Leah's Children by Goldreich Gloria

Author:Goldreich, Gloria [Goldreich, Gloria]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Literary
Publisher: Untreed Reads Publishing
Published: 2012-05-15T04:00:00+00:00

KIBBUTZ SHA’AREI HA-NEGEV

1966

THE SETTLERS’ HOMES on Kibbutz Sha’arei ha-Negev stood at the base of a martello-shaped sand crater that glowed rose-gold in the harsh light of the desert morning, turned topaz in the late afternoon, and was, at last, rilled by gliding shadows as the sun slowly surrendered into evening darkness. The children of the kibbutz called the crater malchat ha-midbar, the desert queen, and told stories of a mysterious romantic regent garrisoned in the fortress of sand. The small white bungalows were built in a straight line, equidistant from one other and from the natural bastion that dominated them. Rebecca, during the planning period of the kibbutz, had worried over the landscaping and argued for scattering the houses. One could be built in the shade of the acacia tree, others near the grove of date palms, and still others in the small natural circle formed where a terebinth stole the sunlight from the crouching Sodom apple tree.

It would be more interesting, more aesthetic, she had insisted, and the other members had patiently agreed with her and even more patiently explained that there was the problem of security compounded by the kibbutz philosophy of egalitarianism. They explained very carefully, because she was an American and an artist, and they understood that their ways were new to her. Houses built in a line were more easily defended, and if all the houses were alike and similarly situated, there could be no lingering feelings of resentment and inequality.

“Equal doesn’t have to mean the same,” Rebecca had murmured to Yehuda, but she had been new to the group then and unwilling to threaten its harmony by persisting in her argument. In those early days she had been compliant, acquiescent. Nothing in the world had been as important to her as her love for Yehuda.

Now, almost two decades later, she conceded that the others had, after all, been right. She walked toward her bungalow, after a long afternoon at her studio, and was pleased at the way the small homes, newly whitewashed, gleamed in the receding light; their symmetry in the desert wilderness had a reassuring geometric beauty. A dwarf palm had been planted in front of each house, and a luxuriant garden bloomed on the common lawn. Rebecca’s life on the kibbutz was marked by the garden’s plantings. The beds of lavender marked the birth of her son Yaakov, and on the day of Amnon’s circumcision, she and Yehuda had embedded iris bulbs deep into the unyielding earth. Always, the flowers bloomed with seasonal certainty in time for her younger son’s birthday. When Yehuda returned from the Sinai Campaign, he carried with him cuttings of Egyptian savignia, and now the tiny lilac flowers were deeply rooted and marked the weeks of danger, the hour of return.

All the houses shared a view of the twin Christ’s-thorn trees; their beadlike orange fruit glittered among the cruel, serrated leaves. A family of warblers nestled in the branches, and their sweet and tender songs pierced morning silence, evening quiet.

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