On the Moon Girl, the Frog, and Oppressed Souls

This is the last remaining picture of two people I knew, whose disappearance is still a mystery I haven't been able to solve. But as the years go by, I'm managing to come to terms with it, and on autumn nights, when the moon is full, I calm down a bit. And now, maybe I can tell the story:

On the Moon Girl, the Frog, and Oppressed Souls.

Rina Hanukhaev, at age 16, landed in Israel on a plane full of boys and girls from the Caucasus, on a flight organized by the Jewish Agency's Youth Aliyah. I was on that plane too.

On a night ride, we arrived at one of the Agency's boarding schools, somewhere in the south of the country, and a new life began. Five hours a day of Hebrew studies, a few more hours of academic prep including math and English, swimming in a dreamy blue pool in the middle of the desert. In the evenings, bonfires with singalongs, stories of Zionism, trips all over the country. But at night, when the Israeli counselors went to sleep, another life unfolded there—stormy and distorted.

Generally, in those wild years of the great wave of immigration, the Agency and Youth Aliyah didn't know what to expect. They weren't prepared to absorb teenage boys and girls who, for the first time, were disconnected from their families and arriving in a completely different place.

The counselors didn't know that in the Soviet Union there was no education for healthy sexuality, that psychological treatment for children with disorders wasn't customary. That putting a nerdy kid who received a Jewish education and excelled in physics and chess in the same caravan with a boy who grew up by the laws of the street was a disaster for that nerdy kid, one that would scar him for life. That girls who had never experienced real sexual life didn't know how to protect themselves. That weak kids would become a kind of slave for the strong ones, who would force them to make them coffee, change their sheets, do their cleaning, and also pay protection money until these predators had sucked all their absorption-basket funds out of them.

The mentality differences among the kids themselves were too great, and the Israeli counselors—kind-hearted kibbutzniks who were dedicated to their work—didn't understand the mentality, the gaps. They didn't know what and who they were about to meet and serve as parents to.

Looking back, I must say that despite everything, Youth Aliyah saved us. It was a rescue mission, one that also had its costs.

A.A. slept in the same caravan as me. He was the first to start speaking fluent Hebrew, without opening a dictionary or doing homework. He identified and internalized the Israeli mentality with amazing speed and became a favorite of the management staff. At the same time, he knew how to maneuver and gain a kind of respect even from the delinquent boys and managed to be okay with everyone. He projected vulnerability and cruelty simultaneously. On one hand, he was quiet and smiling; on the other, he projected that he was ready to go very far if anyone tried to harm his social status. On one hand, he didn't hurt the weak; on the other, even the strong kept their distance from him.

From the outside, it seemed he was maneuvering between everyone, manipulating them with cold calculation. But I, who observed him up close, felt he was simply driven by extremely sharp animal instincts. His manipulation didn't stem from conscious cunning but from a will to survive and to use the move to a new country to disconnect from and erase something in his past, to create himself anew with an alternative biography, a new social status, and a bright future.

A.A. gave me his partial trust and spoke a lot about wanting to build a military career, to try in any way to get into an elite unit and from there to continue to security agencies. The only weakness I identified in him was a lack of experience with girls, as if there was some fear in him that someone would expose his pretense or something. I knew he was a virgin, but despite the many opportunities and the wild sex life at night, for many months he didn't connect with anyone. Not out of indifference, but because he was examining and waiting for someone suitable, someone with some kind of lack, with sensitivity, who wouldn't pose a threat to him.

Rina Hanukhaev grew up as a homebody in a small, warm Jewish-Caucasian family. In the boarding school, she was considered a strange bird. They called her the Moon Girl because there were rumors that on full moon nights she would wander the village paths. She had a strange smile, a bit wild and shy. Most of her free time from studies she would shut herself in her caravan, dress (perhaps intentionally) sloppily in unattractive clothes, and try to draw as little attention as possible. And maybe that's exactly what drew A.A.'s attention.

And once, as I was walking at night on a dirt path between the caravans, I noticed in the dark two figures grappling, pressed against each other, engaged in a kind of struggle-slash-game, with a girl's voice whispering something with passion and pleading, but also trying to get away from the man. When I got a little closer, I recognized A.A. and Rina.

