Sanctuary (28 page)

He and Rina weren’t talking much. Their discussion about Honey and divorce had sobered them. His mind was ablaze with images: a crazy man dunked in a bathtub, never fully understanding the gravity of his crime. A wife hopelessly trapped in a loveless, mindless marriage. Children caught in the middle…

Rina said, “I think it’s right off Machane Yehudah—the Jewish Marketplace. Turn down the next road and let me see where we’re at.”

Decker’s attention snapped to the present. “Where are we going?”

“To Or Torah. It’s one of the biggest yeshivas for newcomers. Turn here.”

Decker made a sharp right, the Subaru hugging the cobblestones quite nicely.

Rina said, “Park anywhere you can just so long as the curb is marked with blue and white stripes. They Denver-boot here. The yeshiva’s a couple of blocks. We’ll walk. It’ll be easier and nice to stretch our legs.”

“How about that solid blue curb?”

“That’s okay, too.”

Decker squeezed the car into a tight space. As per instructions from the car rental agency, he crook-locked the gear shift to the wheel and got out of the car. He sprinted around the side and opened the passenger door for Rina.

“A gentleman,” she said.

Decker smiled, helped Rina out of the car, and looked around. The cobbled street was tiny and had no sidewalks. Many of the cars were parked with their right
wheels over the curb onto dirt and their left wheels still in the street. A line of cars doing wheelies.

The neighborhood held what appeared to be apartment houses—square limestone buildings punched with small windows. Laundry hung from the sides. Some of the structures had grass patches in front. Some had window boxes. A small fruit stand was perched on one corner; across the street were a bakery and post office. A background buzz of yelps and shouts permeated the air. Something Decker hadn’t heard for a long time. Children in the streets at play.

They started walking.

“You look very upset,” Decker said.

“I am,” Rina said. “This whole thing with Gershon is just horrible. What’s worse is, Honey’s probably taking the blame for the village’s mistake. The cops think
she
did it. And she’s not around to set the record straight.”

“Anything for the Rebbe,” Decker said. “And to tell you the truth, I’m not crying for her. Even if she didn’t murder her husband, she owns some culpability. She knew what was going to happen.”

“I’m sure Honey never dreamed they would actually
kill
Gershon. And I’m sure they didn’t mean to kill him. Oh, Peter, the whole thing is just sickening!”

“Yes, it is. But right now, I’ve got Dov and Gil Yalom to worry about.”

“Poor kids. Peter, how in the world do you deal with so much tragedy?”

“I compartmentalize. Come on. Let’s go.”

The cell-like stone entry to the yeshiva was cold and dim, the scant illumination provided by a small, square barred window and an uncovered light bulb dangling from the ceiling. The walls were masoned with limestone blocks; the floor was tiled with a travertine-colored crushed rock. The air was damp. Decker could almost smell the spores. He stuck his hands in his pockets and bounced on his feet, eyes darting about.

Rina lagged behind, watching her husband’s jumpiness. He was lost, depending on her to trailblaze. She stepped inside the chilly room, her hand reaching up to touch the mezuzah posted on the doorjamb. She kissed her fingertips.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“I’m with you, I’m fine.”

He waited for his pupils to dilate, then looked around. An empty desk stood along the right-hand wall; behind it was an open door leading somewhere. He called out a hello, then wondered if hello was the greeting of choice in Israel.

It took a few moments for a young man to come through the door behind the desk, his fingers touching the mezuzah, then his lips, as he came into the room. He was good-looking with solid features and a masculine bone structure, even though his cheeks and chin were hidden by a thick, black beard. He wore a black suit, white shirt, and no tie. Atop his close-cropped head was a black hat. Big brown eyes
studied Rina first, then Decker, then climbed back to Rina. It was as if he instinctively knew to whom to talk.

“Yes, can I help you?”

An American accent
. Decker was elated.
The man spoke English
. “You’re from the States.”

The man nodded.

“Whereabouts?”

“Omaha, believe it or not. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact there is. I’m Detective Sergeant Peter Decker from the Los Angeles Police Department.” Decker took out his badge and showed it to the Nebraskan. “I’m here on official business. I’m looking for two teenaged brothers—Gil and Dov Yalom. Their parents were murdered about a week ago in Los Angeles and they’ve disappeared. We’re trying to find them—just to talk to them.”

The young man studied Decker’s badge, then lifted his eyes. “And you think they’re here?”

“I know they’re in Israel. I have reason to suspect that the younger boy—Dov—might be hiding out in a yeshiva.”

“In Or Torah specifically?”

Decker said, “A frightened, young kid alone in a foreign country. A yeshiva is a perfect sanctuary.”

“What does
that
mean?” The man was offended.

“All my husband meant was that the boy may be in trouble. He’s probably seeking
Hashem
for guidance.”

“Do you know Dov Yalom?” Decker said.

“Not at all.”

