July 7th (Yud Alef Tammuz) 2006 marked the first anniversary of the death of David Margolis. David was an amazing man. He was my mentor, my friend and he gave me the courage to write.

I met David in 2003 when I was at the Arad Arts Project. David, and his wife Judith had also been participants on the program many years before when they arrived in Israel having made aliyah with their daughter.
David was a respected novelist, poet and journalist; Judith an extremely talented artist and poet. Together they were a powerhouse of creativity. They were also amongst the most devoted couple I have ever met.
They lived on the tranquil yeshuv of Beit Yatir, in the southern Hevron Hills. It was there that I visited them on many occasions - for shabbat dinner, for an informal seminar with my fellow artists or just for a chat.
David was always there for a chat.

In March 2004, the participants of the Arad Arts Project went to visit David and Judith who had agreed to run a day seminar at their home. I wrote about the experience at the time:

In March, the Arts Students had a seminar in Beit Yatir, a yeshuv (settlement) located in the very southern tip of the West Bank. Technically occupied territory, it has largely escaped the violence and terror usually associated with the troubled region. We went to visit former AAP participants David and Judith Margolis. David is a writer and journalist, his wife Judith is a visual artist and writer. It was hard to believe that this pastoral landscape was the same scarred and bloody landscape that we are conditioned to imagine when we watch the television or pick up a newspaper. All I could see around me were lush green fields, cattle, the occasional grazing horse, and budding peach blossoms heralding the beginning of spring.

As I sat at their dining table with a cup of tea and a piece of cake, I struggled to actually believe that I was in the “Occupied Territories”. It was such a loaded word. In this country blood is literally spilled at the very mention of those two words. And yet their home was like any other home. Comfortable worn couches, bookshelves spilling over with well-loved books, a warm and lived in kitchen. The view from their windows was of rolling hills and fields. I could have been on a farm in Australia.

We all sat down at the table and began a writing exercise with David. “What are your identities?” he asked. “Write a list. Just write down anything that comes to mind.” I began to write something that resembled a shopping list, albeit a rather bizarre shopping list:

Woman
Daughter
Sister
Girlfriend
Student
Olah Chadasha
Australian
Israeli
Friend
Jew
Writer

We were then asked to select one word from the list and use it to form the starting point of a free writing exercise, whereby you basically don’t think and just write – even if that means writing, “I don’t know what to write” a hundred times. This is what I wrote:

I am a Jew, but I don’t quite know what that means. It was the second last thing on my list of identities (Writer was last). I’d actually finished writing my list when I looked up and looked around me. Oh yeah. I remembered. I’m a Jew. I’m at a table full of Jews. In a Jewish house that’s in a religious Jewish settlement on the dangerous side of Israel – or at least that’s what the media tells us. It seems pretty bloody peaceful here is you ask me. So why was it so far down the list? Why did I almost forget to write it down at all? Is it because it is so second nature to me that it seems obvious and therefore easy to overlook, or is it (and more likely) because I struggle with my identity as a Jew, because it is not automatic, because I have to work at connecting it to my life?

It’s easier here in Israel. People just assume I am Jewish (actually they assume I am Russian, but that is another story) I like that people automatically assume I am Jewish. That makes me feel more Jewish. How do you “be” Jewish? How do you “do” Jewish? How do you “feel” Jewish?

If I left Israel would I feel more Jewish or less Jewish? Is being Jewish part of me, part of my identity or is being me just the same as being Jewish? Is the sum of the parts greater than the whole?

Am I lots of little pieces – some Jewish, and others not, or am I one big, complete, singular Jewish identity? And is Jewish Identity the same as Jewish Soul? Can you have a Jewish Soul and not have a Jewish Identity? I remember my grandfather once saying that he thought that even some non-Jews had Jewish souls, but that’s only because they were Jews in another life. So I guess they really were Jewish, even if they didn’t know it.


We wrote a new list. This time we were to list of all the emotions we were feeling at that very point in time:

Unstable
Happy
Sad
Anxious
Uncertain
Worried
Optimistic
Fatalistic
Yo-yo
Drifting
Longing
Looking for answers
Stressed
Dread
Afraid of making mistakes

The worrying thing is, I really thought I was pretty happy,

Once again, I picked one word out from the list and focussed on it. I chose the word “unstable”.

