Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 18 of a new online serial novel, Divided Attention, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every Thursday or Friday. Click here for previous chapters.

Copyright © 2010 by Israel Bookshop Publications

Rafi’s world was divided in two. The first part was in Kiryat Yovel, at home with Ima, and in class with Mrs. Davidi and the other children. There, he was Rafi who did what he wanted; the boy of whom everyone was afraid. No one dared say a word of rebuke to him. He was Rafi who was buddies with Ronny, and to whom Rina, the guidance counselor, tried to speak. But despite all these people in his life, he was really alone, so very alone, and he knew that no one was particularly pleased that he was there in the first place. Now, they were probably happy that he was gone, but soon enough, after they removed his cast and bandages, he would go back there and show them all.

The other half of Rafi’s world was here, with Mr. and Mrs. Cohen and Nava. In their home, he was suddenly the youngest and everyone was worried about him and asking how he felt. They seemed to have his best interests at heart, or at least that’s what they said. He tried to be good, like they wanted him to be, and it wasn’t very hard. Only sometimes, they had to remind him that it was better to speak nicely, but except for that, they didn’t say anything. Even when he occasionally got up at night and made noise, they didn’t get angry or tell him that it was nighttime and that he had to sleep. Mr. Cohen would sit next to him and tell him a story, and sometimes, Mrs. Cohen would peel an orange or tangerine for him, or prepare for him some grapefruit segments sprinkled with sugar. The only problem was that he couldn’t always find his ball and that annoyed him, because sometimes, kicking the ball helped him sleep better afterwards.

He thought that he liked the Cohen family, and maybe—he wasn’t sure—they liked him. It was really worth wearing the kippah for that; he was sure that they liked him even more because of it. They hadn’t bought him strings for his pants, nor had they taken him to the barber, even though he’d told them that he wanted this. Mr. Cohen had said they would “wait and see.” Rafi didn’t understand what exactly they were waiting for. Did they want to see how long his hair could grow?

Meanwhile, Shabbos had passed, and it was a really pleasant day in a religious house.  He went with Mr. Cohen to shul at night, and sat next to him the whole time, except when he went outside to see what the other kids were doing. He had stood and watched them play for a few minutes. A few of the kids had given him a glance, but none of them said a word to him, except for one kid who asked, “Hey, you, there, what’s your name? Why are you staring at us?”

Rafi had wanted to go over to that kid and show him who he was starting up with, but his hands suddenly felt very heavy, reminding him that they were more or less useless right now. That worked out pretty well, because he was sure that Mr. Cohen would not have liked the idea of him starting up with other kids, even if they had really started up with him.

On the way home, Mr. Cohen spoke to him about all sorts of interesting things, like the shul and praying and Hashem.

Afterwards there was Kiddush in a silver cup with grape juice. He kept asking for more grape juice, and finished almost half the bottle. And there were nice songs, and Mr. Cohen spoke about people who went to Egypt and had to work really hard there to build buildings that kept falling apart. Mrs. Davidi had once told them something like that; or perhaps it was last year, with Mrs. Simon; he couldn’t remember anymore. But Mr. Cohen sure told it over much better than his teachers. Everything at the Cohens was nicer than it was over in Kiryat Yovel. He was happy he was here now, and that he didn’t have to meet any of the people from there. Keep Reading…

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 17 of a new online serial novel, Divided Attention, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every Thursday or Friday. Click here for previous chapters.

Copyright © 2010 by Israel Bookshop Publications

Yael Cohen served her guests a plate of cookies and two cups of soda. “Which era interests you the most?” she asked in her soft, refined voice.

If Yaeli would have to sum up Mrs. Cohen’s personality in one word, that was the word she would choose: refined. As much as she tried, she could not possibly imagine this woman not being religious.

Tikva peeked at her. “Yaeli?”

“What?”

“Nu, which era?”

