Hill of Secrets: An Israeli Jewish mystery novel (9 page)

"Sounds like you had a pretty robust opinion of her."

"Don't get me wrong, I have a life and Hanni was definitely not part of it, but I admit that after that incident in the North and that episode in the playground, I was intrigued by the woman. Seeing a person so self-involved—that's not something you see every day."

When Orit's interrogation was over I was exhausted. The station was almost empty, a calm quiet enveloping it. I made myself a cup of coffee and treated myself to a chocolate bar from the vending machine near the entrance.

I sat down in my quiet office and looked despondently at the permanent mess covering my table. I took out the picture of Hanni and me that I found in the photo album; Hanni's beaming smile compared to my forced smile. It was interesting that I didn't remember us going up together to receive our diplomas. Frankly, I didn't remember too many details from high school, which were not exactly the best years of my life.

I was far from being a social creature. I was never invited to parties that I know were thrown here and there in the houses of my classmates. There were also these gatherings at Hanni's house, which I never got to be a part of. My social world consisted of my Convent friends, who were a bit more social than I was.

I was an excellent student, but this fact didn't make me teacher’s pet. I was what a religious high school would call a “rebellious student." My only rebellion was my stern refusal to go to morning prayers and the fact that, throughout all of my high school years, I continually argued with my Bible study teachers. I recalled "marital relations" class in junior year, when our teacher, a young woman who’d been married not long before, explained
Halachot Nidda
[rules concerning women's menstruation] to us with glimmering eyes, while stressing how beautiful the Jewish religion is and how it respects the woman.

I couldn't keep quiet. I asked the young teacher, who was no more than five years my elder, how she could possibly say that the Jewish religion respects the Jewish woman when we women didn't even have the right to testify. I was a good student, but I had numerous examples I could use to prove to her that the Jewish religion is anything but equal and respecting. My young teacher was left speechless. Her reaction was the same as the reaction of any religious Jew who is proven wrong and shown that he's mistaken in his beliefs. She claimed I was taking things out of context and that I must look at the big picture. To this day, I can't understand this answer. The fact that, for instance, a woman can't testify, is very specific and doesn't belong to any big picture.

And so, despite having the highest scores in the grade, each semester I was somehow passed over when diplomas were given out. When excellent students were sent on a delegation to England, they didn't even bother to offer it to me (Hanni was, of course, a member of the delegation); when excellent students were sent to a ceremony at the President's house, I wasn't there. The only time the school wanted to honor me was when they wanted to send me to a national mathematics competition. They knew they would have a better chance of succeeding if they sent me. I, of course, declined the honor. I didn't like the fact that they were reminded of my abilities only when they could be used to benefit the school.

By my senior year, my rebelliousness reached its peak. I sternly refused to enter the lectures they organized about civil service. When my homeroom teacher asked me why I wouldn't go in, I told her I'd go to these lectures if they also gave us lectures about military service.

I graduated high school with excellent grades, except for bible studies, not because I didn't know the curriculum, but because the teacher didn't like my answers. I was the ideal candidate to receive the award for excellence at the graduation ceremony. Hanni received it.

Maybe that's the reason for my sour smile? Was I jealous of Hanni? I imagine I was.

I remember my mother was very disappointed that I didn't get the award, although I fully deserved it. Throughout my whole life, I managed to disappoint her so many times because of my stubborn opinions and "inappropriate" behavior, as she called it. If there was one action where I succeed in bringing her some joy, it was my scholarly achievements. She was eventually compensated by diplomas of excellence in the army and in university, but to this day she never forgot that I should have gotten that award at my high school graduation—and didn't.

I didn't recall if I was disappointed myself or for her, but I was left with a bitter taste in my mouth from that ceremony, where Hanni was crowned the best student and I was left behind, with a pathetic smile and an ordinary diploma.

Friday, 5.22.2009

I wanted to meet Ariel's teacher at his school. Batya Gantz had a free hour every Friday morning. She waited for me in the principal's room and looked like everything I remembered from an elementary school teacher: she had short graying hair, wore wide and outdated clothes, and wore strange silver jewelry, most of it the craftwork of amateur artists. She gestured for me to sit on the chair on the other side of the table. On her arm was a bracelet fashioned out of a fork. Even her tone of voice was that of a teacher. When she spoke, she only showed her bottom teeth.

The lady in front of me got lost somewhere in the eighties
.
She introduced herself as the homeroom teacher of second grade number one, one of the boys' classes. She had been teaching at the school since it was founded, before that she taught in a school in Petach Tikva
.

