Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 15 of a new online serial novel, If Anyone Is Listening, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every week. Click here for previous chapters.
Copyright © Israel Bookshop Publications.
“How do you feel, Yaakov Shlomo? What’s with your legs and the walking?” Rubinson’s tone was not very sympathetic, and Yaakov Shlomo was not deceived by his solicitousness.
“Baruch Hashem, fine,” he answered. “Hashem should have mercy on all of us.”
“Yes, yes. Listen, I’m sorry that I’m pointing this out again, but we are going back to that same point: You are emphasizing your Yiddishkeit too much again, and I don’t like it. As it is, your talks are not such a popular option on my hotline, but there are a few people who do listen to you, and some even ask questions. Isn’t it a shame that they should stop listening only because they feel you are too lofty and abstract?”
“Abe.” Yaakov Shlomo sat up straighter on the couch. “It’s not abstract. I speak about emunah on a very real and existential level. Believe me that I don’t speak too loftily. Have you ever heard one of the shiurim, beyond just a few minutes?”
“Not really. I don’t have extra time.”
“So if you’d sometimes listen to a whole shiur from beginning to end, you’d be able to hear for yourself. I speak from my own life, and that’s exactly my life, do you understand?”
“But that’s not the life of some of your listeners! Don’t you get that?”
“I speak to those for whom it is part of their lives,” Yaakov Shlomo replied quietly. “Fine, I understand that you don’t want me to include expressions and words in Yiddish and Lashon Hakodesh. But I can’t censor myself this way.”
“But you also cite pesukim here and there, some in English, some not. It can’t work this way!” Rubinson sounded irritated. “This lecture is supposed to be universal, and if we have to clarify this over and over again, I’m not sure I’ll be able to continue employing you.”
“Then maybe it really is worth it for us to have this conversation now.” Yaakov Shlomo’s voice was measured. “Because it can’t work for me to take Hashem out of my lessons. And if that’s what you expect of me…”
He glanced toward the dark, empty kitchen. It wasn’t easy for him to get there now, certainly not with the phone in his hand, but before taking the antibiotics, he had to eat supper. “I need to go now, Abe,” he said. “Have a good night. Sorry, what time is it by you? So, have a good day.”
He put the phone on the shelf in the hallway and gripped the doorframe as he dragged himself inside with effort. A complication of cellulitis—that was all he needed now. He started humming to himself, “Ribon Ha’olamim, yadati…” and like always, tears automatically began to drip from his eyes.
Yes, this cellulitis was exactly what he needed now. Otherwise, Hashem would not have sent it to him.
Yaakov Shlomo put two slices of wholegrain bread on a plate, and added a bit of raw tahini and tuna from a can. “Don’t be the wise man who speaks very loftily only on the phone lectures,” he told himself as he opened the fridge to get the mayonnaise. “It’s no chachmah to whistle about emunah, especially into the air.”
But it wasn’t really into the air, right? Otherwise, Rubinson wouldn’t care even if he spoke in Hungarian or Chinese and sang soulful songs every five minutes.
Soulful songs!
If he knew these lessons would be continuing, then that would be a great idea. There were quite a few songs that gave him personally so much chizuk, and he could accompany himself on his old guitar.
Yaakov Shlomo washed, and then his phone began to ring. He wiped his hands, made a brachah slowly, and sat down. Hamotzi, first bite—and still the caller didn’t stop. “Tzippy,” he called. “Can you please get the phone? I’m sorry to bother you.”
Tzippy came right away. “Yes, sure,” she said. “Who’s this person who isn’t giving up? Oh, it’s Rubinson.”
“Is it so important for him to tell me right now that he found someone else, who won’t mention Hashem at all, and that I’m fired?” her father muttered.
But Rubinson sounded somewhat conciliatory. “Hi, Yaakov Shlomo. Look, I thought about it, and I’ve decided that both of us need to come toward each other.”
“Meaning?”
“I’ll leave you alone about this point, and you’ll try to remember what I asked. You can talk about emunah—it’s important—but you should also focus on human thoughts, giving people strength… You know, the generation today is weak. Speak practically about what needs to be done, how to act, what to think…”
“I’m not sure I understand exactly what you mean,” Yakov Shlomo said. “But fine, I can try to give practical tips too.”
“And if you cite pesukim, please make sure that they are only in English. Maybe find a better expression for the assimilated Americans, instead of ‘Hashem Elokeinu.’ You said it three times this past Thursday!”
