FREE TO THE END OF THE LAND PDF David Grossman,Jessica Cohen | 592 pages | 01 Sep 2011 | Vintage Publishing | 9780099546740 | English | London, United Kingdom ​To the End of the Land on Apple Books The first edition of the novel was published inand was written by David Grossman. The book was published in multiple languages including English, consists of pages To the End of the Land is available in Hardcover format. The main characters of this fiction, cultural story are Ora, Adam. Please note that the tricks To the End of the Land techniques listed in this pdf are either fictional or claimed to work by its creator. We do not guarantee that these techniques will work for you. Some of the techniques listed in To the End of the Land the End of the Land may require a sound knowledge of Hypnosis, users are advised to either leave those sections or must have a basic understanding of the subject before practicing them. 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To the End of the Land by David Grossman: | : Books A Palestinian taxi driver waiting for passengers near the Qalandia checkpoint between Jerusalem and Ramallah, January In the background is the separation wall, with a graffiti painting by the British street artist Banksy and posters for the Pal. In this passage a mother is accompanying her son, who is returning to duty in the Israeli army. The convoy twists along, a stammering band of civilian cars, jeeps, military ambulances, tanks, and huge bulldozers on the backs of transporters. Her taxi driver is quiet and gloomy. For several long minutes he has looked neither at her nor at Ofer. As soon as Ofer sat down in the cab, he let out an angry breath and flashed a look that said: Not the smartest idea, Mom, asking this particular driver to come along on a trip like this. At seven that morning she had called Sami and asked him to come pick her up for a long drive to the Gilboa region. She wanted to spend these hours with Ofer, and although Ofer agreed, she could tell how much effort his concession took. Even if he is an Arab from here, one of ours, Ilan prods at her brain as she tries to justify her own behavior. They are his main livelihood, his regular monthly income, and he, in return, is obliged to be at their service around the clock, whenever they need him. They have been to his home in Abu Ghosh for family celebrations, they know his wife, Inaam, and they helped out with connections and money when his two older sons wanted to emigrate to Argentina. With him, every drive is a stand-up show. It would have all been so easy if she herself were driving Ofer. Why are you in such a hurry? A trip alone with him will not happen anytime soon, nor alone with herself, and she has to get used to this constraint. She has to let it go, stop grieving every day for her robbed independence. She should be happy that at least she has Sami, who kept driving her even after the separation from Ilan. Sami was an explicit clause in their separation agreement, and he himself said he was divvied up between them like the furniture and the rugs and the silverware. Since she saw Ofer this morning with the phone in his hand and the guilty look on To the End of the Land face, someone had come along and gently but firmly taken the management of her own affairs out of her hands. She had been dismissed, relegated to observer status, a gawking witness. Her thoughts were no To the End of the Land than flashes of emotion. She hovered through the rooms of the house with angular, truncated motions. To the End of the Land they went to the mall to buy clothes and candy and CDs—there was a new Johnny Cash collection out—and all morning she walked beside him in a daze and giggled like a girl at everything he said. She devoured him with gaping wide looks, stocking up unabashedly for the endless years of hunger to come—of course they would come. From the moment he told her he was returning to join his unit, she had no doubt. Three times that morning she excused herself and went to the public restrooms, where she had diarrhea. What did you eat? She kept checking the time. On her watch, on his, on the big clocks in the mall, on the television screens in appliance stores. Time was behaving strangely, sometimes flying, To the End of the Land other times crawling or coming to a complete standstill. It seemed to her that it might not even require much effort to roll it back, not too far, just thirty minutes or an hour at a time would be fine. The big things—time, destiny, God—could sometimes be worn down by petty haggling. They drove downtown to have lunch at a restaurant in the shukwhere they ordered lots of dishes although neither of them had an appetite. He spoke enthusiastically, as if he were telling her about a new video game, and she kept fighting the urge to grasp his head with both hands and look into his eyes so that she could see his soul, which had been slipping away from her for years—although with warmth, with a grin and a wink, as if they were playing a casual game of tag to amuse themselves—but she did not have the courage to do it. She did not have the strength to imagine what would occur after that, and this was further proof of her frequent claim that she had no imagination. But that was no longer true, either. That, too, had changed. Sami would make the drive easier for her, especially the way back, which would undoubtedly be far more difficult than the way there. To the End of the Land had a domestic routine, she To the End of the Land Sami. She liked to listen to him talk about his family, about the complex relationships between the different clans in Abu Ghosh, about the intrigues in the town council, and about the woman he had loved when he was fifteen, and perhaps had never stopped loving even after he was married off to Inaam, his cousin. At least once a week, by total coincidence, he claimed, he would see her in the village. She was a teacher, To the End of the Land there were years when she taught his daughters, and then she became a superintendent. She must have been a strong, opinionated woman, judging by his stories, and he always drew the conversation out so that Ora would ask about her. With touching detail he quoted their chance conversations in the mini-market, the bakery, or on the rare occasions when he drove her in his cab. Ora guessed that she was the only person he allowed himself to talk to about this woman, perhaps because he trusted her never to ask him the one question whose answer was obvious. Sami was a seasoned man, a quick thinker, and his life wisdom was augmented by his business acumen, which had produced, among other things, his own small fleet of taxis. When he was twelve he had a goat, and every year she birthed two kids. And a year-old kid in good health, he once explained to Ora, can sell for a thousand shekels. I put away, and I put away, until I had eight thousand shekels. At seventeen I got my license and bought a Fiatan old model but it worked. I bought it from my teacher, and I was the one boy in the village who came to school with wheels. She never met any of them. Every two or three weeks she set off with Sami on delightful buying trips around the country, and out of some vague intuition she avoided discussing the museum and its intentions with him. Sami never asked, and she wondered what he imagined and how he described these trips to Inaam. The two of them spent days roaming the country together. In Jerusalem, at a local backgammon club, a few men pounced on him, convinced he had grown up with them in the Nachlaot neighborhood, and even claimed to remember him climbing pine trees to watch Hapoel soccer games in the old stadium. And on every trip, even a ten-minute drive, they always got into politics, keenly confabbing over the latest developments. There were also times when it occurred to her that she was learning from him what she would need to know, one day, if—or when—the situation in Israel was reversed, God forbid, and she found herself in his position, and he in hers.