I don't know how, but he managed to charm her and turn her head. Like I said, he had very sharp instincts, and he knew how to overcome all her not-so-strong defense walls. She probably fell in love with the smell of his young, strong body, his whispers, the quiet confidence he projected, his enigmatic, multi-layered smile. And Rina, with all her strangeness, was also a very curious girl, with a hidden passion and a longing to discover herself.

Once, during Passover, when the village was almost empty, A.A. managed to get a key to one of the empty caravans. He asked me to get an extra set of sheets from the storeroom, and that night he didn't sleep in our caravan. I understood later that on that night, Rina and A.A. both lost their virginity together. They knew each other.

Since then, they became a couple, but in a slightly different way than usual. They never sat together in the dining hall, not on trips, and generally didn't show their relationship publicly, even though other couples in the boarding school always walked around hugging everywhere and in every situation. But A.A. knew Rina almost every night, in some dark corner, in an empty clubhouse, on the fence of the pool.

To be honest, I was in a dilemma. On one hand, I felt he was using Rina to overcome something internal and to establish his masculine status, first and foremost in his own eyes. On the other hand, I knew that despite everything, A.A. would never get close to something or someone based solely on cold, manipulative calculation. There was something internal in him, the only thing he was loyal to, and that ruled out any connection that didn't have some real excitement—pleasure, sadistic or a genuine, warm intimacy? I don't know. Maybe he himself didn't know.

What is certain is that Rina changed. She became more feminine, more socially involved. She borrowed nice clothes from friends, and there was a feeling that something in her had opened up and she liked it. I was happy to see the change in her and her less shy smile.

But then something happened that changed everything. A young medic arrived at the village, a kibbutznik with golden hair, beautiful, liberated, with teeth as white as a flock of goats, with tanned legs as smooth as silk. A child of the Land of Israel, free of deprivations, complexes, and worries. A sun-child. Let's call her Almog (a pseudonym).

Almog's appearance made a great impression on the men in the village, both the Israeli counselors and the young immigrants like us. When she walked down the main path, all types of men rushed to give her a high-five and then would watch her from behind, following her light, bouncy walk like a fleet-footed gazelle, with the look of frustrated wolves, hungry for prey but knowing they could never catch her.

Strangely, she rejected all advances, even from the Israeli counselors, kibbutzniks like her, veterans of various elite units. She revealed herself to be a dedicated and serious young woman who devoted herself entirely to her work and was filled with a passion to succeed, going above and beyond, even with the immigrant youth. The only one who remained almost indifferent to her was A.A.

But for some reason, and maybe precisely because of it, Almog chose him when she needed to train a replacement medic's assistant. For several days they shut themselves in the clinic, and she gave him an abbreviated medic course. But apparently, something else happened between them there. And when they came out, within a short time, most of the village understood with astonishment that A.A. and Almog had become a couple. The gap between them in almost every parameter was so deep that the native-born men had trouble understanding her choice.

And I too was stunned by the change in A.A.—he was conquered, matured, on one hand, and on the other, he looked like a child who for the first time felt deep happiness and satisfaction.

Once, at night, when I couldn't fall asleep and saw that he too was lying awake in the dark, I asked him, "So what's going on with Almog?" even though I knew he didn't like to talk about his relationships with women. And then he said a sentence of a kind I had never heard from him. He said: "Sasha, I have tasted the taste of the Land of Israel. They say it's a land of milk and honey, but it's more than that... I have touched the nakedness of the land, I have known the land." I asked him, "And what about Rina?" It was dark, and I didn't know if he had fallen asleep or was lying awake and didn't hear, or maybe didn't want to hear.

In retrospect, one could say that just as Jacob had two wives, sisters, Rachel and Leah—Rachel the sun-child and Leah the moon-child, Rachel the beloved and Leah the hated, or as the Kabbalists interpret, Rachel is the revealed world and Leah is the hidden world, and the hidden is not truly hated but less loved. But in the non-midrashic reality, A.A. stopped seeing Rina's presence. There was no longer a place for her in his heart. He ignored her with cruelty.

At first, Rina didn't know how to react to what had happened. She was stunned, and still tried to appear in A.A.'s field of vision, to remind him with subtle hints of her existence, but it was all in vain. He didn't see her at all.

