Land of the Covenant: Born to be migrants(English Edition)
Number of pages: 238
Printing: Newcomers Author Publishing Group
Autor: Shimon Garber
Editor: Vladimir Belinker
He was very old. No one ever remembered how old he was and what his name is. There was no one to remember. He survived many he used to be friends with.
Before, they were four, those, who moved to Israel from Soviet Union in the 1990s. They emigrated here with families, with children. Children grew up and flew away. Some to United State or Canada, and some just to another city. Wife's was gone one after another, tearful of missing beloved children.
Old friends kept together, gather outside of the house. And it was only occasionally when children wrote short letters to their native house about the difficulties of life. They called old fathers come to stay or visit, but they don't want to go, so tired of moving, or getting used to the new places. At old age, was no desire to start life over again. Would be better and easy to be another few years they have.
If the weather was warm, all four friends gathered on the bench outside the house and waited for the mailman to appear. That's how it was. Three of them received letters rarely but come. They rejoiced of the messages of their loved ones and read it aloud to each other. The fourth old man get no letters. The mail he received was an exceptional event, and it was just junk. He did not have any children.
Friends spend time, sitting on the bench, and usually silent.
What're they have talk about after so many years of friendship? They knew everything about each other. Even ailments to discuss it's not fan a long time ago. All four old men had a typical set of age related problems. Our old man has same bunch of health issues, but he rarely went to the doctors. Maybe that's why he has been alive longer than comrades. They gone, one after the other. And he, said farewell them to the last way, was left alone. He watched television all day, or just look in a window. Although there was nothing to see. Silent, quiet alley in a small town lost in the hills of the north the country.
Although the population of people have grown in recent years, and the town has spread from 10 to 50,000 inhabitants, it has not affected its existence. Many of the Russian emigrants were settled there. So, there were Russian shops, Russian speech-es everywhere, and television broadcasts Russian programs. Russians immigrants, mostly old, who have lived there for decades, have not been able to learn local language, Hebrew.
There were almost no youth in town because a lack of work. And after the army, they moved where they can be employed and earn good money. In town were many synagogues that attended native people. The former Russians, indifferent to any religion, never went anywhere. However, both believers and unbelievers were evenly treated; neither the others exchanged their worldview, everyone lived their own lives with little or no distinction.
The old man often talked to himself. And often to the God, in the existence of whom sometimes doubted. Although at his age even critical atheists were starting to believe, just in case. The question the old man did ask was simple and always the same: "Why do You forgot about me? You took all the people I knew. Well, take me too. It's time already have passed... Please remember me."
The old man didn't complain, he just asked. But God seems didn't hear him. Old man stopped going to doctors, taking medicines, hopefully waiting for death. But it seemed as even death had forgotten about him. Sometimes he woke up at night and lying with his eyes open until the morning. And when sun looked in the window reminded him to get up and live thru another day.
Then he complained to God: "At least tell me why? Yes, I wasn't a saint in this life, this's true. But many sinned more than me, and you've taking them a long time ago. Oh, I understand it. Maybe you, the Lord, just do not exist?"
Thinking like that, he gets scared of this thoughts and forces of forgiveness for sacrilege: "Probably, that's why I'm being punished. For doubt in Your power."
He regrets, but sooner or later, the doubt came again. Life was flowing slowly, figuratively, grey. Once a month, the old man must go to the city center. Withdrew from bank account money, deposited as benefit for elderly. Usually after the bank, he goes to the post office, paid his rent, electricity and other bills. And the rest of the money distributed for a month ahead. Twice a week he must leave the house. Ones for the grocery store, the other time for the market. Farmers markets were held every sevens day, and if man came at late afternoon, he could buy everything needed at lower prices. That was understandable. The sellers wanted to get rid of the merchandise. They agreed to sell cheaper. Young Arabs had been selling vegetables and fruits, and the buyers were mostly elderly Russians. Although they were mostly spoken in different languages, they understood each other.Back