Selected Detective
EFFECTS OF MINE RADIATION

They were with a Rabbi in the house, a young man of thin but strong stature, born and raised in America. Like the rest of the militant occupants, he let a bushy beard grow on his chin. A thick pair of glasses made his eyes look so big that they seemed to fill half of his face. As evening approached, the rabbi took everyone to the living room downstairs and began preaching before them, choosing either as his parashah, or part of the text, Genesis, section 17 verse 8. “And I will give you and your descendants, your land, all the lands of Canaan, as eternal possession and I will be your Lord.”

Har-zion sat listening with the others, nodding and smiling as the rabbi assured them that this was the real work of God that involved them in it, the sacred throne that future generations will see with the same sensitivity of pride and greatness as they feel themselves today towards the great Jewish heroes of the past. He loved to hear the Torah discussed like this, to feel himself part of this expanse, the history of the Jewish people. As a boy, after his mother died and his father went mad, he and his brother Benjamin had spent time together in a government orphanage, reviving all the old stories, he said, dreaming that one day they will both visit the Father's ancestral land, defending it from Israel's enemies, such as Joshua and David, and Judah maccabee. Those stories, to them, felt like their own environment, a separate reality in which they will immerse themselves to dispel the cold and hunger and slap against the Jews which is their daily fate.

“The Torah, Mishnah and Talmud, this is what it is,” once his father said, “Other is just an illusion!” He, their Abba, was indeed a godly man. Too godly, in that case, was always immersed in his law books when he should have provided for his family. All family business was left to his mother; sewing all night to make money in order to buy food and clothing and firewood for the fireplace. But then his mother died and, instead of assuming and carrying out the responsibilities, their father withdrew, even further, into his own penchant, sit all day reading and talking to yourself. Sometimes he even experienced wild screams of excitement, telling them that he had seen a large menorah in the sky and that the day of reckoning was drawing near, until finally they take him away while he and his brother are sent to a government house whose mistaken mention of their Jews will result in the most brutal beatings.

Yeah, thought Har-zion, you could be too godly. He does not envy those who devote their lives to Halakhah, the rabbis and Matmidim and Talmid Hakhamim. Even if he is envious of them, it is aimed at their ability to withdraw from the physical world and be fully present in the land of faith and spirit. However, this was not for him. frumm as he was, he was a man of action. That is why he and his brother escaped from the orphanage and arrived in Israel, which is why he joined the army and fought the Arabs; that's why he's sitting here now.

For if his early experience has taught him many things, then belief itself is not enough. You must also act; rise up and defend yourself in the real world. But always make sure that your other hand is holding Uzi.

The rabbi finished his sermon, the group disbanded. The women went to the kitchen to prepare food; the men guarded the house or joined in further discussions about the Talmud. Har-zion climbs onto the roof to receive some calls on his cell phone. One of the funders in America congratulates him on his occupation; the other from the cabinet who says he is an annoying bully, but with it, provided there is no real violence, he said, the government will not make any moves to expel them.

“At times like this we should unite, Baruch,” the man said to him. “Although there will be a lot of international pressure, especially from europe and the United Nations.”

“Fuck with them,” replied Har-zion. “they will never do anything. Never. they're worms!” He turned off his phone and stood for a moment looking eastward, facing Mount Scopus and Hebrew University, watching as an Arab bus climbed up slowly on Ben Adaya Street and emitted smoke from its exhaust.

Har-zion then returns home. He went down the stairs and walked towards one of the rooms on the second floor, turned off the lights and closed the door behind them. He and Avi were about to leave later that night, so decided, once things on the outside softened a little and they could sneak in without much trouble. This is how the plan will go: He will be there to start organizing things and securing maximum publicity; then, once the occupation is safe, he will leave it to others, he said, let them direct the real affairs of the occupation, remove all traces of the previous owner of the building and replace it with a Jewish identity as the new owner.There are still other businesses that are more important to note the interview, meetings, Knesset affairs, Al-mulatham.

He turned the key, crossed the room to make sure the window was tightly closed, then slowly and rigidly, he began to take off his clothes. There's glass on the opposite wall, cracked and dull. As soon as he was naked, he stepped closer to the mirror, looking at his reflection in the mirror. From the neck down her skin was full of red, brown, and pink patches, smooth as glass and hairless, more plastic-like than real leather. He moved his eyes up and down, a somewhat surprised look on his face, as if after thirteen years and a hundred skin grafts, he still could not believe that he looked like this.

“No chance,” army doctor said as they brought him in. “She's dead.” But he didn't die. He survives to stay alive, with incredible determination as one endures with the grasp of his fingers while his body hangs on the brink. The pain is really hard to believe, weeks, months, pain that in comparison to other pain is just pleasure, tearing itself apart cell by cell, atom by atom, he said, until there was nothing left with him except pain. He became sick, a being formed from the purest and most powerful primordial afflictions.

However, he persisted with the unchanging stance that God needed him to stay alive. And also, with anger. Not for what had happened to him, even if it was bad enough, but for his dear little brother Benjamin, who was in the Humvee with him and burned in the explosion. Poor brave benjamin.

He looked in the mirror, gasping and amazed at the difference in texture between his head and his face which, because of a certain miracle, apart from the rage of the red man, was, and a pale-gray, glass-like kaleidoscope of everything beneath it.

Then, grunting, he lifted the bottle of ointment on the table next to it, took out its contents into his palm and began to rub it into every spot on his arm and chest. Five times a day he had to undergo a ritual like this. His skin should remain supple and moist, the doctor told him. Moist, elastic. Otherwise, the skin will tighten like a tight jacket, will be torn due to sudden or excessive movement. That is why he was forced to quit his fieldwork and chose an in-office job on military intelligence.

Because there should be no exceptions in this ritual; just one miss can cause the layers of skin to be torn apart.

He applied the white fluid Almond on his shoulders, chest, and abdomen, and then dropped directly down, to **** and testicles, respectively, the fruit is tightly bound and hangs from a shiny scar tissue at the base of her thigh. “Do you have children?” Ask the doctor at the time. When he answered no, they shook their heads sadly. There was no hope now, whatever was inside had been shattered. He was empty, unable to do so anymore. Not only his brother was killed, but also his children.The future is so often dreamed by him and his wife Miriam.

Benjamin, his children, his flesh, and three years ago Miriam too, from cancer all had been taken from him, like the bark was snatched from a tree, leaving nothing but his faith, his anger, and his country, he said, Israelite. That's his family now. And also, his revenge. His cries were against Arabs and Jewish haters everywhere. And he will do whatever it takes to ensure his survival.

Finished massaging his own body, he lay down on the side of the ointment bottle, while continuing to stare at the glass. You might be scared, he thought, but you're still a strong man. We may be afraid, but we are strong. Va’avarecha me'Varakhecha Umekalelecha. I will bless those who bless you, and he who curse you will. He nodded and turned around, starting to get dressed again.