le-olam va-ed

05: אהבה

05: אהבה

Dear Ben,

            אהבה. Ahava. Love. In Hebrew, it’s one of my favorite words, because it sounds so smooth and beautiful. You clearly have been deprived of an enlightenment as to what exactly it means, so I guess I’ll tell you. Ahava is when you don’t cheat on someone, Ben. It’s when you fully accept the other person for who they are, and don’t want to change a thing. Ahava is a kesher (connection) between two people like no other. It’s an overwhelming feeling from the lev (heart) that takes over your entire goof—your body. Ahava is love. But you already thought that you knew that, didn’t you, Ben?

            I recall a time when you used a derivative of that word for good. We were at an all-school assembly, and it came to the point when students were allowed to raise their hands in order to make announcements. Generally, the announcements were for sports teams or clubs. The time wasn’t typically for personal use. But you were never typical, were you, Ben?

            You raised your hand eagerly like everyone else, and with some stroke of fate, you caused your older sister yet another aneurysm. You stood up on a chair, as was your signature move, and stared down at me, for I had been sitting right next to you at the time. Teachers were objecting, wondering what you were doing. After all, Ben, you are pretty unpredictable.

            “Ani ohev otchah,” you said in that loud voice of yours that summoned everyone’s attention. I guess that’s why you always started off in Hebrew—to get people’s attention. Anyone could’ve spoken in English, and at our school, that applied to Hebrew, too, though English was the preferred language. You always were one for the spotlight, Ben, so I guess that doing something unexpected, like speaking in Hebrew, just made sense in your mind. אני אוהב אותך. I knew what it meant—hell, the whole room did, but you felt inclined to say in English, too, just to stress your point. “I love you.”

            I smiled up at you, shocked that I had heard the words (or lies) come out of your mouth. Tugging at your hand, I urged you to sit down as the entire room broke out into applause. I hated attention, and you knew that, Ben. Eventually, you sat down, but at your own accord.

            “So,” you said once your butt had finally found its way back to its seat, “do you love me too?”

            “Of course I love you, Ben!” I laughed, doing something I almost never did, and kissing your cheek. I wasn’t one for PDA, and you knew that, too, which is why you decided that a make out session in the middle of a school assembly after proclaiming our supposed “love” to each other was the perfect thing to do. It was definitely romantic—I’ll give you that.

            I was on Cloud 9 after you told me that you loved me, Ben. What girl wouldn’t be? We kissed, we laughed, and we explored this new concept of “ahava.” Then the rumor about you and Shoshanna broke out, I saw you two in the gym together, and everything ultimately went downhill from there. After the gym incident, you promised we that it would never happen again. You told me that you loved me, and always would. “Le-olam va-ed,” you said. Forever and ever. “Ani ohev otchah le-olam va-ed,” you swore. I’ll love you forever and ever. Why lie, Ben?

            After I found out about you cheating on me, I already couldn’t look at you the same way. There was a part of me that still loved you, do the “kesher” that we once shared, but it wasn’t the same as it had been. You tried to prove to me that you really loved me, but Ben, after something like that you had to understand that there was essentially nothing you could do to earn back my trust. You cheated on me, Ben. It wasn’t okay.

            Time passed by, and you did everything in your power to show how serious you were. During free periods, you joined me in the library. You hung out with my brother more often, and even came to dinner at my house a few times, helping my mom wash dishes after that. She loved you for that, Ben.