Fima

"Fima," said Tsvi, "I read it. We talked about it the day before yesterday. Get to the point. Explain your problem."

"I'm just coming to it," said Fima. "But first, just explain one thing to me, Tsvika. Why does this Grass insist on referring to the Nazis as 'they,' whereas you and I, all these years, whenever we write about the occupation, the corruption of values, the oppression in the Territories, even about the Lebanon War, always and without exception use the pronoun Ve'? And Grass was actually a soldier with the Wehrmacht! The same as the other one, Heinrich Boll. He wore the swastika and had to give the Nazi salute every morning and shout 'Heil Hitler' with the rest of them. And now he calls them 'them.' Whereas I, who have never set foot in Lebanon, who have never served in the Territories, so that my conscience is clearer than Günter Grass's, regularly say and write 'we.' 'Our wrongdoings.' And even 'the innocent blood we have shed.' What is it, that 'we'? Something left over from the War of Independence: We are always at the ready, we are here, we're the Palmach? Who is this 'we,' anyway? Me and Rabbi Levinger? You and Rabbi Kahane? What does it mean, exactly? Have you ever thought about it, Professor? Perhaps the time has come when you and I and all of us should follow the example of Grass and Böll. Maybe we should all start saying, exclusively, consciously, and emphatically: 'they.' What do you think?"

"Look," Tsvi said wearily, "the thing is with them it's all in the past, whereas with us it's still going on, and that's why."

"Are you out of your mind?" Fima cut in with an explosion of rage. "Can you hear what you're saying? What d'you mean, with them it's in the past, whereas with us it's still going on? What the hell do you mean by 'it'? What precisely is it according to you that is over and done with in Berlin but still goes on in Jerusalem? Have you gone crazy, Professor? What you're doing is putting them and us on the same level! Worse still, you're implying that the Germans have a moral advantage over us, because they've finished and poor old us, we're still at it. Who do you think you are? George Steiner? Radio Damascus? That's exactly the tainted comparison that even Grass, the graduate of the Wehrmacht, decries and calls demagoguery!"

Fima's passion was spent. In its place came sadness. And he said in the tone one uses to speak to a child who has hurt himself with a screwdriver because he has obstinately refused to take heed of the grownups' warnings:

"You can see for yourself, Tsvika, how easy it is to fall into the trap. Look what a fine line we have to tread."

"Calm down, Fima," Tsvi pleaded, although Fima was already calm. "It's only eight in the morning. Why arc you leaping on me like this? Come around one evening; we'll sit down and talk it over quietly. I've got some Napoleon brandy from France. Shula's sister brought it back with her. But not this week. It's the end of the semester and I'm up to my cars. They're making me chairman of the department. Can you come next week? You don't sound well to me, Fima, and Nina was saying to Shula that you're depressed again."

"So what, for heaven's sake, if it's not eight o'clock yet. Docs our responsibility for the language switch off outside office hours? Docs it only operate from eight to four with a break for lunch, weekdays only? I mean it, seriously. Forget Shula and Nina and your brandy for a moment. A fine time for brandy. The only reason I'm depressed is because the rest of you don't seem to be nearly depressed enough, considering what's going on. Have you seen the paper this morning? I'd like you to take what I've said as a proposal for the agenda. Under the heading of the defense of the language against increasing pollution. I'm suggesting that from now on, at least as regards the atrocities in the Territories, we simply stop using the word 'we.'"

"Fima," said Tsvi, "hang on a minute. Just sort yourself out. Which is the first 'we' and which is the second one? You've got yourself in a twist, pal. Why don't we just drop it for the time being? We'll talk about it next week. Face to face. We can't settle a subject like this on the phone. And I've got to run along."

Fima would not give in or let go:

"You remember that famous line in the poem by Amir Gilboa: 'Suddenly a man gets up one morning and feels he is a nation and starts walking.' That's precisely the absurdity I'm talking about. First of all, Professor, the truth, hand on your heart: Has it ever happened to you that you've got up in the morning and suddenly felt you were a nation? After lunch at the earliest. Who can get up in the morning and feel he's a nation, anyway? And even start walking? Maybe Geula Cohen can. Who gets up in the morning and doesn't just feel lousy?"

Tsvi laughed. Which encouraged Fima to a new outburst:

"But listen. Seriously. The time has come to stop feeling like a nation. To stop starting to walk. Let's cut that crap. 'A voice called to me and I went.' 'Wherever we are sent — we'll go.' These are semifascistic motifs. You're not a nation. I'm not a nation. Nobody is a nation. Not in the morning and not in the evening. And by the way, we're really not a nation anyway. At most we're a sort of tribe."

"There you go again with your 'we.'" Tsvi chuckled. "You're a little too far out, Fima. Just make up your mind: Are we 'we' or aren't we? In a hanged man's house you shouldn't throw the rope after the bucket. Never mind. I'm sorry, but now I really must hang up and run. By the way, I heard that Uri will be back this weekend. Why don't we fix something up for Saturday night? See you."

"Of course we're not a nation," Fima insisted, deaf and aflame with self-righteousness. "We're a primitive tribe. Scum, that's what we arc. But those Germans, and the French and the British too, have no right to talk down to us. Compared to them we're saints. Not to mention the rest of them. Have you seen the paper today? The way Shamir went on yesterday in Netanya? And what they did to that old Arab at Ashdod Beach?"

When Tsvi apologetically hung up, Fima continued to harangue the indifferent, bloated gargle emanating from the phone:

"In any case, we've had it."

He was referring collectively to the state of Israel, the dovish left, himself, and his friend. But after putting the receiver down, he thought it over and changed his mind: we mustn't get hysterical. He nearly called Tsvi again to warn him against the despair and hysteria lurking all around nowadays. He felt ashamed of his rudeness to his long-standing friend, such a learned and intelligent man, and one of the last voices to have stayed sane. Even though he was somewhat saddened by the thought that this mediocre scholar should now be head of the department and sit on the same chair as his illustrious predecessors, compared to whom he was a pygmy. At which point Fima suddenly remembered how, eighteen months ago, when he was admitted to Hadassah Hospital to have his appendix removed, Tsvika had enlisted the help of his brother the doctor. He had also enlisted himself and Shula; in fact the two of them had hardly left Fima's bedside. When he was discharged, Tsvi, with the Gefens and Teddy, had organized round-the-clock shifts to take care of him, and he had run a high fever, behaved like a spoiled child, and pestered them endlessly. And now, here he was not only hurting Tsvi but also interrupting him in the middle of shaving and maybe making him late for his lecture at the university. And just when he was on the point of becoming head of the department too. This very evening, Fima decided, he would call him again. He would apologize, but he would still try to explain his position all over again. But this time with restraint and cold, sharp logic. And he wouldn't forget to send a kiss to Shula.

Fima hurried to the kitchen, because he had the impression that before his conversation with Tsvika he put the new electric kettle on to boil, and by now it had probably gone the way of its predecessor. Halfway there he was stopped by the ringing telephone and found himself drawn in two directions. After a moment's hesitation he picked up the phone and said to his father: