by Neta Shlain
water
David looked up
at the grey sandy hill with its poorly scattered vegetation, saltbushes mostly,
and wiped his bald head. What was left of his once marvellous mane now tickled
the inside of his ears with wetness. Sun was getting high; he placed the cap
back on and began ascending followed closely by ministers of defence and
agriculture.
David might’ve not been a man of grand height yet his physical abilities
could be compared to the more agile and much younger members of the Knesset, not
that there were many of them. Quickly moving his short legs, he felt a sense of
freedom rising in his chest, that same freedom that most of his dear ones left
in Poland were denied. Tears welled up, he inhaled deeper and fastened his step
still followed closely by the overly tired ministers.
Finally, they reached the top. ‘Here it is!’ David extended his hand
exposing an armpit soaked with sweat. ‘Here it is,’ minister of defence
collapsed on the dusty ground, ripping a bunch of leaves from the saltbush and
placing them in his mouth to create saliva, another hand grabbing the chest.
‘What is this?’ Red like a crab, minister of agriculture pulled down his hat to
hide his eyes from the sun.
‘Ha Negev, my friends. Nothing defines a human more than the ability to
make wilderness arable.’
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