A Room of Their Own Rakefet Yarden (top 10 novels of all time TXT) 📖

to sit in my living room, or worse, walk around with me for half a day in Jerusalem? And what was she even doing agreeing without talking to me first, and how can such a cute kid have such an annoying mother? Why can’t he just like Alma, whose mother is pleasant and interesting? And how come we’ve moved so fast from “Mommy, can I?”’ to “Mommy, why not?”

Dani’s angry with me, too, as are Emily and Omer, as am I, I thought to myself. They’re either angry or insulted. I suddenly realized that everybody wants something from me. Certainty, security, peace. I also want something from me. Something like silence, and to stop being angry. Ten days of Vipassana suddenly sounded like a very enticing notion.

But I’m not ready to go yet, I thought to myself. I can’t. My feelings are too hurt. I wish I could just fling all this extra baggage off me. If only I could put aside the burden of life. . . Gently pull it off my shoulders, set it down in some corner and forget about it. I want to forget. Why don’t I know how to do it? Why do they stick with me, all of those memories, and I with them?

So they’re angry at me. I’m fine with that. They want things from me that I can’t provide. Not now, in any case. I’m just trying to figure out when. When did I make them believe that I was going to provide everything that they want, the second that they want it? Love, relief, belonging, peace.

As demanding as a new-born. Maybe I can start with myself. That’s the easiest, because it all boils down to me, and also the hardest, because it all boils down to me. It can happen all the time and equally never happen at all.

Be here right now, in the moment. You don’t need 10 days at Ma’ayan Baruch for that, I reminded myself. Sit quietly, let thoughts pass by, coming in and out of your mind. Observe them, lay each one on its own wide green leaf by the stream, on soft clouds in a blue tranquil sky, on the stickers at the back of the cars stuck in a traffic jam that I can see from the bridge, the vehicles slowly accelerating, taking my thoughts with them far, far away, towards the sunset. I try all the tricks, but nothing helps.

All right, so how about without trying to calm down? Just being.

Inhaling doesn’t reject the air coming in, and exhaling doesn’t keep the air from going out. I look around me without any expectations, just observing. Not looking for insights, not looking to calm down, not looking for anything.

Organizing my thoughts. Looking for a common denominator among them all. What do they require? What is it that we all need so badly? It can’t be all that complicated. Dani asks me for coping tools. She’s angry that I don’t provide her with relief. I should have studied something else − ceramics, or maybe plumbing. Suddenly there’s a bitter taste in my mouth. What tool can make you forget your terrible memories, little girl? What tool can heal the crack, restore your trust in people?

She’s absolutely not asking for coping tools, Rotem. Those are just her words. Don’t let that confuse you. It’s you that she wants. She believes that her pain will subside only when the partitions vanish.

I was certain that I was going to save Yochai. That I could heal any ache with the power of my love.

If I just love him the right way, then he won’t want to die so badly, or maybe he’ll just want it a little less.

If he becomes more attracted to me, then the ground won’t pull him down as strongly.

If we create a new life and new memories, then I can make him forget his wounded friends’ cries as he lay on the ground, unable to help them. I can make him forget his mother’s screams when the officers came to tell her about his brother’s death in Lebanon. If I just love him enough, and give up enough, we’ll be fine.

If I hold his hand and hug him all night long, or give him space.

If I just manage to be there for him as much as he needs me, then he’ll heal.

And I tried. I tried so hard. Until I couldn’t anymore.

We went to therapy, of course. At first together, then separately, then together again. For 10 years I had allowed that trial, and then I stopped it all at once. Nothing extraordinary happened. One day I just felt like shedding him. It was time to let go. No matter how hard I’d try and want and love, no one person can save another for an entire lifetime. You can provide reasons for living, and inspire, but you can’t be the sole reason for someone else’s living. They end up hating you for it. . . I’m speaking from experience.

I made a decision and suddenly leaped from my seat, pressing the stop button. “Come on, Yotam, we’re getting off here.” Maybe this will help me stop thinking, I hoped.

“We’re not looking for the solution underneath the light. If there are difficulties in the relationship, then we must examine the bigger picture.” I heard the voice of Michaela, the guide from the Constellation Course, which was the closest course to plumbing I could find during my ceaseless search for ways to unblock obstructions. New ways lessen the baggage and relieve the human suffering that exists everywhere around me and within me. Not underneath the light. I suddenly realized that we all look for the right distance. Each in their own way, asking for space. We all need air. Dani. Yotam. Emily. I, too, want distance from the resurfacing memories. How does one create the right distance? How can one even know what that is?

“Mommy, what’s that animal with the horns?” Yotam’s voice brought me back to