The party was over. That was confirmed when the voice came back on the speakers a couple minutes later. Everybody had to go home immediately.
A collective groan sounded throughout the crowd. Nobody wanted the good times to end. As the sun had been rising, Yossi had felt a weird certainty that it was an omen of sorts. It spoke of his future with Adira and the life they could share together. It spoke of new life and children and maybe even grandchildren someday. He had been formulating in his mind just the right words to let her know what he was thinking. But now that would have to wait for another time.
He kissed the back of her head as it lay on the arm he had stretched out as a pillow for her. “I guess that means us.”
“Can’t we wait a little longer?” she asked, pulling his other arm tighter around her body. But already, people were on their feet and moving.
“I’d love to, but if we stay here much longer, we’re liable to get trampled to death.” He stood, then helped Adira to her feet. As they both stretched, Yossi got his bearings.
Unsurprisingly, no one was rushing. The chances of one of those rockets reaching them was miniscule. How would Hamas even know about Nova? It wasn’t like the producers of the rave would have blanketed Gaza with posters. No, if there was anyone targeted, it would likely be the nearby Kibbutz Re’im.
Then again, anyone within five miles of the target of a Hamas rocket better watch their back. There’s a much better chance of them being hit than the place where it was aimed.
All around, people were talking and laughing as they made their way toward the edges of the camp. There were no loud complaints about the cancellation. No yelling or screaming. Early shutdowns were eventualities that Israelis experience throughout their lives. Everyone had felt the sadness of a picnic in the park being shortened or a concert being canceled or a school play getting shut down because one terrorist group or another felt that it was the appropriate time to send off another rocket.
“I don’t want this moment to end,” said Adira, taking Yossi’s hand as they walked.
“Well, we need to go. But there’s nothing that says we need to do it quickly.” He imitated the deep bass line and the two of them began dancing. Soon, three or four others joined them. When he ended, the strangers fist-bumped him and went on their way.
Adira grabbed Yossi’s arm with her other hand. “Hey, let’s go by the artists’ tent again. I want to thank that man one more time. I can’t imagine what I was like when I stumbled in there.”
They made a slight shift to their trajectory and weaved their way through the slowly moving mass of people. When they arrived in the tent, most of the artists were still in the process of packing up their gear. They spotted their new friend and went over to him.
“If it isn’t my little lost desert flower,” the artist said with a smile.
Adira answered him with a hug.
“Well, that’s a greeting I’ll take any day,” he said, wrapping his arms around her but not quite touching her. Adira, though, went in for the full grab, not noticing the stray paint blotches that decorated his shirt.
“Thank you again! I don’t know what I would have done without you,” she said.
When she stepped back, Yossi held out his hand. “Yeah, thank you so much, Mister…”
“Sharabi. Asa Sharabi,” he answered, without taking Yossi’s hand. “Sorry, I still haven’t cleaned myself off. And you, little flower, may take back your gratitude after you see what hugging me has done to your clothes. I tend to get a little messy when I work.”
Yossi looked at the fresh blue, red, and green blemishes that now flecked Adira’s tan shirt and bare torso.
“I don’t know. It looks kind of fashion forward to me,” he said. He began with his bass line again, and Adira broke into a runway strut across the floor of the tent.
“Beautiful,” laughed Sharabi as she walked back. “Maybe instead of painting, I should be designing clothing.”
Yossi introduced himself and Adira, then offered to help carry the artist’s equipment to his car. Sharabi readily accepted, saying it would save him a second trip.
Ten minutes later, Yossi was gently placing a wooden easel in the back seat of Sharabi’s vehicle, while Adira and the artist filled the trunk with his supplies and a still-drying canvas. Once all was closed up, they met by the driver’s door.
Sharabi pulled a card from his wallet and offered it to Yossi. “I have a gallery in Ein Hod near Haifa. If ever you are in the area, I’d love to show you around.”
Adira snatched up the card. “I know Ein Hod. We’d love to come.”
“Then I look forward to seeing you there.” They said their goodbyes and Sharabi got in his car. Unfortunately, the traffic had become so backed up by that time, it was unlikely he would be moving anywhere soon.
They were about five minutes south of the party site, and Yossi’s car was a fifteen-minute walk north of Nova. He turned to begin the journey, but Adira didn’t move.
“Motek, what are those?”
Yossi turned and looked to the west. When his eyes finally focused on what she was pointing at, he realized that their situation had just gotten much more dangerous. He quickly began unzipping his waist pack. “We need to move, Adira. Now,” he said, as he pulled out his phone and speed-dialed a number.