Hill of Secrets: An Israeli Jewish mystery novel (10 page)

"Sounds interesting," I lied. “Are you married?"

"Of course."
What an idiotic question!
"I married Hila Erlich from the Achdut branch," he said this as if I was supposed to know Miss Hila Erlich from the Achdut branch.

"Am I supposed to know her?"

"She's Oren's sister."

"Oren Erlich?" I was struck. Oren was Yuval's best friend. They both ruled the branch, tall and beautiful, no one tried their reign. I remember on one of the rare Saturdays in which I bothered showing up at the branch, right after the evening prayer, the girls of the branch agreed to meet later in Orda Square for pizza and ice cream. I was going and was asked to pass the message to the boys' circle. "Who decided that?" Oren asked in a belittling tone. "
You
?" He almost spat. It was inconceivable that everyone would go out because of me to Orda Square, the nearly permanent hangout of the popular clique every Saturday night. "Today, we're not just best friends, we're brothers by law." He was amused by his own joke.

"I assume I'm meeting you here because you have kids."

"Right." He smiled proudly. "I brought my second born late because he had a hearing test."

"How many kids do you have?"

"Three and another one on the way." Yuval was right on the "four kids" trend.

"Nice." I lied again.

"Are you in touch with anyone?" Yuval was curious to discover if he could expand his gossip circle.

"Not really. I ran into Tamar here, two days ago."

"Tamar?" He furrowed his brow.

"Tamar Golan." He still stared at me with a dumbfounded look. "She was in my class… she's a doctor now."

"Oh! Tamar Shlezinger."

"Yeah, she lives not far from here. Are you in touch with her?"

"Not really. Givaat Shmuel has gotten really big." Despite all of the years that have passed, the cliques were still maintained.

"Did you know the Danilowitz family?"

"We were in touch."

"Really? How did you know them?"

"You know… synagogue, running into each other at the playground, at the mall."

"And what were they like?"

"A lovely couple, I can't understand what came over him."

"Did you know him?" I hoped that maybe, finally, here was someone who also knew Meir and not only Hanni.

"We weren't close friends, but we occasionally talked, no heart-to-hearts, just small talk."

"And what was your impression of him?"

"Nice guy, maybe a bit introverted, but very positive."

"Violent?"

"Not in the least, maybe even the opposite - too gentle."

"And did you know Hanni?"

"Hanni was a branch member with us…" he reminded me, "… amazing girl, beautiful, a great mom." Apparently the opinions about Hanni's parenting skills weren't unanimous. "You know, she was a lawyer too, but she put her career on hold to be a full time mom." I had the feeling he was chiding me for the fact that I was still not fulfilling my demographic designation.

"So she was a good mother?"

"Great. I'd see her a lot in the playground and her kids were always dressed like out of a magazine." Yuval was of Shira's opinion, that Hanni and her children were magazine material, though she made it sound like a negative thing while Yuval saw this as an advantage.

"Did you ever talk to her? Did she tell you if something was bothering her?"

"I didn't talk to her as much. Maybe my wife could help you." I took out a small notepad and wrote down a phone number for Hila Eidelman (formerly Erlich).

I gave Yuval my business card, in case he heard something interesting and wanted to share it with me.

"We may be having an Amishav branch reunion. I'll email you the details," He said, waving the card I handed him.

"Excellent." I smiled an artificial smile. I'd rather watch paint dry on a wall than meet up this gossipy bunch.

Yuval felt, for some reason, that this accidental meeting has made us friends and he came nearer to me and whispered, "Excuse me for interfering, but, in your shoes, I'd go with a sperm bank. There are even religious girls our age, now, who’ve given up finding a groom and had a kid by themselves before their biological clock runs out."

Yuval misinterpreted my silence. He probably thought his words touched me, so he lightly patted my shoulder and said, "I hope I was of help to you," and ran out to his car, which was blocking the entrance gate to the school.

Saturday, 5.23.2009

Ever since I could remember, in our family, Shira was considered the successful child and I was the black sheep. Although we had two more siblings—Ayala, who was four years younger than me and Evyatar, who was six years younger than me—comparisons were always made between the two of us. The difference between the classic model for a good kid and what I grew up to become and what Shira grew up to become, is a chasm. We were both academic and I even studied an established profession like law, but as you know, I eventually did nothing practical with my degree, and if you asked my mother, she’d have said I’d thrown away a degree that cost me tens of thousands of shekels just to become "a cop".

She told me this only before I joined the police. After the deed was done, she made sure not to belittle it to my face, but only behind my back. Shira, who was born a year and a half before me, was an occupational therapist, a profession that fitted her like a glove.

My parents had taken special care not to talk about the childlessness issue with me. Those conversations never ended well and here too, Shira fulfilled for them everything they expected from their offspring. Shira had three adorable, beautiful and well brought up children.

