Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 61 of a new online serial novel, Outside the Bubble, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every week. Click here for previous chapters.
Copyright © Israel Bookshop Publications.
Rob, who had bought a Jewish calendar for Michoel, had no idea what a dust-up he would cause by doing so.
“I’m not in a closed institution!” Michoel said, for the ninth time. He was heartily sick of repeating this mantra by then. “All I am asking—demanding, actually—is to be allowed to pray on the two days of the holiday in a Jewish community. That’s all!”
“Indeed, you are not in a closed institution, not at all.” Dr. Jerry, apparently, was not sick of repeating himself at all. “But you are a very unwell man, Mr. Perl. We cannot release you for even one day.”
“What am I unwell with, huh?” Michoel was furious. “Explain it to me, please!” He stretched out his arms and slowly balled his fists. As he studied his fingers, he suddenly realized how much bonier, whiter, and more wrinkled his hands were—much more than ever before. “I feel perfect, Doctor, and I have no intentions of praying on my own, when there is a Jewish community just about twenty-five miles from here!”
“How do you know about that?”
“From the kosher products that I get from there.”
“Is that your appreciation?” Skulholt asked quietly.
“There is no connection between the two.” Michoel had known how to be very adamant in the past, but now, he sensed that his strong feelings were nowhere near as intense as they used to be. “There’s no connection between the two,” he repeated, for emphasis. “Nothing. I very much appreciate all your concern and dedication, but still, I think that I am a mature adult who knows what is good for myself and what is not. To the best of my knowledge, I have no acquaintance with any of the Jews in that city, so they will not rouse my dormant memory, if that’s what you are afraid of. I just want to pray with them, that’s all!”
“We have other Jews here whom you can pray with.” The doctor looked at him placidly. “What about Mike, for example? I get the impression that you’ve become rather friendly with him.” His calm expression unnerved Michoel. Did Dr. Jerry know about that phone call to Hinda? Had Mike told the staff something?
Michoel stood up. “I need a minyan. A minyan means ten people, not one and not two.”
“There are at least four more Jews here.”
“And they will want to pray all the prayers with me?” Michoel’s impatience was evident on every one of his facial muscles. “Come on, Dr. Skulholt, don’t make a joke of this. Especially when I just told you that I need ten people, so five for me is as bad as two.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Perl,” the doctor said, clasping his hands together. “I understand your frustration, but you will not be able to leave.”
He wouldn’t be able to leave!
He had never checked the entrance gate to this place. The only one he could see was an electric gate used by the vehicles that came and went. Regretfully, for him, it was not a gate that he could climb over. It would be one thing if he was ten or twenty years younger…
Was there no entry for pedestrians?
“I understand.” Michoel walked over to the door. “I understand. Fine.”
“I’m sorry, really.”
“One second.” Michoel turned around, one foot still in the corridor. “There are Jewish organizations that take care of hospitalized patients. They send food for the holiday meals, some people to pray with, a shofar…”
“Shofar?”
“An instrument that we use during this holiday’s prayers. Maybe we can contact someone, let them now that I’m here, and that I really want their help?”
“No problem. Give me the name of such an organization.”
Michoel scratched his forehead. He knew of volunteer organizations in Israel, but here?
“I don’t really know where I am, so how can I know which organizations are active here?”
“So how can we find out?”
“Get me a phone directory from the Jewish community here, and I’ll find out.”
The other man looked at him in silence for a long moment. “We’ll think about it,” he said finally. “In any case, I’m not sure we will let strangers in here. Mass celebrations of holidays does not work for us.”
“Who said anything about mass celebrations? I just want a quiet place to host these people, and a room to pray and eat our meals in.”
“For ten people, you said. What are we, a hotel?”
Now it was Michoel’s turn to gaze for a long moment at the other man, sitting in the armchair. Without another word, Michoel moved his second foot out to the corridor, overcoming the childish urge to slam the door as he left.
He was in their hands, and all the nice names that they would give it did not change the reality. He had to tell this to Hinda the next time he’d manage to place a secret call to her. Let her come, send someone to him, just help him get out of here…before it would be too late.
