My 16th birthday was fast approaching. The excitement of this milestone birthday brewed within me though I didn't dare share it.
One day, it was right there in the mailbox, an official letter addressed to me, Avigayil Basser. My draft notice had arrived. I opened the crisp envelope and eyed the contents. The official notice was printed on paper specifying a date (nearly two years in advance!) when I was to appear for my cohort's draft. There was also a pamphlet specifying details of the draft day such as the psychometric exam process and the penalty for non-appearance. Finally, two prepaid bus tickets—ensuring I had no excuse to miss it. In truth, I had no use for any of this. I would do what every girl in Kiriat Sefer did and visit the chief Rabbinate to declare myself unfit for army service for religious reasons. The Rabbi would hear my declaration of Sabbath observance and strict kosher adherence and sign my exemption from otherwise mandatory service in the Israeli military.
But, there were other official requirements for this age to get on with. Every citizen of Israel over the age of 16 is required to carry a Teudat Zehut. Father gave me money to visit the photo shop and take official ID photos. It's not every day I got to have my photo taken. I wore a striped polo shirt and donned the silver twist earrings purchased recently with my own cash. I even tweezed my eyebrows and dabbed my lips with Vaseline. The last birthday my parents deemed worthy of celebration was my Bat Mitzvah, when I turned 12. But I didn't need presents or cake, I would celebrate 16 by travelling to the city of Bnei Brak to obtain my brand new ID at the office of the Misrad Hapnim. An entire afternoon away from home is the best birthday gift I could ever desire.
Yedidya and I were finally close and on good terms. For many years I prioritized myself, even if it meant getting my little brother in trouble. Lately, Father had let go of me somewhat, and in turn, I was kinder and more protective of my younger brother. We'd go for Friday night walks and chat about life and try to make sense of our insular world and the roles we were to play within it as we were growing up. Yedidya bought me chocolate bars as a surprise. He was the closest friend I had—and the only one who knew and understood my life.
Some of those chocolates were still in my drawer a few days later when Yedidya never came home from the study hall for lunch. Father left to fetch him but was met there by a child welfare worker. Yedidya would not be coming home.
A hush descended on our home. We knew it was only a matter of time before the police came for Father. But when they arrived within hours to bring him in for questioning, I don't think even he grasped what was happening.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Anything But Silence to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.