With time, I saw that Rina hardly came to the dining hall, and her friends would take dry rations for her. And even when she did appear, it was heartbreaking to see the changes in her. She had gained weight, neglected herself, even her face broke out in red pimples that were probably the result of a deep and severe emotional shock and insult.

Meanwhile, A.A. was living a new and happy life with Almog, and honestly, I was even a little jealous of him. It seemed like a story of a most successful immigration and absorption, with a bright future.

But one day I learned that Rina had been accepted to university and had decided to leave the village. Just like that, in one day, without warning, without a farewell. She just disappeared.

When I returned to my caravan, I noticed a folded piece of paper lying on A.A.'s bed. I realized it was from Rina and opened it. It said: "I kissed a prince, and he turned into a frog. What a sorrow."

From here, I'll try to be as brief as possible.

Our period of study at the youth village ended, and we all scattered—some to academia, some to the army, some just to the Russian ghetto in the housing projects of Bat Yam or Ashdod. I met A.A. again at the Lone Soldier Center where we lived. He was serving in the 101st Paratroopers Battalion, and I was a gate guard in Golani. We met infrequently on weekends, but then I understood that something had happened in the time I hadn't seen him. Almog had left him. I don't know why. Either he managed to hurt her somehow too, or she discovered the real A.A. In short, they broke up. But that was only the beginning of his collapse. Something happened to him in the army too. Either he couldn't handle the pressure, or his own expectations. I don't know, but he was thrown out of the paratroopers and later from the army altogether. Maybe only I, who knew how important military success was to him, understood the magnitude of the ruin and destruction this would cause him. The entire facade he had built with such effort, all the buildings, his entire skyline, collapsed and disappeared.

Later, he got mixed up with criminals, lone soldiers like him thrown onto the street, and he probably did a lot of stupid things, and even worse. I, thank God, finished my army service but didn't know what to do with myself. My psychometric score was a bit low, but it was enough to get into the Jewish Thought department, and I just went with the flow. Later, something happened to me called "returning to observance." I became a bit religious, but I finished university and started working as a teacher.

And once, as I was leaving the synagogue after the evening prayer, someone jumped on me from behind and started hugging me tightly, with shouts of joy. I turned around, and in the young man with a large knitted kippah, a beard, and tzitzit, to my great surprise, I recognized none other than A.A.

I invited him to my home, and after the soup my wife made us, I sat with him over coffee and listened to his speech, which was a bit confused, with an exaggerated euphoria. He jumped from topic to topic, but the whole conversation revolved around the great light he had discovered in the holy Torah. He was high, or as they say, "in the lights." I looked at him, still struggling to process the change in A.A. He used a lot of Kabbalistic terms without really understanding their meaning. He didn't have a regular rabbi; he moved from yeshiva to yeshiva, living off charity funds. As time passed, my concern grew, and I felt he was on a dangerous path. As they say, for some, the Torah is a life-giving elixir, and for others, it becomes a deadly poison.

He stayed the night. In the morning, we prayed together, and he left, saying he would be in touch soon. And so he disappeared from my life again.

Until a few years later, I received a phone call from the Kfar Shaul Mental Health Center in Jerusalem. A social worker asked if I knew A.A. He had given them my details, and they needed me to come and serve as a kind of guardian or sponsor for him because he was about to be discharged after two years of hospitalization.

With a heavy heart, I drove to the hospital. After talking with the social worker, I went to meet A.A. And it was hard... It was hard for me to recognize A.A. in him. The promising young man I had known, and also not the "in the lights" religious returnee—he was very overweight, bald, with missing teeth, and with stiff, slow body movements and slow, unfocused speech.

Together with the social worker, we found him a place in a hostel for the mentally ill in Jerusalem. But in the first few months, he just lay on a mattress on the floor, barely getting up, his pillow wet with tears.

But thank God, the rehabilitation system in Jerusalem works well, and I met excellent people who took care of A.A. And with time, he began to recover. He started working as a dishwasher in a café that employs the mentally ill, lost a lot of weight, got up every morning, and his body got used to the harsh antipsychotic drugs. He started to come back to life a little.