I’m unstable. Unlike the last list, this word is at the top. Number 1 no hesitation whatsoever this time. You know that feeling when you have to do something really important and you forget and then you remember all of a sudden? Your heart kind of skips a couple of beats and you feel sick and nauseous? Well that’s kind of how I feel these days. All the time really. In between I feel fine. Outwardly – and even to myself – I think I am pretty happy. Stable, consistent. But then I remember what that important thing was and I feel sick again. It’s a vicious cycle and one which I am not quite sure how to break. The really important thing I keep forgetting is, “What the hell am I doing with my life?”

Never before have I felt such a crossroads. I’ve travelled along a really long and often bumpy road and I’ve finally got here, and just when I thought it was straight on down the Yellow Brick Road to Oz, I come across a giant fork in the road. The left side has a beautiful rainbow and dammit, so does the right side. Or is it a mirage? I’m in the Middle East – they have mirages here don’t they? I’m in the desert too; even more appropriate.

I don’t want to take the wrong path. I’m frightened I won’t be able to find my way back if I take the wrong path. I hate making mistakes. I’m a perfectionist.

By June it seemed as if my life was headed down a path I could no longer turn back on:

I am not sure when the exact moment was or if there was a precise event that occurred, but I know that virtually overnight I went from being utterly convinced that I was going to stay in Israel forever to all of a sudden handing my credit card details over the phone and booking a one way flight back to Melbourne.

A couple of weeks before I flew back to Australia, I was at David and Judith Margolis’ house for dinner. Two WUJS friends, Robin and Melanie had also come along. After the lovely home cooked meal of roast chicken, we all sat and relaxed in their comfortable lounge room. David turned to me and said “So, it’s exactly two weeks that you will be leaving Israel?”
“Two weeks?” I replied. “Um, I guess so. You know I didn’t realize it was just two weeks, but you are right. I can’t believe it.”
“How do you feel about it?”
“I don’t. I can’t. Feel. Anything. I don’t know what I think. I think I am still in shock about the whole thing really.”
“That’s understandable. I am sure this is pretty tough for you.”
“I’ll be back though. Of that, I am sure.”
“Really?” said Judith. “You think so?”
“No question.” I replied, a little too quickly.

About midnight, David and Judith drove us all home to Arad. The three of us crammed into the back seat – and to make some extra room, I threw the heavy bullet-proof vest into the boot of the car. I do realize how absurd that sounds, but hey, it’s their reality. They live in the West Bank.
I sat squashed in the middle, or “sittin’ bitch” as my American friends referred to it. About halfway into the thirty minute journey home, I began to feel a shortness of breath. My eyes started to sting and all of a sudden, I fought to hold back the tears. At first I thought I was having a bit of a claustrophobia attack. It was very crammed and uncomfortable in the car and the windows were so dirty and caked with dust and sand that I couldn’t even look out. I realized though that it was not claustrophobia I was suffering, but a good old-fashioned anxiety attack.
I think I did a pretty good job of concealing it though and managed to get home without anyone saying anything. I realized that this was to be the first of many goodbyes to come. David and Judith had become good friends and I was going to miss them.

As the three of us walked back towards the Merkaz Klita, I asked Melanie if she wanted to come to my room for a cup of tea. Really it was just an excuse to talk to someone. All of a sudden I had a desperate need to talk to someone.
“I’d love to, but I have got so much reading to do for a class tomorrow.” Melanie said.
“Please, Melanie.” I replied; my voice audibly cracking. “Please come by. I need to talk to someone.”
She must have sensed my desperation, because she said she would be round as soon as she could.
A little while later there was a soft knock at my door. It was Melanie.
“So what’s up? Is everything ok?”
I burst into tears. It was so sudden and so explosive, I even surprised myself. I let her in and she came and sat with me on my bed.

“I can’t do it Mel. I can’t go back.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t leave Israel in two weeks. I just can’t leave here.”
“But I thought you were all decided."
“I know! I know! I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel like a total fucking basket case. I keep swinging from one extreme to the other. I really thought I had made up my mind and for a while I was really confident that I had made the right decision. And then tonight when David pointed out that I literally have two weeks left in Israel, I freaked out. I literally freaked out. It’s like I hadn’t actually allowed my brain to start thinking about the realities of leaving. It was still so theoretical. I’ve barely told a soul I am leaving, I feel ashamed. I feel like a failure. I hate that I have no options left. I have no money. There are no jobs and in just a couple of weeks, I’ll have no place to live. It didn’t make me feel any better when Judith, who is truly one of life’s optimists, told me that believed that if I had really wanted to stay, the opportunities would have come.”

