A Rabbi’s Daughter

“What you want and what you get are two different stories.” Grandma’s motto. That’s what went through my mind when a call from Abba stopped me on my way to the university, just as my dilemma between two ideas for a screenplay — one that can expose my Jewish identity that was perpetually smothering me from birth, the other about my burning desire for a boyfriend — was starting to clarify in my mind.

The last time I heard him say “Come home” in such a brusque tone was in 1995, when Rabin was assassinated. Four years ago. And now, again, in a trembling and lonely voice, an uncharacteristic voice, he is asking me to come home because it looks like Grandma is truly approaching the end. He’s taking her to the hospital. Death, it seems, can bring people together, but it can also drive them apart. It may be hard to believe, but that’s exactly the premise, the framework, of one of my scripts. Perhaps both.

I’m glad I reconciled with Grandma the day before yesterday. She was complaining, again, about my absence, about Ida, her caretaker, about her heart that was betraying her, about how we had agreed that if I got the car while Ima was away, a period of several months, I’d be able to visit her from alien, alienating Tel Aviv more frequently, and, of course, about how I hadn’t held up my side of the bargain. With Grandma, every day was a new opportunity to disappoint her again. She...