After some time of slow but steady improvement, he left the hostel and rented a one-room apartment in an Ethiopian neighborhood in Talpiot. Although he removed all religious symbols from himself, he continued to observe Shabbat and Kashrut and even secretly continued to study Torah. When I asked him if he was studying and what part, he evaded and didn't want to talk about it, but he understood why I was asking and told me, "Don't worry, it's different, not like it was before."

A.A. was diligent at work, lived a modest and simple life, and my heart calmed down. Everything was going smoothly, and I thought there would be no more twists and turns, and everything would flow in a blessed routine. But I was wrong.

It all started when A.A. opened a Facebook account. He sent me a friend request, and at first, I didn't pay it much attention. One evening he called me, his voice strange. He asked if I thought he was a monster. I didn't know how to respond. I told him not to think bad thoughts and that I would visit him soon and we would talk about it. But two things bothered me after that call: 1. His voice and tone sounded very alert, sharp, and determined. He sounded like the A.A. from many years ago when he was destined for officer training, not like the A.A. who took five types of psychiatric drugs every day. 2. I went to his Facebook page, and in his friends' list were only figures from the distant past, the same boys and girls from the boarding school and the army.

When I connected all this to his question about the monster, I suddenly understood that he was going back to his past, trying to see what had become of the people he knew, trying to settle a score with himself, and maybe find the victims of that monster he thought he was.

The very next day, I went to his house and asked him directly if what I was thinking was true. He didn't answer me, but he went on the computer to Facebook and showed me a picture of a very beautiful woman, on a beach in Australia, hugging two cute children and being hugged from behind by a handsome man. They were all smiling and looked happy. It took me a few moments to recognize in the beautiful woman Almog, the kibbutznik medic, the sun-child from the youth village. A.A. looked at me and said: "You see, at least she's happy. I miss her, but at least I didn't destroy her, so I'm a little happy about that too. Understand?"

I thought that would be the end of it, but unfortunately, something not so good happened. In retrospect, I understood that he had contacted all the girls from the boarding school who had become women and asked them if they knew what had happened to Rina, Rina Hanukhaev. Where was she? Only one of them got back to him and wrote: "Hi, I don't know, I haven't heard from Rina since then, but there is a rumor that she has been hospitalized for many years in a mental health hospital in Haifa."

Yes, you guessed right. This had consequences, and it started a chain reaction and a sequence of events that are still unclear to me today.

After receiving the rumor about Rina, A.A. didn't show up for work. He took a night train to Haifa, arrived at the hospital, and tried almost by force to enter the women's ward. He later told me that during the train ride, he reached an inexplicable calm and serenity. He thought he had found the one he had run over, hurt, and as it turned out, also turned into a mentally disabled person. And now that he had found her, he would dedicate the rest of his life to caring for her. Life now seemed bright and clear. As they say, there is no joy like the resolution of doubts. He knew what long-term hospitalization meant and prepared himself for a very difficult sight, and even hoped it would hurt him as much as possible.

But there, at the hospital, something he didn't expect happened. After they almost called the police on him, they finally took pity on him and agreed to tell him that there was no patient named Rina Hanukhaev, and there never had been.

After the initial shock, in the following days, A.A. visited every psychiatric women's ward in the northern region—but there was no trace of Rina anywhere.

Moreover, in all the networks, in all the phone books, in all the databases, there was not a shred of information about Rina. There were a few Rinas with the same last name, but they were not that Rina.

His obsession to find her only grew. He sent hundreds of messages to WhatsApp groups, Facebook groups of immigrants from the nineties, did every possible inquiry, but it was all in vain.

I must note that while he acted with excessive obsession, it somehow restored his mental strength, his vitality returned, and to my surprise, he even discovered not-bad detective skills. He learned to scan databases, cross-reference different sources of information, analyze reports, and connect pieces of information.

But beyond all that, what worried me most was the clear fact that he was right. Rina had vanished as if she had never existed, and this made me too suspect that something in this story was not understood and even more than that.

And then, someone who knew of A.A.'s desperate search for Rina told him that he had heard from another friend of his, who works at an old printing press in Givat Shaul, a rumor that after the printing press closes, at night, a group of Kabbalists gathers there to perform midnight Tikkun, unifications, and delve into the hidden wisdom. But in this whole group, there is only one woman. She speaks little, but when she does speak, all the men fall silent and listen to her with great seriousness and hold her in special esteem. She has a slightly unclear accent, and they call her Nina or Rina, something like that.

