33 days.
I drive on the side road that leads from Zemach to the kibbutz, I see someone with baskets, walking warmly. offers him a ride. He smilingly says that everything is fine and continues walking safely to his temporary home. I feel my eyes flooded.
These people, 33 days without a home and not knowing when they will be able to return there or will their home stand when the threat is removed? And he smiles. No less than the rift that exists, the enormity of the people's spirit brings me to my knees and tears pulsate in my throat.
It's 9:30 in the morning and the door opens. My man is back from the fields. After nearly thirty years since he held the title in Nanchik, he returned to carrying bunches with an average weight of 50 kg on his shoulders, back and forth in the banana plantation. He finishes with a tired smile the morning of volunteering and continues his work day at Intel.
All of Israel volunteers, volunteers. We slot ourselves into niches we never imagined we would before that black Sabbath. It seems that people are walking around outside and only looking in their eyes where they can make it easier for the other. I hope we will keep this brotherhood even after the war. 'Imagine a world' where 'do for another and it is for you' will be a rule of thumb of our lives, and then maybe it will still be 'painful, but less'.
We continue with another chapter in the book 'Bat number four'. This time, on the rock at Shekmona Beach, in the fourth season of 1972, Hila and John no longer deny the inevitable.
pleasant reading,
Lily
Chapter 39
The rockery on the beach of Shekmona replaced the bench at the edge of the garden of the Carmelite monastery. Hila felt safer with each passing day. She didn't know how it happened, but the little doubt she may have still had about Dr. John Bell dissolved in her last phone call with Yiffit.
This Englishman loved her, said her sister, no one could do so much for someone who was only his patient. Regarding his love, Hila was not convinced at all, but she knew that he wanted her best. How much more can you prove it to her? For ten months now, this man has not only brought her back to life, but has also breathed into her a new, different, exciting spirit.
In many ways she was glad that she was no longer up in the monastery, nor did she like to think about what had taken her there, about what she felt when her greatest nightmare came true on the sidewalk near the monastery garden, about her escape down the dark mountain, alone, without John and his enveloping presence. However, she knew one thing even in those moments, one thing that proved to her what John Bell was to her and what the greatest gift he gave her was.
She didn't run away because she wanted to die. She ran away because she wanted to live. And this knowledge was worth all the moments of suffering and the long days when she shut herself in fear in the church. John Bell made her want to live.
Another reason why she liked to be in the church of Gregorius and not upstairs, in the monastery of Stella Maris, was because we slept in the same room. Pastor Martin agreed that she would stay in the church, even though it was unusual.
She knew they wouldn't be able to sleep in the same bed together, but she enjoyed the days they did.
She was weak in the first few days and loved to fall asleep in his arms when he sang 'Let It Be' to her. After she got better, he moved to sleep in the bed at the other end of the room, which was very large, and his bed was very far from hers. The door was also always left open and that was fine, much more than she could have asked for. In general, I was surprised that Pastor Martin agreed to all this. These people surprised her every day.
Foreign people, from a different religion, from a different culture, that her family always warned her to stay away from, turned out to be the really good people. They taught her that even if she didn't find support in her own home, she could lean on friends, on people who live for their God, and in his name do good to humanity. Luckily, she grew up in the unique Haifa. The city that was home to all religions, a place where neighborliness between Christians and Jews was commonplace, like in the neighborhood where she grew up and knew Father Francis.
However, despite their kindness and even though Reverend Martin treated her like a housemate, she did not doubt herself for a moment that he would approve of John and her being together. He does what is right to do. Saves a poor girl from some cursed fate, but he wants something better for his nephew, and she has to agree with him. John deserves someone much more complete than her.
Neither she nor John were religious, yet she suspected that just as she would not give up her Judaism, he would not give up being the son of Jesus. There is something about a person's roots that plant them in a place, that give them hope. She didn't think she would feel this way, and yet, how could she give up the sound of the blowing of the shofar that was heard at closing time on the evening of Yom Kippur, or her memories of going to the synagogue in the neighborhood hand in hand with her father.
She remembered the last Yom Kippur before father passed away, remembered what she asked God for. All she was interested in before her brother burned her dreams was to study literature and art. In England, of all places, where John came from. She chuckled at the absurdity. Those days seemed so far away. But one thing she knew, she would not harm her father's memory and would not pray in the church instead of the synagogue.
"Where are your thoughts today, Hila?"
