peace talks that could affect the future of this country. And quite possibly the geopolitical balance of the entire world. Can I be forgiven for needing to focus?”
“I need you, Jacob.”
She said it in a low, intimate, almost pleading tone. One which no man who loved his wife could possibly rebuff.
He sighed again. “I appreciate that, honey. And that means a great deal to me. But honestly, my people— our people—need me too, right now.”
“They can wait through the most decisive thirty minutes of your marriage. As Moshe implied, everyone knows what happened. They all know I’m the national ‘basket case.’ They’ll appreciate your husbandly commitment.”
He sighed even more deeply, resolutely. Accepting her terms.
“What is it, Hadassah?”
She shook her head. “I want to talk to you. You’re the only oneleft in the world I can have a heartfelt conversation with—do you know that? I used to have Poppa. Now it’s you, or no one.”
“How about G-d?” His eyes gazed at her from atop his steepled fingers. He had voiced the question softly, for he knew he was more religious than she.
“Please. You know what I’m talking about. G-d and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms right now.”
“Maybe you should work on that.” But his voice held no rebuke. “Maybe. But in the meantime, I don’t want my emotional survival treated like some cabinet agenda item. I need to talk to you, not mark off a checklist.”
He laughed out loud. “For such a vulnerable person, you’re very much in my face right now, you know that?”
She laughed, too. It had struck her also that her pose of abject weakness was starting to wear thin. She had, in fact, come with a clear goal in mind. But she also knew that she would require several long minutes of thawing to coax it out.
Chapter Twelve
H er face sobered quickly .
“When we met,” she said, “I had a life. A career, a trajectory, that was about as stratospheric as yours. At least, it seemed that way to me. For a while.”
He nodded, his face softening at the memory of it. “No, you weren’t fooling yourself. It seemed that way to me, too. In fact, I was intimidated by you. At first.”
“So what happened?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Life. Political destiny.” He paused and looked down at his folded hands. “I know I have failed to make you feel a part of my career the way I wanted to.”
“No, that’s not it. But you can’t let yourself off that easy.”
She spread her hands out flat on the table and stared at them as though they contained some exotic secret.
“I’ve lost my life, Jacob.” She looked into his face a moment. “I’ve lost my meaning, my momentum, my reason for living. I don’t know where it went. I mean, I didn’t lose it like you misplace a wallet. And I can’t really see why my father’s death would have suddenly destroyed it. All I know is, I can’t seem to grasp ahold of it anymore.”
“What can I do?”
“You can listen,” she replied hastily, emphatically. “A few years from now, you’ll be out of office and living the comfortable, respected life of a national statesman. You’ll have media appearances, speeches in faraway countries, books to write, protégés to counsel. And me, I’ll just be one of the well-dressed ladies-who-lunch, shopping in the boutiques, with no children”—she rushed over the words—“whose greatest achievement is what she used to be—First Lady.”
She stared at him for a sign of affirmation and received none.
“What happened to the young woman you met, who wanted to write the definitive history of the Holocaust, who wanted to be the best mother who ever lived, who wanted to run for the Knesset?”
He bent forward to rub his forehead, obviously realizing she intended to wait for his reply. His politician’s mind quickly strung together her demands—to be young, to write, to be a mother, to be a politician in her own right. With an ability honed by years of
“I need you, Jacob.”
She said it in a low, intimate, almost pleading tone. One which no man who loved his wife could possibly rebuff.
He sighed again. “I appreciate that, honey. And that means a great deal to me. But honestly, my people— our people—need me too, right now.”
“They can wait through the most decisive thirty minutes of your marriage. As Moshe implied, everyone knows what happened. They all know I’m the national ‘basket case.’ They’ll appreciate your husbandly commitment.”
He sighed even more deeply, resolutely. Accepting her terms.
“What is it, Hadassah?”
She shook her head. “I want to talk to you. You’re the only oneleft in the world I can have a heartfelt conversation with—do you know that? I used to have Poppa. Now it’s you, or no one.”
“How about G-d?” His eyes gazed at her from atop his steepled fingers. He had voiced the question softly, for he knew he was more religious than she.
“Please. You know what I’m talking about. G-d and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms right now.”
“Maybe you should work on that.” But his voice held no rebuke. “Maybe. But in the meantime, I don’t want my emotional survival treated like some cabinet agenda item. I need to talk to you, not mark off a checklist.”
He laughed out loud. “For such a vulnerable person, you’re very much in my face right now, you know that?”
She laughed, too. It had struck her also that her pose of abject weakness was starting to wear thin. She had, in fact, come with a clear goal in mind. But she also knew that she would require several long minutes of thawing to coax it out.
Chapter Twelve
H er face sobered quickly .
“When we met,” she said, “I had a life. A career, a trajectory, that was about as stratospheric as yours. At least, it seemed that way to me. For a while.”
He nodded, his face softening at the memory of it. “No, you weren’t fooling yourself. It seemed that way to me, too. In fact, I was intimidated by you. At first.”
“So what happened?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Life. Political destiny.” He paused and looked down at his folded hands. “I know I have failed to make you feel a part of my career the way I wanted to.”
“No, that’s not it. But you can’t let yourself off that easy.”
She spread her hands out flat on the table and stared at them as though they contained some exotic secret.
“I’ve lost my life, Jacob.” She looked into his face a moment. “I’ve lost my meaning, my momentum, my reason for living. I don’t know where it went. I mean, I didn’t lose it like you misplace a wallet. And I can’t really see why my father’s death would have suddenly destroyed it. All I know is, I can’t seem to grasp ahold of it anymore.”
“What can I do?”
“You can listen,” she replied hastily, emphatically. “A few years from now, you’ll be out of office and living the comfortable, respected life of a national statesman. You’ll have media appearances, speeches in faraway countries, books to write, protégés to counsel. And me, I’ll just be one of the well-dressed ladies-who-lunch, shopping in the boutiques, with no children”—she rushed over the words—“whose greatest achievement is what she used to be—First Lady.”
She stared at him for a sign of affirmation and received none.
“What happened to the young woman you met, who wanted to write the definitive history of the Holocaust, who wanted to be the best mother who ever lived, who wanted to run for the Knesset?”
He bent forward to rub his forehead, obviously realizing she intended to wait for his reply. His politician’s mind quickly strung together her demands—to be young, to write, to be a mother, to be a politician in her own right. With an ability honed by years of
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