The truth was that Yaeli had not devoted even a second of thought to the matter before coming there. What difference did it make if they were writing about something that happened two hundred, five hundred, or even a thousand years ago?

“Maybe the unification of Germany,” she blurted, just to say something.

Tikva glared at her. “We don’t want to write about the Holocaust, remember?”

Yaeli sighed. “If you don’t mind my saying so, Tikva, the unification of Germany happened many years before the Second World War. It’s not the same thing at all.”

“Many years before?” Tikva echoed.

The historian, who had just finished filling their glasses with soda and was now capping the bottle, smiled. “Sixty-eight years, to be exact, if we are referring to the final unification declared in 1871, and not one of the previous stages.”

“I want something from longer ago,” Tikva said decisively. “The more ancient something is, the more interesting it sounds.”

“Could be,” Yael agreed and rose to look at the binders lined up on the top shelf. “Although you have to take into account that the earlier something happened, the fewer details we have about it. But let’s take a look at what we have….”

The curtain hanging over the window of the small room fluttered in the wind. A quiet voiced called out, “Ima?” Someone was talking.

Yael stopped and turned to the door. “Yes, Nava, what’s going on?” Keep Reading…

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 16 of a new online serial novel, Divided Attention, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every Thursday or Friday. Click here for previous chapters.

Copyright © 2010 by Israel Bookshop Publications

Ugly reddish drops glistened on the walls of the test tube.

“In another second, these pliers are going to catch fire!” Ronny, whose hand was aching already, grumbled. He was standing in the same position in which he had been five minutes ago, holding his test tube over the small gas flame, but no significant breakdown or change could be discerned inside it.

“What’s with you, Ronny?” The chemistry teacher stood beside him, evaluating the test tube with a critical eye. “Have you written down the components yet?”

“How can I write anything down when I have no idea what’s in here, except for water?” Ronny snapped and shook his test tube impatiently. The reddish drops began to slide down the glass, leaving red-tinged paths in their wake.

“Oh, I see you’ve already identified one component: water,” the teacher said, pointing to the blackboard. The numbers one through five were written in a column, and near the number one, the word “water” was scrawled in large print. “That’s the easiest thing to figure out,” the teacher said and returned to his desk. “If you followed my instructions exactly before you started heating the compound, then the breakdown is supposed to work. Carry on,” he said, waving his metal ruler in the air. “And you should open the windows. I can smell that there is something here in the advanced stages already. Is that you, Adir?”

The short, stocky boy nodded bashfully. His test tube didn’t contain any liquid, but rather a red, metallic sludge that began to blacken as it was heated over the fire. The steam emanating from his test tube was replaced with a grayish smoke that rose in a thin column, and its odor filled the entire lab. Keep Reading…

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 15 of a new online serial novel, Divided Attention, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every Thursday or Friday. Click here for previous chapters.

Copyright © 2010 by Israel Bookshop Publications

Sarah didn’t have anything special to say, except for the regular little speech she made whenever she brought a child to a new foster family. Rafi already knew the routine by heart.

“So I hope he’ll behave nicely and be a good boy,” Sarah said, as Rafi’s face tightened. “And that you’ll be pleased with him. Just don’t forget his antibiotics—he needs to take it three times a day for another ten days. Rafi, I’m going. Now you’ll have a few days of vacation from me.”

Rafi had never heard of the phrase “Baruch she’petarani,” but that was basically what the unexpressed thought that passed through his mind meant.

The next thought was that Sarah was talking about a few days. Hah! Didn’t she remember that he always ran away?

The third thought was that it wouldn’t be at all easy to return home with this cast of his, which had begun to annoy him already. How would he manage to do everything on his own?

The last thought that flashed through his mind before the woman with the kerchief began to speak to him was that he would stay here in the meantime. When they took his cast and bandages off, he would leave.

“Hello, Rafi,” the woman said with a smile. “We’re really happy that you’ve come to us, and we hope it will be good for you here.”

