Bareheaded before God, Daniel ran. Above his head dark clouds gathered, black smoke taking the shape of demons and ruches, evil spirits, servants of Ashmedai or Asmodeus, Lord of Demons. When he stopped at last he was surprised at the silence, solemn and profound, disturbed only by the pounding of blood in his head. Yeshiva clothes are heavy and unsuitable for running. He had already taken off his coat. Now, on impulse, he unbuttoned his shirt, and when his fingers fumbled with the buttons he tore it open, and laughed, surprised, and threw the white shirt to the ground. The wind was soft and cool on his chest. More, he thought. And then — more! He took off his undershirt, stained with sweat, and threw it on the ground. More! His shoes! His black shoes! He threw them at a wall. Socks. He smelled them and pulled a face and rolled them into a ball. His feet, sensitive, felt the ground keenly. He kneaded at the asphalt with his toes. It felt warm, and the wind against his feet made him shudder. He stood half-naked in the middle of the street and listened to the silence. Apartment buildings were ruins around him. A broken sign lying on the ground said, Frishman St. He turned and turned, spreading his arms, letting the air cool his body. He laughed. Above his head the black clouds parted and he saw the cold immense stars, charting an unknown map in a new sky. More! With shaking fingers he unbuckled his belt. He let his black trousers fall down to his knees, then kicked them off. He remained standing in his white underwear. No more, he thought. The world is ended, and God didn’t come. I shall go as Adam did, in the Garden of Eden there on the Euphrates river. I shall go without the leaf of figs, and I shall go without shame.
He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his underpants and slid them off, and stood naked. He felt hungry then, and he began to walk, treading softly as his feet felt every inch of road, every impurity of the surface, so for the first time, it seemed to him, he actually felt the city, touched it — so different from before, when he tramped around it with his heavy shoes, like a soldier who feels nothing for his place of conquest, fulfilling a duty, not —
Not loving, he thought. To touch, to know, was to love, to understand. He never understood that before. He looked at everything with a new light now, as if a scalpel had been applied to his eyes, removing the eyeballs, polishing them, making them new, then returning them gently to their sockets. He saw a teddy bear lying on the ground with one eye missing, and he saw a tank lying on its side, black smoke still rising from its inside, and a soldier lying nearby with his helmet beside him, and one of his eyes running down his face like a tear. He found a fruit stall capsized on a corner, its produce spilled on the ground, and he bent and picked up an apple, and bit into it, and let the juice run down his mouth and he thought — I am alive. The taste of the thought was sweeter than that of the fruit.
He walked, and at last he came to the square of the Kings of Israel, which later changed its name to Rabin Square, after the prime minister and former general who was assassinated there. There had been no kings in Israel for many years, Daniel thought, a little dazed. And the king who was said to return, our master, our teacher and our rabbi, King Messiah for ever and ever — where was he, now?
The square was silent. Nothing moved. The municipality building lay in ruins, a thing like an upside-down pyramid lying in its rubble. Burned tanks littered the square like dead songbirds. He crossed at the traffic light. He felt, suddenly, overwhelmingly, lonely. They are all dead, he thought. All dead. He missed his friends, there in the midst of desolation: Moyshe, and Noam, and the others in the yeshiva, good boys, really, Moyshe already with two kids and a bright future as a rabbi, Noam trying so hard, a bit slow perhaps but with a good heart, he could have become a true tzaddik, and . . . he wondered if, outside Tel Aviv, things were still normal. He wondered if his grandparents —
Something moved in the distance and Daniel froze. What was it? Ahead of him, across the street and to the left, was a shawarma shop, its shutters closed. Nothing stirred. He took a cautious step, another one —
There! A flash of light! Coming from a, from a —
A small window — it was the shawarma shop then. He crossed the road, heading for it. His heart beat fast, the blood rushing through him as if he were running. He came to the place and saw the metal shutter was not closed all the way. Was someone hiding inside? He called out, “Shalom? Shalom?” his own voice sounded thin and insubstantial there in the vast emptiness of the square. “Please, are you there?”
He bent down to pull the shutters up, and when his fingers found purchase for the pull they found something else, too: for when he grasped the edge of the metal someone else’s hands were already there. He pulled, and the shutters slowly rose. He heaved at them. The other, on the other side, pulled too. He touched fingers: human, warm. The touch was like a drug. He pulled one last time, his muscles unused to physical labour. The sweat ran down his pale, naked body. The shutters rose. Behind them, standing there and looking at him with a bemused expression on her face, was a young woman.