Wow, I didn't expect that either, and I too became infected with the obsession to find her. Are we talking about the Rina we are looking for? Do you think there is a printing press in Givat Shaul that we didn't visit, day and night, and didn't get to that guy? But all this led to nothing. There is no such group. Maybe there was, but not anymore. It moved to another place. Yes, there was a woman, but they don't know Rina, Nina, or Rita. They don't know what she looks like or where she's from. Nothing. We were back to square one.

Time passed, and A.A. (and I, to be honest) began to come to terms with Rina's disappearance and to calm down. Until a phone call came from a Caucasian friend who had also been with us for a time at the boarding school and knew Rina and knew that A.A. was looking for her. He said he works in the kitchen of a café-restaurant in the government complex in Jerusalem. The main customers of the restaurant are government office workers who frequent it during their lunch break and at the end of the workday. Every employee at the restaurant underwent a security clearance investigation, so the guy thinks that some classified intelligence people also come there. But there is a regular group that comes to the restaurant infrequently and sits at the bar. From the appearance of the men, they are all former officers, but dressed in civilian clothes, so the guy thinks they are almost certainly working for the Mossad or a similar organization. But what's important is that in this whole group there is one woman, who physically very much resembles Rina, if you add twenty years to her. But in her behavior, she is the opposite of Rina the girl from the boarding school—she is very assertive, laughs out loud, all the men in the group respect her, and there is something devilish and even malicious and cruel about her. And if it weren't for that, he is pretty sure that physically it is Rina. He added that this group hadn't come for about a month, meaning they should be coming to the restaurant again quite soon.

I tried to prevent A.A. from going to that restaurant immediately, and we agreed to wait patiently and ask the guy that when they arrive next time, he would try to secretly photograph this woman with his mobile phone.

Two weeks passed, the guy didn't get back to us, but when we tried to reach him, we heard a message that the phone was disconnected. A.A. went to that restaurant and demanded to see the friend who works in the kitchen, but the manager told him that there is no such employee and never has been. End of story. But before a disappointed and confused A.A. left the restaurant, the manager asked for his phone number in case he heard anything about the matter, and A.A. gave him the number. Which turned out to be a mistake. Or maybe not.

After some time, A.A. asked me to come for a personal conversation, not on the phone. When I arrived, he laid out before me several pieces of evidence that they had started following him. For example, the battery of his new mobile phone had recently started to heat up and drain very quickly, which means there is a hidden application on the phone that consumes a lot of energy and drains the battery. He also said that sometimes in phone calls he hears his own voice twice, with an echo, which means they are tapping him, and other signs that I didn't know how to react to.

But the most important thing he told me was that one day he received a video call from a foreign number. He answered the call and turned on the camera, but on the other side, no one answered. The camera of the mobile on the other side was pointed at something that looked like a curtain, and it wasn't completely silent either, there was quiet breathing and a presence on the other side. Someone was watching him but remained invisible. The call, or whatever it was, lasted 20 seconds. And A.A. is sure that someone wanted to see him, wanted to understand who they were dealing with, who was looking for Rina so persistently. Someone wanted to make sure that he was him. And A.A. is sure that it was Rina herself, who wanted to see if it was him, and that 20 seconds of silence were enough for her to understand what had happened to A.A., what he had been through, what he had become, and she received and understood what she wanted to understand.

After some time, A.A. sent me a WhatsApp message with a link to a small, insignificant news item on some legal news website. He didn't add an explanation to the link, and I didn't understand what he wanted from me, but I clicked on it anyway and saw the item. It was a short, dry update about a hearing held behind closed doors at the Jerusalem District Court for an intelligence officer who had exceeded her authority and used severe physical and psychological manipulation on a suspect, with an intensity that far exceeded even the organization's standards and severely harmed the interrogated person. The judges took into account her being a brilliant officer with many operational achievements, and as part of a plea bargain, the parties agreed that the officer would be suspended for a long period from operational work, perform community service, and attend 12 sessions of an "anger management workshop." I read the item twice until I suddenly noticed the initials of the officer's name—R.H.