Too fast a response
? Decker studied the young man. “Dov Yalom’s parents were murdered. He ran away because someone scared him away. It’s imperative that we find him before someone else does.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I think the boy’s in danger. And frankly, anyone who’s keeping him might be in danger as well.”

The man stepped back and folded his arms across his chest. “Who exactly
are
you two?”

Decker peered into the face. “Has someone else been asking for Dov Yalom, sir?”

“No.” Again, he spoke too quickly. “I think I should call the police.”

Decker called his bluff. “Go ahead. We’ll search the place together.”

The man said nothing. He rocked back and forth on his heels. Rina broke into Hebrew. The man answered her back angrily. Decker bit his tongue, as the two of them went at it for a while. In the end, Rina seemed to have won out. The man dropped his arms at his sides and stared at Decker.

“You two are
married
?”

Decker nodded.

“She isn’t your partner?”

Decker didn’t answer right away. Now he was positive that someone had been here before him. Someone who told this young man that a cop and his female partner were out looking for Dov Yalom. Who? Gold? Milligan? Both knew Marge was Decker’s partner.

“No, she isn’t my partner. She’s translating for me.” Decker rolled his tongue in his cheeks. “Do you have a name, sir?”

“Moti.” He held out his hand. “Moti Bernstein.”

“Moti Bernstein from Omaha.” Decker took the hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Moti. Now who told you that I might come over here and poke around.”

“No one told me anything.”

“Then why did you think that this charming young woman who covers her hair was my partner?”

Bernstein didn’t answer right away. Then he said, “Look, I’d like to help you. But there’s no Dov Yalom here. Sorry.”

“He might be using an alias.” Decker handed Bernstein a stack of Dov’s high school pictures. “Does this boy look familiar?”

The religious man flipped through the pictures, then handed them back. “I’ve never seen this boy.”

“I’d like to look around anyway.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I believe you, Moti,” Decker said. “But sometimes I see things that no one else sees.”

“You know, parents are really nervous about letting their kids stay here. Israel gets a real bad rap because the foreign newspapers depict it as a much more dangerous place than it is. If I let you poke around, it’s going to raise a lot of dander.”

Decker didn’t speak right away. “You’re willing to risk a kid’s life to keep up an image?”

The tops of Bernstein’s cheeks took on a rosy hue. “I’m just saying I don’t recognize the boy in the picture. So what excuse do I have to let you poke around and invade people’s privacy?”

Again Decker paused before he spoke, his eyes boring into Bernstein’s. “I thought Judaism has a concept called
pikuach nefesh
. That the saving of a life takes precedence over
everything
!”

Bernstein stared at Decker. “You learn, Sergeant?”

Decker stared back. “
What
?”

“You know about
pikuach nefesh
, you must have done some learning.” Bernstein dragged his toe over the stone floor. “See, if you were learning, then
maybe
you’d want to go inside the
bais midrash
to look up something.”

Decker knew the
bais midrash
was the study hall which held the library of reference tomes for the yeshiva students. Most of the students congregated there for classes, lessons, and studying. In effect, Bernstein was giving him an excuse to look over the majority of the boys at the yeshiva.

Decker said, “I’m studying
B’rachos
. I could use some reference material.”

“Fine, I’ll take you to the
bais midrash
. Who am I to deny a scholar?” Bernstein glanced at Rina, then averted
his eyes. “It would be better if you waited here. You might be kind of distracting—”

“I know, I know. I’ll wait here.”

Bernstein’s eyes fell on Decker’s face. “You don’t have a black hat, do you?”

“No. Do I look too goyishe?”

“More like a secular Jew, and that’s just as noticeable. You’re going to draw attention. Do you want that?”

Decker said, “It would be better if I blended in.”

Bernstein studied Decker and gave a hopeless shrug. “You won’t blend in. But maybe I can help so you won’t stand out so much. Wait here. I’ll find you a hat.”

Again, Rina checked her watch, amazed to discover that only ten minutes had passed. She now knew the secret of Einstein’s theory of relativity. Endless time had nothing to do with the speed of light or the mass of the object. It had everything to do with standing in a cold room on a bone-chilling floor with nothing to do. Ten minutes translated into ten hours in Comfortable Earth Time.

Nobody had passed through the portals. It was as if the entry was the weigh station of purgatory. Suddenly, the concept of indulgences made sense.

The solitude did give her an unwelcome chance to reflect upon Peter’s assessment of Honey Klein and her village, to think about Jewish divorce.

It wasn’t that Judaism had an innate antifemale bias. As a matter of fact, the original laws of marriage and divorce were laws of protection for both parties. While it was true that men could file for divorce for reasons as trivial as bad cooking, it was equally true that women could file for many reasons—if the man was unattractive to her, if he didn’t fulfill her sexually. Wasn’t that the case with Gershon?

The law was on Honey’s side. Gershon should have granted her a divorce. And when he didn’t, the rabbis did what was in their Jewish legal right to do.

