THERE'LL ALWAYS BE ROOM IN SAVYON
August 1967


The heavy red velvet drapes hung neatly pleated.
The antique furniture a bit uncomfortable and genuine.
It really was great in a way. Refugees from Nazi Germany. They had "made" itThey had made it in a few short years in New York.
They were telling us how they had watched the war -- on television, night and day.
"We lived with it," they kept repeating.They couldn't wait to get to Israel.
To see for themselves
And they saw
The Golan Heights
Sinai
The old City --
They couldn't get over the Old City
"And what are you doing for the Old City?"
I asked exuberantly.
He didn't answer exuberantly.
"Don't you want to be a part of these historic times.
Don't you feel the urge to participate?
What if you had a place in the old city?
Even if you only spent a few months a year there? "
"My children are in America," said his wife with her heavy accent.
"I've got all the obligations I want, said he.
There wasn't any point in talking about it any further, but here wasn't any point in talking about anything else, further either.
We made polite conversation.
"Where else were you?" I asked, not really interested.
"We also went to the Gada and it is lovely but Gaza is terrible."
"I haven't been there," I said but my brother-in-law says that he wouldn't like to give anything back to the Arabs, but Gaza they can keep.
"How are conditions in the States? I changed the subject.
"Now you've come to the question," said he. "It looks very ugly and though it is safe in my Fifth Avenue apartment, they attacked some stores on Fifth Avenue. If
I should come to Israel, it will be because of them."
I said, "Israel will open its doors to the poor rich Jews who'll be running away."
Even he felt the sarcasm.
"Oh, there'll always be room in Savyon."
he said, smugly
And then I felt it!
I hope there isn't, I felt.
Oh, it was a nasty feeling
That I felt
And for a second, I hated him
Because he was a parasite
Because he couldn't give
Spontaneously
Freely
Generously
Of himself and what he could do
But was waiting
Niggardly
Meanly
Behind the waxed and polished floors of his apartment
Knowing that with his money
He could always buy a refuge in Israel

And I hated him for the second
For the cynicism
And the disdain of the spiritualityIn the victory where all fought alike
And there was no rich
And there was no poor
There was only
Jew
Jew - the warrior
Jew - the miracle maker
Jew - the miracle taker
And everybody's life was in danger
And everybody's future could have been
Cut off where it was
Clipped
Nipped
Not that that is so remarkable
But it isn't smug
And it didn't make any difference
How much money you had in the bank
And nobody was so sure
"There'll always be room in Savyon"
Not even in the cemetery, were we sure
No that that matters either
"In Flanders Field the poppies grow."
It's nothing remarkable
To fight in a war
In whatever way
Or to be killed in the fight
But it's a nasty piece of brother
Who applauds from the side
And then comes just to look
And doesn't even bend down
To pick up a brick
From the stones that are strewn
On the floor of the battlefield
And must be picked up
And rebuilt in their place
And lived in by the people
Who are still on this earth
As Jew
To follow the warrior
To follow the miracle maker
Into the future
To make the last stand
In glorious death
To continued glorious life -
Less glamorous maybe
But battle nevertheless.
Making the Old City ours was a matter,
On June 6th of lives and deaths
Making the Old City ours is a matterAfter June 6th Only of lives and living.

And my anger flared in me even greater
When I remembered that they -- were saved
From a gas chamber.
Why was I saved? he asked in wonder
At that time
Why I and not my brother? he had asked in
humbleness
At that time.
He had knocked at a door and said,"I am a Jew. Let me in."
And the door opened
And inside he prayed
And asked again
"Why was I saved and not my brother?"

And now he says,
"If the situation gets
Gets too unpleasant in New York
I can always go to Israel."
And I hated him then
And wished the situation would get realUnpleasant in New York
And there would be no room for him in Savyon
And I hated him even more in those seconds
For making me think such thoughts
For taking himself out of the battle
Where he could easily be.

Address Har Hazofim, Jerusalem.
And not the cemetery!
Willing to come only
When he needs it
His need the only reason
Smug
In the hug
Of his banknotes.

There'll always be room in Savyon!


Return to Table of Contents
Learn more about the author Grace Hollander

This material is ©1998 by Grace Hollander
3 Keren Haysod St., Ramat Ilan, Givat Shmuel, Israel 51905

Permission to distribute this material, with this notice is granted - with request to notify of use by surface mail
or at gracehol@internet-zahav.net.