From here, I'll shorten it even more. Because what happened took on a form that cannot be explained rationally.

One day, an envelope landed in A.A.'s mailbox containing the following text (I later understood it was taken from the Zohar, from a section called "Saba de-Mishpatim"). Of course, it was without a sender's name, without any identifying mark, just this text:

"...That old man said: 'Friends, it is not for this alone that I have opened my discourse, for an old man like me does not just chatter and proclaim about one thing. How bewildered are the children of the world in their minds, and they do not see the path of truth in the Torah. And the Torah calls to them every day in love, but they do not wish to turn their heads. And even though I said that the Torah brings forth a word from its sheath, and is seen for a moment and immediately hides—so it is, certainly. And when it reveals itself from its sheath and is immediately hidden, it does so only for those who know it and recognize it.

To what can this be compared? To a beloved, who is beautiful in appearance and form, and she is hidden in the secrecy of her palace. And she has a single lover, whom no one knows, but he is hidden. This lover, out of the love he has for her, constantly passes by the gate of her house and lifts his eyes to every side.

She knows that her lover constantly circles the gate of her house. What does she do? She opens a small opening in that hidden palace where she is, and reveals her face to her lover, and immediately returns and disappears. All those who were near her lover did not see and did not notice, only her lover, and his entrails and his heart and his soul went out to her. And he knew that out of the love she has for him, she revealed herself to him for a moment, to awaken love in him.

So it is with the word of the Torah: it is not revealed except to its lover. The Torah knows that the wise-hearted one circles the gate of her house all day. What does she do? She reveals her face to him from within the palace and gives him a hint, and immediately returns to her place and is hidden.

All those who are there do not know and do not notice—only he alone, and his entrails and his heart and his soul go out to her. And therefore the Torah is revealed and concealed and acts with love towards her lover, to awaken love in him.

Come and see, this is the way of the Torah: At first, when it begins to reveal itself to a person, it hints to him with a hint. If he understands—good. If he does not understand—she sends to him and calls him 'simpleton.'

And the Torah says to the one she sends to: 'Tell that simpleton to come near and I will speak with him.' This is what is written: 'Whoever is simple, let him turn in here; to him who lacks heart...' (Proverbs 9:4). He approaches her—she begins to speak to him from behind a curtain she has spread for him, words according to his way, until he understands little by little, and this is Drasha (Exposition).

Afterward, she speaks with him from behind a thin veil, words of riddle, and this is Aggadah (Narrative). After he is accustomed to her, she reveals herself to him face to face and speaks with him all her hidden secrets and all the hidden ways that were concealed in her heart from ancient times.

Then he is a complete man, a master of Torah, certainly, the master of the house. For she has revealed all her secrets to him, and has not distanced or concealed anything from him. She says to him: 'Did you see the hint I hinted to you at first? Such and such secrets there were! This is what it is!'

Then he sees that to those words one cannot add or subtract. And then the plain meaning of the verse is as it is, one cannot add or subtract even a single letter. And therefore people must be careful to pursue the Torah, to be its lovers, as it is said.'

...The old man was silent for a moment, and the friends were bewildered and did not know if it was day or night; if they were there, or if they were not..." .......

That was the content of the letter. I didn't understand what it was about, who the sender was, or why it came to A.A. But I felt that A.A. understood everything. And he became calm and silent. And I too had nothing much to say.

A.A. went back to work as a dishwasher, and I returned to my routine, and our connection weakened. Until one day, a social worker who was handling A.A.'s case called me. He said that A.A. hadn't come to work for two weeks, wasn't answering his phone, and hadn't shown up for his monthly visit with the psychiatrist.

The next day, the social worker and I met at the entrance to A.A.'s building. With heavy feelings, we knocked on the door of his apartment. Unclear noises could be heard from beyond the door, but no one opened it.

My heart was heavy, expecting the worst. The social worker began a conversation with his manager, with the district psychiatrist, and with the police, trying to get a warrant to break down the door.

But I was no longer in control of myself. I kicked the wooden door twice with all my might, and the second time it swung wide open.

