The Celestial Gate, Avital Dicker [best inspirational books txt] 📗

a little to side when he laughed exactly as she had done, and the storm clouds would gather around his pupils when he got was angry. Every time he looked at his son, he saw her.

It was funny. They always say that the first child takes after the father, but this boy was all Claudia through and through, as if God had known she wouldn’t survive and had left Theo with a particularly painful reminder.

At first, Theo had been glad to put Mor in Sual’s devoted and skillful hands. He remembered the two-year-old Mor waddling behind him, yelling, “Daddy, Daddy.” Theo hadn’t known what to do. He was incapable of picking up the happy, miniature version of the woman who’d been the love of his life. He took on more and more work, coming home later and later. Theo knew he was being cruel, but he couldn’t bring himself to spend time with his son.

Maybe it’s already too late, he thought. He looked at the crease between Mor’s eyebrows. So like Claudia’s when she was focused on something.

Mor was almost thirteen. He’d stopped chasing his father’s attention long ago. He’d even stopped calling him “Dad.” Theo wasn’t angry with Mor. He knew he had no right to be. Still, Mor calling him “Theo” made him want to scream. Sometimes, when he was sure Mor was asleep, he’d go into his room and sit down next to him, looking at him in silence. He so much wanted to hold his son and tell him that he loved him, but he didn’t know how.

When Mor was little, he thought that if his father saw that he was a good boy and behaved well, he’d love him back. That’s why he tried so hard not to break anything in the house, not to yank on the drawers in the closet, not to make any noise, not to fight over taking a bath, and to eat everything on his plate. But nothing helped.

Every night, when his dad came home from work, Mor would run to his study full of excitement, but every time his dad saw him, he’d immediately say, “Not now, Mor. I’m busy. Go find Sual,” and bury his head in the papers on his desk. Every single night.

Sual was the one who tucked him in, walked him to kindergarten, and kissed him when he got hurt. His dad was always too busy.

Dad never attended parent-teacher meetings or his competitions. Mor remembered the day when he earned his place at the national sharpshooting finals. Only ten kids from all over the country made it and Mor was one of them. He danced the whole way home. Now his father would finally see he was special. That night, he went to his dad’s study to ask his dad to come to the finals and Dad promised he’d try.

Mor ended up winning the national title, but his father wasn’t there to see it. He held the championship cup up at the podium; his trainer proudly clapped his back, hugged him, and told him what a great future awaited him. Mor didn’t hear a word. His eyes were busy scanning the stands for his dad. Sual tried to tell him that his father had had a very important meeting he couldn’t cancel, and she and Anise kissed him over and over again. Nothing helped.

That evening, Mor entered his father’s study holding his trophy, but his father hadn’t even noticed the championship cup and, without lifting his head, only said, “Not now, Mor, I’m in the middle of an important call,” immediately going back to his telephone conversation.

That was the day Mor stopped calling him “Dad” and started acting out in class. There was no longer any point in being a good kid, plus it felt good to break the rules. Everyone except for his teachers thought he was pretty cool. Especially the girls, which was most important.

A few days ago, the school principal had called his father in for a talk and told him that unless Mor’s behavior improved, he’d be expelled. Mor doesn’t care. Who needs the American International School anyway? He was born in Israel and barely knows Italy. He prefers Hebrew to English and would rather attend the local school, especially because it would piss Theo off.

Sure, he knows his mom died because of his birth and if it were up to him, he wouldn’t have been born at all, but it’s not as if anyone had asked him. Unfortunately, he was born and is alive and is sick of feeling guilty over it. He doesn’t care about Theo anymore, he doesn’t need him. He manages just fine by himself.

Besides, the only reason he’s still sticking around the house is Anise. But he’s planning on leaving really soon. I wonder if Theo will even notice I’m gone, he thinks.

Yam

Yam had just finished his bible class with the neighborhood synagogue rabbi. He’d be celebrating his bar mitzvah in another two months and he was supposed to be called up to read from the Torah. The rabbi had just explained that the bar mitzvah ceremony represented the transition from childhood to adulthood. Based on what he saw, Yam wasn’t sure he wanted to become an adult at all.

At first, what Yam had dreamed of happening came true: his mom and dad made up and got back together. After that first meeting between them, his dad had started dropping by just because, even on days that weren’t “his.” The three of them started going to the slides in the playground and Dad sometimes stayed for dinner. Mom became much happier and stopped getting angry over every stupid little thing. And that annoying boyfriend of hers, Gili, disappeared for good. One morning, Yam went into his mom’s room and found Dad sleeping there. Mom woke up and blushed. A few days later, Dad moved in with them.

But over the last year, something changed. Out of nowhere, his dad started growing side-locks, praying all the time,