***
“I don’t believe that Yang Yang is his real name,” Gedalya said on the phone. “He would not give out such secrets, while explicitly admitting that he wanted to follow you when you came to China the first time!”
“He didn’t explicitly admit it,” Shimmy said, staring at the window to his room. There was a gray shadow flying somewhere in the distance, but it was not coming close. And he had no idea if it was the much-heralded Christopher or not. “But he certainly gave me to understand that it’s a surveillance robot. I’m just not sure if he meant that it was sent specifically to follow me.”
“He wouldn’t have given you that information either, with his real name. So if you decide to take him up on his offer, I’m afraid there’s no way for you to reach him.”
“Maybe there is. But even before that, what do you think of the idea?”
“Dealing with robots is a few levels above toys,” Gedalya said slowly. “Both with regard to the information, and the monetary investment.”
“And also with regard to the profits.”
“That’s true. But in a market where you’re not so experienced…I don’t know how much profit you can count on. You’ve seen already that it’s a big market, and the deception and the sneaky tactics are part and parcel of it, right? And as long as both of us don’t understand it well enough, the Chinese can certainly sell us a few boxes of robots that are not capable of anything more than lying in their boxes and blinking their hollow eyes.”
Shimmy laughed. “But even so, maybe we should invest our financial resources in something beyond a cute children’s doll?”
“We’ve already invested the resources. Let’s finish with the project, Shimmy. Including the sales and everything. And if it looks like we’ve succeeded, b’ezras Hashem, and we want to move on to more advanced business endeavors—we’ll think about it then. Unless,” his voice grew colder, “you want to move ahead there without me.”
“No, no,” Shimmy hurried to reply. “I’m still not skilled enough in the business aspect, and I need your head.” And your money. But neither you nor I will say that out loud.
He got up and moved closer to the window. There it was again: a figure flying at a distance, at a certain point, not coming closer or growing further. It was as if there was a transparent pole that began here at the window and ended at the figure, preserving a fixed distance between it and the wall of the hotel.
“Hey!” Shimmy shouted and knocked on the window. “Hey! I want to talk to Yang Yang!”
But this time, almost as if to be provocative, the bat didn’t even consider coming closer.
***
“We made an appointment for him with the biggest orthopedist on the East Coast,” Ruchi’s mother says. We are sitting on the couch, and I’m holding Isamar for the last time on this visit. Tomorrow at six in the morning, we are flying back to Israel, b’ezras Hashem.
“You said they mentioned, in the hospital, something about hip dysplasia?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Because I do feel that the right leg tends to lean in a bit, and I’m wondering if it’s only that.”
“Shhh…” she says, looking back, toward the kitchen. Ruchi is preparing three cups of tea in there, with a lot of concentration and accompanying noise. I personally don’t like tea. Coffee is a lot more appealing to me, especially iced coffee. But when my daughter-in-law brings me tea, I drink it. My two other daughters-in-law already know my preferences, but I never bothered to update Ruchi. The truth is that this is only the second time since we’ve met that she’s preparing me something, instead of the other way around. So I haven’t had that many opportunities to give her the update.
“I think that’s what it is too: hip dysplasia,” my mechuteiniste says to me quietly. “But it’s best to let the orthopedist check him out and decide.”
“In Israel, when a newborn is released from the hospital and there’s even the slightest concern, they recommend that the baby see an orthopedist, and have an ultrasound done of the hip joints. They don’t do that here?”
“I don’t know,” she replies. “My baby is already thirteen, so I’m not so up to date on what they do these days. In any case, we made the appointment, because we need to know what’s with him.”
She falls silent as Ruchi comes in. She’s smiling broadly, holding a little tray on which there are three cups of tea, a slice of lemon stuck onto the lip of each one, and a plate with a few wrapped chocolates on it. There’s no doubt: What my daughter in law knows how to do, she knows well.
At least for that.
***
A few days ago, my son flew to one of the most industrially developed countries. The craziness and constant pursuit there after the latest developments are heart-wrenching, in my view… Stress and chases and robots and pressure of who will come in first in the race… A bit of tranquility, folks! Let’s remember what we’re here for in the first place!
I thought I would perhaps sing to you in English the verse from Koheles: What is the advantage of a person with all his toil… I have a guitar here, and maybe together, we can connect to the words, delve into them, think, and feel…
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