But, beyond the dry facts of career and children, Shira was simply a model daughter, always remembered to send flowers on Mother's Day (in all our names), call every aunt and uncle to wish them a happy new year on Rosh Hashanah, when our grandfather was sick she ran around the hospitals with my mother. When someone wasn't feeling well, she always took an interest and cared for them. And on top of all this, she also ran her household single-handedly.

I lived alone, and my apartment looked like a disaster area. Shira's house was always impeccably neat, especially given she had three children. She always claimed she had no choice because patients came to her house and she felt obligated, but that was Shira's way of making me feel comfortable with the fact that I couldn't organize myself. Because of the mess and because of the fact that I could hardly cook an egg, I didn't entertain my family at my house too often. My mother and Shira covered for me by claiming that it was impossible to get to my house by foot on Shabbat and that my house wasn't really Kosher, but those were just excuses, because they could come on a weekday and I could buy plastic tableware. The real reason was that nobody wanted to come to my house to eat frozen processed food I heated up in the microwave, when they could go to Shira's for a luxurious meal.

That weekend, Shira invited my parents to spend the Sabbath at her house. The whole family was supposed to go to a hotel to celebrate Shavuot the next weekend, but a sudden ant infestation had forced my parents to exile (until the smell of the extermination passed). Since I had no problem driving on Shabbat, I joined them for lunch. Evyatar, our younger brother went to spend Shabbat with a friend of his in Karnei Shomron. Ayala, our third sister lived in Ramat Gan, like my parents. But this time she passed, as she was early into her third pregnancy and didn’t have the energy.

I arrived at Shira's relatively early. My dad was lying on the lazy-boy, the weekend papers scattered around him, his head lolling, his mouth agape, snoring steadily. My mother, who after thirty-seven years of marriage had become completely indifferent to the symphonies produced by my father as he slept, lay comfortably on the couch, reading a book.

"
Shabbat Shalom
," I smiled to her. She lifted her eyes from the book and gave me a warm smile.

"
Shabbat Shalom
to you too… you're a little early."

"I wanted to play with the kids a bit."

"They went to the playground with Moshe."

"Where's Shira?"

"Resting in her room."

"Is she asleep?"

"I don't know, maybe."

I tiptoed to Shira and Moshe's bedroom and peeked inside. Shira was lying on the bed, reading a book. She sensed someone was looking at her and looked up.

"
Shabbat Shalom!
" She smiled at me and lifted herself from her lair.

"
Shabbat Shalom
. Where are the kids?" I asked quickly.

"What? I'm not good enough?" She pretended to be insulted. I leaned toward her and gave her a warm hug. Although I will never be like Shira, she never gave me the impression that she thought she was better than me.

"I just miss them. This week when I was at your house, we didn't get to play that much. I was busy with my investigation and they didn't get the attention they deserve."

"Wow, what an aunt!" She pinched me on the cheek. "Moshe went out with them about thirty minutes ago. He's probably at the playground."

"Which one?" In the park at the heart of the new neighborhood were a number of playgrounds.

"Probably the nearest one, though sometimes he takes them on a longer walk."

The playground was packed with children. After a few rounds I saw Moshe and the kids weren't there.

It was pretty hot and I’d forgotten to take a bottle of water. I decided to wait where I was and hope Moshe would come to this playground instead of walking around and risking dehydration.

I sat down on one of the benches near a young woman holding a plastic bowl, snacking on apple slices from it. Her young husband was chasing an active toddler of about two. Although I'm no longer a part of the Religious Zionist public, I can still differentiate pretty clearly between its sub-sectors. The young couple I was gazing at was of the religious-observant- spiritual variety. The man was wearing a large white knitted yarmulke. Like most of the men in the playground, he was also wearing a white shirt, but his was a bit less buttoned down and shabby.

His wife's head was adorned by a blue fabric head wrap which was tightly wound around her head, so none of her hair was showing. She wore a loose dress that matched her head wrap, of the kind that worn by secular girls who had come back from travelling the Far East, but she was also wearing a white shirt underneath it with sleeves down to her elbows. They were both wearing Source sandals, which I assume they also used for more challenging hikes than going down to the playground on Saturday morning.

There's a higher chance of coming across this kind of couple in community settlements, mostly more remote settlements and settlements deep inside the occupied territories. The infamous Hilltop Youth gives them a bad name, because most of them do have nationalistic right wing tendencies, but most of them, if not all, are law abiding citizens, who pay taxes and serve in the army, have high environmental awareness and connect to nature and anything natural, which is why they escaped the cities.

Most of the people in the playground were Religious Zionist, Modern Orthodox and Religious-lite. The external differences between them are familiar mainly to those who know these terms. They all wear knitted skullcaps, all the men (almost) were wearing white button-down shirts and tailored pants and all of the women wore dresses intended mainly for Shabbat or celebrations. No one wears jeans on Shabbat, though there's no prohibition to in the Halacha. T-shirts are worn only if they're really beautiful and embellished.

The differences between their world views, most of them to do with lifestyle and amount of deeds to commit, were reflected in small nuances like the size of the skull cap and its color, the length of the sleeve or skirt and the type of head wrap (the vast majority of the neighborhood's women didn't cover their hair, but even a religious-lite woman wouldn't dare enter a synagogue with a bare head).

