I remember when I told you I had read the paper. It was during Friday night dinner. Just the two of us. I couldn’t keep it in any longer, so I told you your teacher called. And that I read your paper. And I started telling you how proud I was of you, and that if you wanted, you could become a wonderful university lecturer. And you didn’t say a word, Yuli. I tried to read your expression, searching for some clue into your thoughts, but you finished eating and went to your room, and it took me a few days to realize you were angry at me, even though I couldn’t understand why. It’s not like I read a secret love letter, it was a civics paper. And about such an academic subject, so impersonal. But you must have understood even then what I only learned two years ago, when you were deployed to Lebanon. That wars are not a national issue. It was always a personal matter, perhaps more personal than anything else in this world.

Sometimes I tell myself that’s when I lost you—the moment I read your paper. But that isn’t the case. It isn’t that simple. I wish there was a single moment in time I could point to and say—there, that’s when I lost my child. But there is no such moment to cling to. You wouldn’t even give me that.

Best,

Alma Rosenblum,

Emissary for the Jewish Agency for Israel in New Delhi

22.

[email protected]

November 1, 2009, 02:59:49

Subject: Re: Hi Yuli

Did you know I once bought a ticket home? The day Goldwasser and Regev, may they rest in peace, were abducted, before anyone knew that war was a war. I bought a ticket. Even packed a bag and drove to the airport. I honestly don’t know why I didn’t board the plane. Maybe I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to handle seeing with my own eyes that you were no longer mine. Because as long as I couldn’t see your face, I could at least keep pretending you’re mine, you know? It’s not much of an excuse, I know. Maybe you were right all along. Maybe some women were never meant to be mothers.

Best,

Alma Rosenblum,

Emissary for the Jewish Agency for Israel in New Delhi

23.

WE NEVER MADE it to the President’s Residence in Jerusalem.

I woke up early that morning, put on a white dress shirt, and gave myself a meticulous shave. After I finished getting ready, I went to check on Dad. He was lying in bed, curled under the blanket. He was still asleep. I woke him up and said we had to leave in fifteen minutes. He mumbled an apology, said he must have forgotten to set his alarm clock.