"Back in time, in the synagogue with my father." She felt his body stiffen in place.
"Tell me about your father, about the synagogue." Still asked.
"My father was an ardent fan of the Argentina national team," she laughed. "I even had La Selection boxer briefs." Her laughter died down as she thought again of the days that would never return, but John didn't let her sink into sadness.
"Go on, tell me more. Would you also watch the games? Where were you when England refused to shake hands with the Argentine team in the '66 World Cup?" John laughed as she opened her eyes.
"You're starting a war, Dr. Bell."
They exchanged more verbal blows and she fell silent again. "And the synagogue?" he finally asked.
"On Yom Kippur, two hours before the end of the fast, we would go to the synagogue. It was crowded and many chose to sit outside, but my father always went in. When I was a child, I could go into the men's area with him, but after the age of twelve, actually even after the age of ten, I already had to go up above, for the help of women."
"What do you mean? Why couldn't you be together?"
Hila sighed as she thought how different their worlds were. "In a Jewish synagogue, men and women are not allowed to sit together."
"But I was in a Jewish synagogue in London and they did sit together," he insisted.
"Oh, it must have been a Reform synagogue. There are several currents in Judaism. The accepted current in Israel is Orthodox and here the rules are according to the old tradition. The Orthodox hate the Reformers even more than they hate the Christians." She was startled when she realized what she said.
"It's okay, Hila. I'm not an idiot. I know there is mutual hatred between religions. It's not something new."
"I don't. I don't hate anyone, John. I never did, not even the Muslims. I never understood the wars. You have to believe me." Her breathing became heavy and her face was scared.
"Hey, hey, relax, Little Darling. I know, I know, I never thought for a moment that you thought that way. And even if you did, I know that you don't think that way about my uncle or the monastery at Stella Maris, or you wouldn't have agreed to be there."
"I don't think so of you either, John." caressed his face. She grew brave as time passed in his company. John shuddered and closed his eyes tightly. She knew he was holding back with her, but she was tired of holding back. She didn't understand why either. She already was anyway... so what does it matter? She leaned towards him to place her lips on his. He opened his eyes in surprise and moved away, only slightly away, and his blue-green eyes stormed.
John held her face, not to kiss her as she had hoped, he was about to give her another one of his lectures. "Listen carefully, Hila. I'm not going to take advantage of the situation. I'm not going to do anything with how I feel about you. I will never, ever, ever hurt you."
"But that's what I want, John. I'm not innocent anymore anyway, what does it matter?"
"Damn it, Hila, what happened to you doesn't mean you're not innocent. On the contrary. You can't let anyone take advantage of you or your body just because you don't have your hymen anymore. It doesn't matter. Do you understand what I'm saying? It's not Mishna."
“I don't think you have anything to worry about, Dr. Bell. I don't think anyone would want me like that for something serious."
"What?! You're out of your mind. Don't underestimate people just because there's one evil person who hurt you. You're not to blame for what happened. Everyone can have trauma in their life. It doesn't define you, you're not what he tried to make of you, what you are Doing yourself. You are all the best in the world, Hila. You are funny, you are bright, you spread light on an autumn day like this. You... whoever is with you will win, he will not do you a favor, he will do himself a favor."
"Then why don't you want me, John? If it's true what you say, if you mean it, why not you?"
"How, Hila? How can I? How can we? Tell me how and I'll do it. But I don't see how. I can't marry you and you can be sure I won't take you before it's official."
Hila breathed heavily, her heart once pounded and excited. "Did you think of marrying me?"
"I don't see why you're surprised, little darling. You're all I've been thinking about since midnight mass last Christmas." Now he was already hugging her, crushing her to him as if he wanted to unite their bodies in a hug.
"Already then?"
"Already then," he sighed. "But you and I – it's impossible. I have to be realistic. I'm leaving soon, this winter. I came here for a year. You're not someone I'd have an affair with, even without your past, even without being your doctor. You're not the type to visit For Laila, you're the type to marry her, Hila."
"Please, kiss me, John. Just a kiss. I can't breathe anymore. I have to know that it's real, that what you told me is true. I want to stay with something I felt, and not just in my raging heart. John, I—"
"Oh, hell." His lips caressed her softly, the opposite of his palms that pressed her to him. She softened in front of him, opened her mouth and her heart to this man, who came from the land of her dreams and healed her.
They returned hand in hand to the Gregorius Church. When they parted for a night's sleep, she didn't know it would be a final parting.