I was out of place in the playground in my jeans and my tight T-shirt. There were a good number of secular families in the neighborhood, but they probably chose to get out of the neighborhood on Saturdays or at least not to visit the playground during the hours when the religious public "overtook" it. I stared at the passersby and they ignored me, or pretended to. Just like in high school, I was of no interest to anyone here, as usual, finding it hard to fit in, except now I had no desire to be a part of the crowd. These people, who I once was a part of, intrigued me. On the one hand, they were completely integrated in the life of secular society. Everybody worked as doctors, as lawyers, as engineers and such and went out to the movies and (Kosher) restaurants in the main recreation centers, but on the other hand, they lived in a community that is mostly expressed on Sabbaths and holidays.

Since they're immobile on Shabbat and holidays, they meet at the synagogue or the neighborhood playground and have no way to escape being part of the community, unless they choose to shut themselves in their house every Sabbath. Because everyone knows one another, there's social pressure to at least appear to be a united and perfect family unit. The children and parents are all dressed in Shabbat clothes and look nice. I hadn't had "Shabbat clothes" for years. I had two or three dresses that were a bit fancier, but not particularly modest, so they couldn't be considered "Shabbat clothes". A second glance at some of the women made it clear to me that I was a bit hard on myself in regards to modesty. Many women, of the Religious-lite variety, wore the shortest skirts. They sat in groups on the benches and let the men watch the kids.

I remembered the visit I made to the library earlier that week: during the week it seemed that the mothers carried most of the parenting load and on the Sabbath the dads took the reins. The couple next to me wasn't playing or talking to anyone. The other people who sat at some distance from where I was sitting talked heatedly among themselves, I assumed about the Danilowitz family. It had only been five days since Meir shot his family and killed himself, it was too hot and powerful a story. I wished I was sitting closer to them, maybe I could have heard things that they wouldn't tell me when interrogated. On the other hand, I knew that if they were to discover who I was, the conversations would not be free in my presence.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed that a couple with a stroller had stopped by the couple of "Spiritualists" next to me. The man was embracing the young man warmly. I looked at the couple again and recognized them. They were Anat, my Convent friend, and Motti, her husband, who were apparently attached to their latest offspring.

"Anat?" I half called, half asked.

Anat turned her head in my direction and happily called out, "Gunger!" She approached me and I got up from the bench in her honor and we hugged happily.

"What are you doing here? Don't tell me you're working on the investigation right now…" I realized that she had already spoken to Tamar.

"No, not at all," I smiled. "I'm looking for my sister's husband and my nephews."

"I think I saw them in the playground near my house."

"How do you know them?"

"This is Givaat Shmuel," she laughed. "Everyone knows everyone."

"What are you doing here?"

"We're on our way to the second weekend family meal, at Tamar's."

Motti approached me, pushing a stroller with a toddler of about two or three years inside it.

"
Shabbat Shalom
." He smiled at me. I hadn't seen him in years and he'd aged considerably. His hair had thinned and grayed and tiny wrinkles carved his face near his eyes. He was always a kind and quiet guy. Anat was one of the first in our grade to get married. We were only twenty years old and a year later she was already a mother. Back then, the Convent gang, who were all single except for Anat, went on meeting, and Reut, Anat's eldest daughter, belonged to all of us - our pet baby.

"
Shabbat Shalom
." I looked at the toddler, who was incredibly cute, but couldn't have been our Reuti. "Where's Reut? And the rest of the kids?" I had no idea how many children Motti and Anat had produced since Reut, and I didn't want to make a faux pas.

"Reut is off at the Bat Mitzva Shabbat of her best friend in Nir Etzyion. Elad and Eyal went straight there after synagogue with Haggai and Neriya."

By the way I was looking at her, she understood that I had no idea who she was talking about and added, "Elad and Eyal, my boys, are in the same classes as Haggai and Neriya, Tamar's boys. And this is Smadari, our little one." She bent down and wet-wiped the girl's face, which was covered with chocolate.

"How old is she now?" I asked, as if I remembered that she had four kids.

"Two-and-a-half." She straightened up and examined my svelte figure, as if searching for stretch marks. "I assume you're still into the ‘no kids’ thing?"

"Still into it." I smiled a satisfied smile. Anat could never understand me, but has since given up trying.

"I was sorry to hear you and Yinon broke up."

"Yeah, so was I."

I knew she had a lot to say to me, especially about the reason for my separation, but Motti and Avner interrupted us. Tamar and Yoni were waiting for them and they were anxious to go.

"Maybe you could join us?" Anit offered.

"My sister’s waiting for me."

"So go up and tell her."

"Some other time," I evaded and, to my relief, Motti and Avner were too much in a hurry to try and prevent Anat from insisting.

After the group walked away, I spotted Noam, Shira's other son, running towards me. In the distance behind him, Moshe was slowly walking, holding Eran.