147 292
147
CAPTIVITY
Translated by Tim Wilkinson
“Y
ou’re setting off for
Jerusalem the day
after tomorrow!”
Uri woke up with a start.
His father was standing over
him.
Uri raised himself up on his
rags, picked up the scroll that
had slipped from his hand
to the floor, and looked up
apologetically from where
he was sitting. An awkward
smile played across his lips,
as it did whenever he was
caught doing something, and
he always was caught, even if
it wasn’t anything bad.
His father fidgeted a bit in
the gloomy nook, the gray
February afternoon throwing
light from the yard on his
stern bearded features, his
prominent cheekbones, his
deeply set eyes; the little
square thrown onto the wall
happened to be gleaming just
above Uri’s disheveled, greasy
hair. His father was standing
there somberly, no longer
looking at himbut gazing at the
yard. He turned on his heels
and pushed aside the carpet
that hung over the doorway,
so forcefully that it conveyed
his deep-seated disgust at his
son, at his own position, with
Creation in general.
Uri had not yet fully regained
consciousness; he was merely
ashamed of what his father
had caught him doing: falling
asleep while reading. He had
a habit of taking a nap in the