“Did you have a lot of traffic on the way?” the man asked, and Rafi was unsure if he was addressing him or Sarah. In any case, he had no intentions of responding.

“No, the drive was actually very quick, but his discharge took longer than I had expected,” Sarah said. The woman with the kerchief offered her something to eat or drink, but Sarah turned the offer down. “No, thanks, I’m going,” she said. “See you, Rafi; good luck.”

Rafi stood just a short distance away from the door and thought about how simple it would be if only he didn’t have this cast. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a table covered with a tablecloth, with a bottle of cola, a plate of cookies and cake, and two glasses arranged attractively on it. They had probably thought that Sarah would sit and have a drink. They didn’t realize that she was simply counting the seconds until she could get rid of him.

The woman took the plate from the table and came to stand near him. “Look and see which cake you like,” she said softly. Rafi hated soft voices, like Sarah’s. This lady’s voice was a different kind of soft, but it was still soft enough to irritate him. What did she think? That he was a five-year-old who had to be spoken to like that? He looked at the plate and didn’t say a word.

The woman returned the plate to the table and asked him if he wanted a drink. Rafi continued to keep his mouth clamped shut. Then the husband approached him (and Rafi stepped back a little) and asked Rafi if he wanted to see the room they had prepared for him. When Rafi still didn’t respond, the woman and her husband exchanged a look between themselves. Then the woman said she was going to the kitchen, and the man said he was going to somebody named Myriff, or something like that. And then he left the house. And locked the door behind him. Keep Reading…

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 14 of a new online serial novel, Divided Attention, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every Thursday or Friday. Click here for previous chapters.

Copyright © 2010 by Israel Bookshop Publications

“You girls also want a history contest?” Ayala asked in surprise, hoping that she had fully understood the reason for the outcry in the class. Silence hung in the room for a minute. “I didn’t really understand what all the commotion was about,” she said quietly as she took out her algebra book, “but if you want, I’m ready to offer you exactly the same type of contest. I’ll gladly mark your reports as well!”

Only a few girls picked up on the note of amusement in her voice. They were too excited at their success. “Great! We’re also going to hang a sign by the water fountain: ‘For ninth graders only!’ And we’re going to write that Morah is going to judge our contest also!”

Just one voice of reason emerged from the cacophony. “But what do we have to do for this contest in the first place?”

“Explanations tomorrow, during the history lesson,” Ayala said, opening her book and smoothing her finger down its middle in an attempt to keep it from snapping closed. “Now we have an algebra lesson to attend to. Devoiry Katzenelenbogen, please read the answer to problem number thirty-six on page one-eighty-seven.”

***

Two other children lay in the room where Rafi was wheeled. One was recovering from pneumonia, and the other, from complications of an ear infection. They were both supposed to be discharged the next day.

“Perfect,” Rafi said quietly to his cast. “Then I’ll be left here myself, without these moaning, groaning babies.” Keep Reading…

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 13 of a new online serial novel, Divided Attention, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every Thursday or Friday. Click here for previous chapters.

Copyright © 2010 by Israel Bookshop Publications

How many horses fit into the stable? The question rammed though his feverish brain over and over again. Actually, it was the title of a story they had read yesterday in class, but Rafi did not remember that at all. How many horses were here, with him now? One for Shira, and another if a nice guest would come. Perhaps Rina.

No. He wouldn’t let Rina into his private stable either. Only he and Shira would live there with the beautiful horses. He wouldn’t let Ronny in either. Ronny tried to act nice, but the minute you didn’t listen to him, he started to threaten.

Dirty wooden walls flecked with cement hung above him, and the gray, unplastered walls surrounding the place seemed to be closing in on him. He tried to roll over, but he couldn’t. Those horses must be standing so close to him, they were even stepping on his hands. He felt their hard strong hoofs; they were really painful.

