Shalom to all that
by Jill Cartwright
In part 9, Jill starts to say her farewells to friends and colleagues and finds that no oneâ€™s seems that surprised at all â€¦
I didnâ€™t need the phone in my hand to hear my motherâ€™s sigh of relief as I told her that I had decided to come home; but she did try â€“ with not too much success â€“ to hide it under sympathetic tones that my relationship with Boaz had come to an end once and for all.
Noa took the news slightly worse as we were sitting in the cluttered porch of her new moshav home where she lived â€“ and frequently fought â€“ with her boyfriend Ziv.
The tears that rolled down her cheeks spoke beyond words of the bond that had been formed in one summer in Tel Aviv when just taking the bus in the morning confronted you with an array of philosophical questions on life and death, overloaded your system with adrenaline and made you stare wide-eyed into the very essentials of your existence.
Grizzly, however, gave me a slow and deliberate nod with eyebrows slightly raised that bespoke his usual thinking of â€œI donâ€™t believe anything until I actually see it.â€
He was like that Grizzly, very solid, not given to fanciful dramatics or impulsive outbursts; rather his movements were weighted and thoughtful – but then again that might have been due to the copious amounts of dope he smoked.
Anyway, our leasing contract was about a month from the end and so it seemed a good closing point. I wouldnâ€™t renew and instead Grizzlyâ€™s girlfriend would move in and my bedroom would be turned into a kind of office/spare room, with Grizzly already taking claim of the only decent piece of furniture I had â€“ a large â€œwalnut-lookâ€ desk Iâ€™d bought on sale from Home Center and heâ€™d spent the afternoon sweating over and setting up for me. I sold my bed to a young German trainee journalist called Eva, who had just fallen in love with a young Israeli sheâ€™d met on a bus.