Yet, no matter how she thought about it, Peter was
right. It was still murder. She wondered how far Peter would pursue what he suspected.

A little old man walked through the open doors, his overcoat dragging on the floor, his black hat too large and slightly askew. His demeanor suggested disorganization. He had a long white beard and spoke to Rina in a high-pitched voice. His Hebrew was thick with a Moroccan accent.

“No one is here?”

Rina shrugged.

The old man rubbed his hands together. “You haven’t seen anyone?”

Again, Rina shrugged innocence.

“You are waiting for someone?”

“Yes.”

“Your son?”

“My husband.”

The old man took out a card. “Maybe he would like to give us a small donation.”

The card told Rina he was working for Yeshiva Rev Yosef Caro. He was a
meshulach
—someone who goes around collecting money for an institution or a poor family, then takes a cut of whatever he collects. Most Jews called them
shnorrers
.

The man said, “You can make a donation, too.”

Rina smiled wearily. “I have your card. Thank you.”

The man said, “I go inside. Check the
bait midrash
.”

Bait
instead of
bais
. Sephardic pronunciation. Rita told him to go check. The man left.

Another ten minutes crept by. Again, Rina thought about Honey Klein, about Arik and Dalia Yalom. Two boys suddenly orphaned, four other children without a father. Her mind drifted with faraway thoughts, her emotions sinking into a whirlpool of tragedy. Tears had formed in her eyes.

No, this wouldn’t do at all.

She went behind the desk, through the door, kissing the mezuzah as she went into a hallway.

Lots of doors muffling noise. The air here was warmer, but a great deal more stale. Gravel-voiced men speaking of the intricacies of Jewish civil law. Rina put her ear to one door, then opened it. Empty—devoid of people but filled with folding chairs, the space inside not much bigger than a walk-in closet. A window had been opened, allowing a tiny draft of fresh air to percolate.

At the end of the hallway was a staircase with tiny stone steps worn smooth by traffic. Rina held the wrought-iron handrail and walked down a flight.

The basement held a communal kitchen and dining hall. Wafting through the air was the smell of onions and garlic sweating with grease. The lunchroom was empty, the doors locked. But heat came through the walls and warmed the bottom layer of air a couple of degrees. That was good, Rina thought. The boys could eat in comfort during the winter months.

She climbed back up two stories. The
bais midrash
was the biggest room on the floor. Even at a distance, Rina could hear the shouting and arguing of boys engaged in learning. The
bais haknesset
—the yeshiva’s sanctuary—no doubt occupied the other big room. Rina didn’t go inside in case there was a prayer minyan going on. She didn’t want to disturb anyone. Checking her watch, she saw that only five minutes had passed. She decided to explore the two floors above.

The upstairs levels were just dorm rooms spilling over with piles of dirty clothes and sweat. Each floor had a small private kitchen and a laundry room—three washers and one dryer each. All of the machines were in use.

Rina climbed back down two flights, debating whether to go inside the
bais midrash
. Maybe Peter would need her help. She knew rationally that Moti Bernstein could translate anything Peter needed to know. Plus a lot of the boys here were American and English-speaking. Still, what if Bernstein chose to misrepresent something? Or there was a snatch of conversation in Hebrew that might
be relevant to Peter’s case? Only Rina would recognize that.

She went inside.

The din was deafening, the sweat and heat given off by the hundred or so boys hitting her face. The walls were taken up by bookshelves, high dormer windows struggling to let in natural light. The room was made bright by the parallel lines of fluorescent tubing on the ceiling. Through a thick fog of black, Rina could spot Peter across the room, a too-small derby perched over his carrot-colored hair. The hat looked like a candlesnuffer trying to extinguish a flame.

On the left side of the room was a big conference table occupied by a group of twenty boys. The rabbi was giving them a lecture, his deep voice managing to project over the noise. The rest of the room was filled with lecterns and desks. Most of the boys had paired off with their
chavrusas
—their learning partners. The boys shouted at each other, locked in verbal combat. What looked like a hostile interchange was, in fact, just a routine method of learning Talmud.

Rina looked about, sensing that more than a few of the boys were aware of her presence. Some stared hungrily, others gripped their
payis
, as if holding their side curls would ward off their lust.

Decker spotted her and waved. She squeezed her way through black coats and desks, and found her husband.

“Any luck?”

“A blank so far. At least,
I
haven’t seen him. How many other yeshivas are there like this one?”

“In Jerusalem there are two others,” Bernstein answered.

Rina felt eyes upon her. The gravel-voiced rabbi who was giving the lecture was glaring at her. “Maybe I should leave.”

Bernstein nodded vigorously.

“I won’t be more than a few minutes, Rina,” Decker said.

Rina took a final glance around the room, espying the little old unkempt man. “I see the
meshulach
found you, Moti. Boy, are those guys persistent.”