Where was Shira? Had she ridden away from here on her horse? Perhaps she didn’t like him either. She went to a nice family with a mother and father and food. She left him here by himself, together with the horses. But who cared? Horses could be good friends, too, Mrs. Davidi had told them.

But he didn’t want to think about Mrs. Davidi right now; she hated him, too. So did Ima. And the kids in his class. And the neighbors. And Sarah. And all those families to whom he had gone . All they did was tell him to take a haircut and a shower and to wear clean clothes and come on time. They liked pretty, clean, obedient children; not him.

Only the horses liked him.

So how many horses were in this stable?

Rafi rolled over onto his back and sighed as pain sliced through his left hand. Which horse was stepping on him? Didn’t the horse realize it hurt him? Maybe the horses didn’t like him either. Maybe they only liked Shira, and now that she had gone, they didn’t want him to be here.

Yes, he was sure of it. No one, but absolutely no one, wanted him.

“Here he is!” Keep Reading…

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 12 of a new online serial novel, Divided Attention, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every Thursday or Friday. Click here for previous chapters.

Copyright © 2010 by Israel Bookshop Publications

Rafi’s eyes fluttered open. It wasn’t dark anymore and he heard voices from outside. He lay silently and listened to the distant noises, and, deciding that the coast was clear, he clambered out from behind the piles of junk and ran down the path leading to the street. Now he had to find the way home. Maybe Ima would prepare soup for him today…

Teeth chattering, he ran in the direction that seemed most probable to him. A group of well dressed people stood waiting at the nearby bus stop. The boy observed them all for a moment and chose an elderly woman who looked nicer than the rest. He walked over to her and stopped, waiting for her to notice him.

“Oh, my!” she suddenly exclaimed. “Why aren’t you wearing a coat on a day like this?”

Rafi saw no reason to answer the question. “How do I get from here to Kiryat Yovel?” he asked, blinking rapidly. His entire body trembled.

“You’re shaking all over!” she reprimanded. “What mother sends her child out like this on such a day?” A bus pulled up. “I think this bus will take you there; let’s ask the driver.” She tried to take Rafi’s hand but he evaded her grip.

The driver confirmed that indeed, he was headed for Kiryat Yovel. “You getting on, kid?” he asked Rafi.

“Yes, of course,” the woman said, patting Rafi’s shoulder. “You need this bus, right, dearie?”

“I have no money,” he mumbled. “Ronny left and didn’t give me…” He didn’t care that he was mentioning the older boy’s name. Nothing mattered anymore.

“Oy vey, vey,” the woman clucked. “Poor girl! Tell this Ronny that that’s no way to behave!” She boarded the bus and Rafi followed her. “Punch once here for the girl,” she instructed the driver, proffering her bus card. “Wait, don’t go. I’m not coming with you.” She waved at Rafi and got off. Rafi wanted to tell her goodbye and to point out that he was a boy, not a girl, but his throat hurt so much that he just couldn’t get a single syllable out.

He sat huddled in his seat, leaning his head on the window. A truck rumbled along in the next lane. Rafi was unaware that by the time he’d awoken it was already ten o’clock a.m. and that now it was almost eleven. He also didn’t know that he had fever, and only felt a burning sensation rising in his neck and spreading to his cheeks.

When the bus reached the familiar stop on his street, he rose and debarked carefully, holding onto the handrail. The entire street danced around him and he didn’t understand why the cars were driving crookedly. He walked slowly along the sidewalk, goaded along by the knowledge that he had to get home fast so those people wouldn’t catch him.

Suddenly he saw the silver corrugated fence on his right side; despite his blurred vision he recognized it. It was the empty lot behind his house. That’s where he had played until a year ago, when the tractors came and began to dig there. Rafi, like most children, liked to sneak in behind the fence and watch the Arab construction workers—until he’d be discovered and chased away with threats and shouts.