***
“What are you looking for, Mr. Perl?” Mike met Michoel on the lawn downstairs, walking up and down.
“The way out.”
Mike grinned. “I can show it to you easily. But the gate is usually locked. Besides, where would you go? There’s nothing around here for at least twenty-five miles or so.”
“I can smuggle myself into a car that is leaving from here,” Michoel said without thinking.
“Is it so bad for you here?” Mike didn’t smile.
“It’s not that it’s bad for me…but I need to get to the nearest city. And once we’re at it, do you know where this place is where we are, anyway?”
Mike looked at him, opened his mouth, and then closed it. “I’m sorry, Mr. Perl. I’m not allowed to tell you.”
***
“This is a shofar, yes,” Michoel mumbled the next evening. He took the small, shiny horn out of Rob’s hands. “But I don’t think I know how to use it. I was never musical.”
“I can play it for you as much as you want,” Rob said with a laugh. “The Jewish salesman at the store showed me how to use it. Look, it’s super easy.” He brought the shofar to his lips, and the sound of a tekiah rose and fell in the room. “Come on, try it?” he attempted to encourage the older man.
“I was never able to blow; it’s not for me,” Michoel waved him away dismissively.
“I’ll do the service for you, okay?”
“No, it’s not good. You’re not Jewish.”
“We’ll call Mike Weisner. If he manages to play it, will it be good?”
Michoel did not answer. He looked at the little shofar, and at the new Machzor that was peeking out from inside the bag in Rob’s hands, and he felt like crying. Suddenly he felt so very old and feeble.
Who knew, maybe he really was a ninety-year-old man stuck for years in this place…?
He took a deep breath. No, he had not been here for years. Last year he had been in Yerushalayim on Yom Kippur, for sure. He remembered the argument he’d had with one of the mispallelim before the Haftarah of Yom Kippur. On Rosh Hashanah he had hosted poor Gronam. And on Sukkos…oh, on Sukkos he had been Hinda and Yosef’s guest in Haifa, and it had been very enjoyable.
He wondered what was doing with Gronam all this time. And what about his organization? Was Hinda able to manage all of it by herself, or had everything been suspended until his return?
If he would ever return.
Maybe he should offer them payment, and that was it? Maybe they just wanted some kind of ransom money? Oh, if only he could get out of this place!
***
“You’re going to Haifa just as I’m coming to Bnei Brak?” Yosef sounded and looked good, which was great.
Chani, already dressed for Yom Tov, studied him and the packages near his bed with a smile. “Ima supplied you with all her food, no?”
“Yes, I just need to put stickers on them and put them in the fridge in the ward.” He looked at the window, not yet feeling completely comfortable in the unfamiliar ward. “It’s a shame you’re not staying here in Bnei Brak with me,” he blurted. “Maybe they would have let me come to you for a meal.”
“You didn’t want to be home?” Chani asked, and immediately regretted the question.
“No.” His face seemed to shutter.
“But you have a minyan here, right?”
“Sure. That’s one of the things Dov told me, and he’s right.” He kept looking out the window. “A mental hospital is not a regular hospital, and being hospitalized for a long time in a secular place is just not good.”
“I think that’s exactly why they opened this mental health department at Mayanei Hayeshuah Hospital. Will you stay here after Yom Tov, too?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “You can go now. I don’t want to hold you up. When is your bus to Haifa?”
“We’re planning to leave as soon as I get back home after visiting you.” She smiled. “I brought you chocolate shaped like an apple; it’s supposed to be good.”
“That’s really nice of you,” he said. “Not that it’s good for me to eat so much chocolate, because I’ve gained weight recently… Whatever, it doesn’t matter. When you come back on Motza’ei Rosh Hashanah, come visit again, and I’ll tell you if it was good.”
“B’ezras Hashem, bli neder,” she replied.
After she walked out to Povarsky Street, she called to tell Ima about this last remark, because she knew it had taken Dov over two hours to persuade Yosef to transfer to this hospital for Rosh Hashanah. And even after he’d feebly agreed, he had made clear his intention to leave right after Yom Tov.
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