asked you how it is that Dr. John Bell, someone who has a respectable job, who doesn't look bad at all, who comes from a good Catholic family, how come you're not married? How old are you already? Forty? "

"Hey," he teased her, "I'm twenty-eight years old, I understand that by 'not bad looking' you meant relatively to someone old."
"I'm kidding, John, you don't look old, or bad." She looked away and blushed. Sometimes she felt with him like in the sixth grade, when she started to be interested in boys.

"What's all this, Hila?" He lifted her chin and studied her face. "Did Uncle Martin say anything to you?"
"no no." She moved away from his touch. "Your uncle is an angel. He can't say anything bad to anyone."

"Still, something is bothering you. I can't figure out what."

"It seems to me that you are evading an answer, John." returned the call spotlight to him.

"No, Hila. I wasn't married and I wasn't even engaged, okay?" and no It wasn't right. She still didn't get the information she wanted, which she had become obsessed with in the last few hours, since he dreamed about that Sylvia.

"What about a girlfriend in university? In high school?" 
A cloud passed over him. Here, right here is something, she thought.

"Everyone had a girlfriend in high school," he dismissed her. 

Aura froze in place. "Not for everyone," she finally said, standing up and taking the empty glasses to the sink.

"Oh Hala. What an idiot. I'm sorry, Hala." He got up after her, but she didn't turn to him. She silently washed the glasses and placed them on the drying rack. "Hila." His voice sounded closer. She dropped her shoulders. She will never be normal in her life. Pretending otherwise was as foolish as her. "Hey," he whispered in her ear, "Little Darling. I'm sorry. I wasn't sensitive."

How she hated the treacherous tears, and refused to turn to him and show him how pathetic she was. He wrapped her in a hug from behind, rested his chin on the top of her head and sighed. He didn't ask her anymore, didn't say anything, sometimes it's best to keep quiet.

Hila almost fell asleep. He put the guitar down and finished playing and singing her what she asked. When we lay down to sleep she thought it had been a strange night, but she no longer had the strength to think any more. She must not have expected to hear his voice again before she got up this morning. "I had a friend in high school. Her name was Sylvia Plath. She was a girl full of laughter, and the biggest heart there is. And she died of leukemia."

She turned on her side and looked at him. He met her eyes and she saw how difficult it was for him to still talk about her. "Thanks for telling me, John. I'm sorry she's dead."

"It's an old story, Little Darling. It's not that I think about her every day that passes, or don't live my life to the fullest. On the contrary, she made me swear that I'll always do what I dream of doing, no matter what others say. It's because of her that I play and sing. She's also the reason that I decided to become a doctor."

"Sounds like she was one of a kind." She didn't like that she was jealous of someone who was long dead. And more cancer. How can you compete with a ghost?
"She was. And mostly she was a good friend."

They looked at each other, each at the other end of the room. Hila felt that her eyes would soon be filled with tears and she closed her eyes.
"Hila?" She opened them to him with a question. "I think you're one of a kind." 
You can't fake such sincerity, she thought. 

"You're not bad at all either," she whispered. "I mean, for someone your age." She didn't hold back, and laughed as a pillow flew towards her from the other end of the room.