"
I have no words to express to you how shocked I am by this whole story," she said and blew her nose. "I couldn't sleep for two days, I'm just exhausted right now. I've been a teacher for thirty years and I've never gone through such a horrifying ordeal."

I told her that if it was difficult for her, we could meet when she’d calmed down, but she wanted to proceed with the questioning, and wanted to help as much as she could
.

"
Arieli was a beautiful boy," Batya said lovingly. "He had big, intelligent eyes." Batya broke down in tears again and I nudged the pack of tissues in her direction
.

"
Was he a good student?"

Batya smiled timidly. It was obvious that she was finding it difficult to speak ill of the dead. "He was very smart, but he didn't reach his full potential
."

              "Why?"

"
I'm no expert, but I do have thirty years of teaching experience. I think the boy had an undiagnosed attention deficit disorder."

              "
Can you expand?"

              "
May I know how this is relevant to the investigation?"

It was still unclear to me, too, but I wanted to get to know the late Danilowitz family as well as I could
.

             
"
Mrs. Gantz, I ask the questions here," I said and smiled to soften her up, and she went on
:

             
"
The boy had obvious difficulty sitting down in class. His notebooks were a mess. He had a hard time reading, he was way behind everyone in math."

"
Maybe he wasn't smart enough?"

             
"
I think he was very smart. When I sat with him alone and explained it to him, I saw that his comprehension was excellent, even above average, but his attention disorder got in the way of his ability to advance."

             
"
Was he diagnosed as suffering from attention deficit disorder?"

             
"
No. Well, I never saw such a diagnosis."

             
"
So how do you know he had such a problem?"

             
"
Formally, I don’t know, but I do have years of experience and I've had dozens, if not hundreds, of cases in which I knew before the parents did and actually guided them until they sought the appropriate treatment."

             
"
And what did you recommend to Ariel's parents?"

             
"
I told them what I told you, that he was a smart boy but his difficulty was getting in the way of his development. I explained that there was no reason to be afraid of diagnosis and treatment."

             
"
What treatment?"

             
"
In Ariel's case, and from my experience, the only effective therapy could have been medicinal."

"
Ritalin?"

"
Yes, Ritalin. Or Concerta, whatever the doctor prescribes. I, of course, don't hand out prescriptions, but I often bring it up with the parents so they can go to the doctor with an open mind. I think there's a lot of ignorance about this subject. Someone hears a child experiences side-effects because of Ritalin and immediately they talk about the medicine as if it's poison."

"
Did you mention Ritalin to Meir and Hanni as well?"

"
To Hanni. Meir didn't come to the parent-teacher meetings," Batya corrected me
.

"
I have a feeling she didn't like your advice.”

             
"
To say the least. I don't remember such an outburst of rage from a parent.”

             
"
What did she say?"

              Batya chuckled. "She said she wasn’t going to drug her child so it would be easier for me in the classroom."

             
"
Why are you laughing?"

             
"
Because it's a pretty common line from parents, when they don't understand two fundamental things: the first is that I'm only with the child for part of each day, while they have to deal with a restless child during most of the day, and the second is that the medical treatment is for the good of the child and not the good of the teacher."

             
"
And there’s no other treatment that doesn't require medication?"

             
"
There is an option to give the child a wide range of treatments that increase the attention span and decrease the need for medicine, but that only works when the disorder is not very severe to begin with and when the parents are prepared
and willing to invest a lot of themselves. Medical therapy requires the parent to give the child a pill and a glass of water. Alternative therapy requires many hours of treatment at the expense of the parents’ and the child's free time."

             
"
Was Ariel treated?"

             
"
I've seen so many children and parents and I can categorize them quite easily. I'm rarely surprised. Ariel was the type of kid whose parents think pampering with brands constitutes good parenting. They replace parental giving with shopping. Don't get me wrong, I don't object to gifts and all sorts of treats. But you can get a child who has no value for money and is busy morning until night with the next toy he wants to get. I can also understand where this stems from. Many parents work in a very pressurized job, they barely see the kids and the gifts are the parents' way of expressing their love and mainly quieting their conscience. Two weeks ago, I had to do some tests at Asuta hospital in Ramat Hachayal. Have you ever been there?"

             
"
No."
                           

             
"
Right across from Asuta is the big, beautiful building of a high-tech company, I think it's Comverse. Below it are a few cafés and restaurants, and right in the center is a toy store. It's not a residential area, not a shopping center, there are no schools or kindergartens there. A toy store in the heart of a high-tech area. On second thoughts, I realized that whoever put the store there was a genius—he put it right where he could get the most loyal, potential customers: guilt-ridden high-tech workers."
             