“Mel. As incredible as WUJS has been for me, and it really has changed my life – it has also totally fucked up my life. Coming here was both the best and worst thing I have ever done. It’s turned my life upside down and inside out. I don’t know what the hell to do. I don’t know what the right thing to do is and I am terrified I am making a huge mistake in going back.”

Melanie looked at me with such sympathy and suddenly I was aware of how desperate I had become. My tear-stained face was begging for solutions. I wanted someone to wave their magic wand and make it all better. “I have to admit” she said. “I was so surprised when you said you were going back. I really thought you were one of the ones who really would stick it out here. I was depending on you! You were my inspiration and knowing you would be in Israel made me feel like I could stay here too. And now you are going. I don’t think you should go. I think you should stick it out at least for a few months.”

Part of me thought she was right. The other side of me (actually by this point there were probably about 56 “parts” of me – my psyche was so fractured) felt so hopeless and that I had made a decision, maybe not the right decision, but it was a decision, and that was better than NO decision and at least I felt like I was moving forward in some direction. Until then, I had felt utterly hopeless, drowning in indecision and endless confusion. It had been so long since I had been able to sleep though a full night. Lying awake until the early hours of the morning was now a sad reality and I would spend my days wandering around in a semi-zombie state.

Melanie stayed with me for about three hours and we talked and talked. I did feel better afterwards. No less confused, but talking to someone there and really being honest about how torn I was about the whole thing made me feel a little better. After she left I called my mother. I told about what I was going through – I must have sounded like a broken record – I don’t know how she kept up with me! She was incredibly sympathetic and told me that she would support me no matter what decision I made.

Well, it's pretty obvious what happened isn't it? I went home to Australia and cried half the way across the world.

Almost exactly a year ago to the day I received a most distressing email from someone I didn’t actually know. I can’t remember the actual title of the email except that it was something along the lines of “Prayers for David Margolis” I opened it and read an email that seemed to say that David was deathly ill and that his family were calling for all his friends, and anyone that knew and loved David to say Tehillim (Psalms) reciting specific prayers traditionally said for someone who is close to death. Not being one to normally reach out for my prayer book, I felt an urgent compulsion to do just that. I copied down all the numbers of the prayers and read each one aloud in bed that night. I read and I prayed. I prayed with such conviction and struggled to continue to read as tears rolled down my face and stained the pages of my book. The prayers talked of nearing the grave and the afterlife and I realised how seriously ill David must have been. I thought of his dear wife Judith, and I wished I had been able to be at The Kotel where people who loved David were gathered.

I received a second email the next day, on July 17th, from the same person, except that this time the email was entitled, “David Margolis – of Blessed Memory”. He was gone. I was stunned and shocked and silenced in my immediate grief. In many ways, I hardly knew David. I had only known him for a year of both our lives, and yet I don’t know if David will ever know the deep impact he had on my life. He was my mentor. I admired and respected him so much. As a writer, as a Jew and as a human being. He was an example to us all. He lived his life with such truth and conviction. If I get to live my life with an ounce of the integrity that he lived his life, I will be truly satisfied. To know that one is living such “truth”, such honesty, must be a wonderful feeling.

I try to live my life with a “no regrets” rule. I know that I cannot avoid the regret that the book I am (still!) writing was not finished before David passed away. I started it when I was in Israel at WUJS and I doubt it would have got anywhere had it not been for his support, guidance and critical advice. I wish he was still alive so he could know how much he meant to me. Part of me thinks that even though he is no longer with us, he is still here and he knows how much he meant to me – and to countless other people whose lives he touched in his lifetime.

His wife Judith sent out an email this week to let people know about the unveiling of his gravestone at the Har Hevron Cemetery in Sussiya. She ended her short email with a beautiful poem;

i thank you God for most this amazing day
for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

- e e cummings

David, I am keeping my promise and I am coming back. And I will come to visit you and pay my respects. David - my mentor, my inspiration, my friend. I miss you.



Visit David's website