I rushed into the room, but it was empty. Completely. That is, all the things and objects were in place, but no trace of A.A. What was strange, the television was on and working, the fan was also on, rotating from side to side. On the coffee table, covered in dust, stood a half-finished cup of coffee, and next to it, a cookie with a small bite taken out of it. If it weren't for the dust covering all the surfaces, one might think the resident had just stepped out and would be back any moment. But the strangest thing was that I knew A.A. only wore two pairs of cargo pants and two specific shirts—and all of them were hanging in the closet! Like, what? Did he disappear naked?! Did someone tear him out of his clothes and make him vanish through the window?! Moreover, his phone, wallet, and ID card were also in the room...

It was handed over to the police. A.A. was officially declared a missing person at risk. But it's needless to say that in the end, not a single lead was found to explain how or where he disappeared. At some point, the search efforts ceased. And I too gave up, because I felt I was dealing with forces and factors beyond my control.

I went back to dealing with my family and work matters, and only on nights when the moon was full did I start to suffer from insomnia and would secretly steal a cigarette or two in the dark by the window open to the air illuminated by the moonlight.

And then, a postcard arrived in the mail with the picture you see, of the strange, shy girl Rina who disappeared, and the frog. And on it was printed: "Dear Sasha, we wish you all the best with the help of Heaven. Don't keep searching and don't trouble yourself. With love!" Signed—O.S.

I don't know what to tell you, and actually, there's nothing to say. Later, out of curiosity, I searched for the meaning of the initials O.S. and what I found was a passage in the Zohar that describes a special type of soul called—Oppressed Souls (Neshamot Ashukot). What that means and why they are oppressed—you can find out for yourselves if you like. Because I'm tired of this story, and I want to forget it. And the picture of Rina with the frog, I laminated it, put it in an envelope, and hid it deep inside the closet.

P.S.

Some time later, I divorced my wife. And I was looking to rent a cheap one-room apartment. Of course, the apartment that was immediately available and suitable was that same one-room apartment of A.A.

And I live in it now as I write these lines. I have changed a lot. As time goes by, I remind myself more and more of the poor, restless A.A. And what scares me most is the silence. All day long, the radio and various players are on constantly. I can't deal with the silence, because then I start to hear voices from the past, different figures come to visit me, I hear the whispers of oppressed souls. So there is no silence in the apartment, and everything is on.

But when the holy Sabbath enters, I turn off the radio and the mobile phone, and silence reigns. I eat a little by myself, and then I lie down and try to read a newspaper. Sabbath timers turn the hot plate on and off, the water heater, lights turn on and off exactly according to the clock. The apartment functions and manages itself, without me. But it's hard for me, so I make a cocktail of sleeping pills and tranquilizers and dive into a long and strange dream.

Even when I go out into the city, everywhere I start to see souls. In the display window of the Super-Pharm at the mall, on the bus, in a café—I see multitudes of souls of Jews, old people and children, righteous converts and oppressed souls looking at me and whispering something. And it's hard for me, so I rarely go out.

Soon I plan to buy a small caravan in a small, isolated settlement and move there. To raise a huge, fierce, quiet, and loyal Caucasian Shepherd dog. In the winter, I'll put on long boots, slip a pistol into my belt holster, and go out with the dog to walk the ancient paths of the Judean hills, among the eternal hills, where the patriarchs, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, walked.

And maybe I'll stop and sit under an ancient tree and ask quietly— —Merciful and Gracious God, slow to anger and abundant in loving-kindness and truth—is this how the words of the prophets about the revival and the redemption and the ingathering of the exiles are fulfilled? Like this? Through millions of stories of oppressed souls gathering in the Holy Land? How are you able to endure and bear all the souls, all the stories? All the secrets, all the hidden dreams, all the cries and all the whispers? For you too have committed to keep the holiness of the seventh day and have set the entire creation to a cosmic Sabbath clock, which launches the moon and sets the sun, and everything runs and functions like in my one-room apartment on Shabbat, but don't you feel lonely? When will you be united with your beloved?

And I know I will receive an answer, only I won't be able to tell you, because it's a secret, for now.

And then, I will stretch my bones and lie down for a bit on the cherished land, with the dog lying and guarding at my feet. I will take out the pistol and put a bullet in the chamber, in case the assassin has already left his house. Then I will rest my head on the land of the fathers, and close my eyes. Just for a few moments.

To be continued, with God's help.