Drops began spattering down from the sky and Rafi found an opening between two of the aluminum fence sections. He knew that he could get home from here, and even if he wouldn’t have the strength to climb on the mounds of dirt that separated the lot from his house, he could at least find shelter from the rain in the unfinished building. The Arab workers probably hadn’t come to work in this weather; they hadn’t been coming for at least two days already.

He began to descend into the lot, the wet mud sticking to his new shoes.

***

Ayala added the conversation with Pessy to the list of points she had written on the inside cover of her green journal. That was also related to school, wasn’t it? The problem was that their walk had taken place the night before, while in the journal, she was holding in the middle of Cheshvan, a month behind. Keep Reading…

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 11 of a new online serial novel, Divided Attention, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every Thursday or Friday.    Click  here for previous chapters.

Nava sat near the radiator, studying for her dinim test. Every so often she stopped and listened to the voices coming from the kitchen. It was unbelievable; it was almost one in the morning and her parents were both still up. That she was still up at this time was no great surprise; a high school student (baruch Hashem!) often goes to sleep late. But her parents? They were usually sleeping long before twelve!

But the serious discussion in the kitchen was obviously not taking Yael and Manny Cohen’s bedtime into consideration.

“Look,” Yael said as she poured milk into her husband’s third cup of coffee. “She didn’t just call out of the blue. She’s not prying for the sake of it. She’s talking about something specific, but trying to probe gently to see if it’s even an option.”

“Maybe she means their Danny?” Manny asked with a thread of hope in his voice.

“I don’t think so.” Yael set the coffee in front of her husband and sat down again. Unlike him, she sufficed with a cup of hot water and only a bit of sugar added to it. Coffee was not on her menu. “She’s talking about a child she met while at work.”

“Maybe it’s just a distraction? Maybe they want to go somewhere and leave their son here?”

“Do you want Danny to become another Yossele Schumacher? No, thanks.” Yael gave a bitter laugh as she stirred her water and sugar. “But I told you, I don’t think that’s the case anyway. She wasn’t asking about a three-year-old.”

“How old is the kid she’s talking about?”

“Eight, nine.”

“It could be nice, no?”

“I think that’s maybe a bit too old.” Yael thought about Nava. Wasn’t it hard enough for her with a nephew who was so different from her friends’ nephews? Would she be able to deal with a foster brother of the same type? Ugh. If it would work out in the first place. “It’s not like a little boy whom you can mold into whatever you want. This is a child who has been growing up in a warped lifestyle for several years already. It will be much harder to straighten him out.” Keep Reading…

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 10 of a new online serial novel, Divided Attention, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every Thursday or Friday.    Click  here for previous chapters.

It was freezing cold outside, and Ayala’s kitchen was a mess, but she spoke decisively into the receiver. “Okay, Pessy, let’s go.”

They bundled up and went out into the cold Jerusalem winter night. Ayala hoped that whatever it was that Pessy wanted to discuss, the conversation would be short and would require no more than one round around their cluster of buildings. She didn’t dare say anything abut her tired legs, lest it lead to another evening rendezvous tomorrow night.

“So, Ayala, it’s like this,” Pessy said calmly, sidestepping the puddles in her way. “A girl named Frankel has been suggested for my nephew from Bnei Brak.”

Ayala had a student named Frankel but she hardly assumed that that was whom Pessy was referring to. So what did she want from her?

“They heard that her younger sister is in your school. I made some inquiries. She’s your student, right?”

“I have a student by that name,” Ayala said, feeling the biting wind despite her coat. She shivered.

“So that’s it. The question is: what’s her problem?”

“Problem?”

“Why is she by you?”

“Because Hashem sent her there,” Ayala replied simply. Uh-oh, that was not a good answer, because Pessy stopped in her tracks.

“I understand she wasn’t accepted to the good schools. Why?”

“Who said such a thing?” Ayala protested.

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yes. If I ask you why she’s in your school, and you tell me because Hashem wanted or something like that, then that means you’re hiding something, and that something can be that she was just not accepted anywhere else.”