             
"
Excuse me for stopping you," I took advantage of a short break in Batya’s flow of words, "but Meir and Hanni weren't high-tech workers. Meir may have worked very hard, but Hanni was a full-time mother."

Batya smiled. "The fact that a woman doesn't go out to work doesn't automatically make her a full-time mom. I see this happening quite a lot as well. Non-working mothers, who think new shoes are more important than playing with the child one-on-one. Even here, I think the purchase comes from a place of guilt. They understand they're doing something wrong and try to make it up to the kids with gifts and new clothes."             

             
"
So you think Ariel didn't get the appropriate care from his parents?"

             
"
Listen," Batya fidgeted with one of the giant rings that graced her chubby fingers, "I don't think they were bad parents—they definitely loved their kids. The parents saw that the toys helped the boy fit in, because a child that has toys is a popular child, and they thought they’d found a solution, but there’s no real magic solution to attention deficit disorder. The only solution is treatment."

             
"
Medication
"
.

"Medication or para-medicinal. It all depends on the child. I recommended to Hanni that she go see a neurologist and seek options for occupational therapy treatments that the HMO covers."

I was reminded of Renana, my friend's sister who told me Hanni asked her about an occupational therapist. Perhaps Hanni didn't completely ignore the teacher's advice.

"Are you sure Ariel didn't get treatment at any point?"

             
"
It's really hard for me to say. I have a feeling that he did, especially lately. He calmed down a little bit, was more introverted and less impulsive."

*

"
Is that a result of occupational therapy?"

             
"
Occupational therapy usually improves the child's graphic abilities and not the attention span. I guess Ariel had started taking Ritalin in the last couple of months.”

*

As I exited the school, I thought
about what the teacher told me. I wasn’t an expert in this field at all, but I also had the feeling that medications like Ritalin are a convenient solution for teachers. Up to today, when I saw a child being unruly, I was simply happy that it wasn't my child and it only strengthened my decision not to bring a child into this world, but could I be so judgmental towards people who choose to give their child Ritalin?

"Hadas?" A masculine voice jolted me from my thoughts.

It was Yuval Eidelman, who was in the Amishav branch of Bnei Akivah. Yuval was one of the more popular boys in the branch. Unlike me, he never missed a meeting "on the street corner" each Friday night. He was tall and handsome, and half of the girls in the branch were in love with him. When we were sixteen, he’d hardly noticed my existence, so I was surprised that he even knew my name. Unlike my close girlfriends, who called me "Gunger", people less close to me called me by my first name.

The years—how can I put this gently—hadn’t been kind to Yuval. He was still tall, but had also grown sideways a bit. His hair had thinned and his bald head shone between the few hairs gracing his head.

"You haven't changed at all!" he enthused.

I had changed. In high school my face was covered with dozens of zits, and I had the constant appearance of a waif. I was always very thin, and religious girls' skirts never suited me. Fifteen years later, I still didn't know how to dress, but my zits had gone and my figure was maintained, so now I looked a bit less neglected in jeans.

"Neither have you," I lied.

Yuval gently stroked his belly. Maybe he noticed the sarcasm in my voice? He looked me over from head to toe.

"Do you have kids in this school?"

"I don't have any kids."

"Really?" He was surprised. "I was sure I heard you got married." I was surprised that rumors of my marriage reached Mr. Eidelman.

"I'm already divorced."

"You don't say?" He made a surprised and impressed face, as if he was at this very moment looking at the queen of Tel Aviv nightlife, taking a short break from a line of trance parties to stop by the Naftali Heritage Elementary School in Givaat Shmuel. "So what are you doing here, then?"

"You really don't know?" Did no one see me on television?

"No." He scratched the top of his head and I was suddenly flashing back to the last visit I took with my nephews to the monkey zoo.

"I'm investigating the Danilowitz family case."

"Oh," he nodded, in recognition. "An appalling story, just horrible."

I nodded.

"Are you a police officer?" He looked at me, surprised. "I thought you were a lawyer." How the hell did he know I studied law?

"I'm still a lawyer. I joined the police about a year ago." I understood it would be rude not to ask him what he does for a living. "Where do you work?" I asked without much interest.

"I'm still at Amdox," he said "still" as if I was meant to know that.

"Are you an engineer?" I tried my luck.

"No." He was surprised that I didn't know all about his résumé. "I studied economics and business management. I'm in the financial department."