“Absolutely not,” Ayala replied. “I mean, I don’t know about it. I don’t know the reason why any of the girls are in our school.”

Pessy stared at her skeptically, and inadvertently stepped into a small puddle. “Impossible,” she declared. “You don’t know if she was one of the girls transferred from your old school or one of those not accepted anywhere else?”

“No.”

“My sister will think you’re being evasive,” Pessy said snippily. “And to tell you the truth, I think so, too.”

Ayala was cold, but she was afraid that if she would tell Pessy that, it would be further “proof” that she was trying to avoid the subject. So she continued walking and just said with a small smile, “Nu, nu.”

“So am I right?”

“No,” Ayala replied, and then continued with uncharacteristic assertiveness.  “I’m telling you again, Pessy, I specifically asked that I not be told the reason for each girl’s attendance in our school; it’s not only Zahava Frankel. I think that is the girls’ basic right.”

Pessy continued clucking with her tongue with obvious disapproval, but to Ayala’s relief, she began to head back home. “So what should I tell my sister?” she asked, somewhat coldly, after two minutes of silent walking.

“That if it’s so important to her to know, she should try and find out somewhere else. I can’t help her.” Ayala hoped that it wouldn’t take long for Pessy to get over this. “What I can tell you,” she added with an appeasing smile, “is that the Frankel in my class is a wonderful student. You can tell your sister that, if it interests her.”

“How much time have we been walking?” was Pessy’s response.

“Something like fifteen-twenty minutes.”

Pessy wasn’t satisfied. “Not enough,” she said disappointedly. “I heard from the instructor at the exercise class I go to, that for the first forty minutes you walk, you don’t even burn any calories. So we didn’t really do anything.”

Ayala suppressed a yawn. But just then Pessy added, “But it’s too cold for me, so let’s go back in.”

***

That night was equally as cold and as dark on another Jerusalem street. Keep Reading…

Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 9 of a new online serial novel, Divided Attention, by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every Thursday or Friday.    Click  here for previous chapters.

Copyright © 2010 by Israel Bookshop Publications

“Nothing’s missing.”

Rabbi Nechemia Paksher, principal of the Nachalas Yisrael school, stood with his arms folded and his expression uncharacteristically somber as he spoke to the police officer. He didn’t even have the option of slumping helplessly into a chair, because the chair—like most of the room—was covered with that horrid black paint. The drawers had been replaced, but a mound of crumpled, dirty papers littered the desk. Reb Nechemia sighed. “If I could catch that vandal, I’d really give it to him!”

“Citizens have no authority to punish,” the bespectacled officer responded blandly.

“Citizens also have no right to do this!” the principal snapped back, pointing at the wall. There was a message painted there, but the words were very unclear. “He can’t even write normally, this robber,” he added and stared again at the crooked letters. To him they seemed to say, “We don’t want you here,” but some of the letters were upside down or cut off, and he only figured out the whole sentence from the context.

“You said he didn’t take anything,” the officer said in a soothing tone.

“But he’s still a robber! Breaking in here isn’t called a robbery?”

“Where do you think he came in from?”

“I don’t know,” Reb Nechemia said, beginning to pace around the room.

“And where did he leave from?”

“Our front door is fashioned in a way that it can be opened from the inside, in the event that a child gets locked in. But now that you mention it, where did he get in from?”

“I looked around a little and found a window open upstairs,” the officer said.

“Well, why didn’t you say so before?! Which window?”

“At the end of the hallway, near the sinks.”

Reb Nechemia waved his hand dismissively. “That little window? The one that’s broken?”

“It also doesn’t have bars,” the policeman pointed out.

“But who could get into such a tiny hole?” Reb Nechemia wondered aloud.

“One of your younger students, perhaps?”

The principal stopped in mid pace and looked sharply at the officer. “No. It could not have been one of my students. Impossible!”

“Why are you so convinced?” Keep Reading…