The Jerusalem Inception (21 page)

“I find it hard to believe.” Elie flagged down the waitress. “Bring us tea with lemon.”

“I have terrible news.” She kept her voice low. “Abraham’s son saw a box delivered to the most extreme guy in the sect, someone called Redhead Dan. The description fits hand grenades. Abraham hit the boy before he could tell him what he’d seen.
Hit him!
I don’t understand it—why would Abraham hit his son?”

Elie was more concerned with why Redhead Dan had shown him the grenades. “Hand grenades in Neturay Karta?”

“Yes!”

“Impossible. The kid is confused.”

“His description fits perfectly. And there’s talk of violence.
An eye for an eye.
You must contact Abraham immediately. Only he can prevent disaster.”

“Well, better safe than sorry.” Elie rubbed his scalp with his hand. “I’ll inform Abraham right away. Did his son tell you anything else?”

“No.”

Elie was relieved, but he had to make sure. “Did he hear of any plans to actually use the grenades?”

“No.”

“Does he know where they’re hidden? Anything?”

“It was a coincidence. He ran into them—”

“Lucky for us, but what was he doing out there in the middle of the night?”

Tanya blushed and looked away.

“I see.” Elie lit a cigarette. “He’s a bit young for you, isn’t he?”

“He’s almost eighteen.” She parted her hair with both hands, throwing it over her shoulders. “You have a problem with that?”

“On the contrary. How else would you suck information from him?”

“You disgust me.” She glared at him, the blushing skin of her face as smooth as that of the seventeen-year-old girl he remembered.

“You are fortunate, Tanya. Few women get to go back in time, so to speak, do it over, save a lover from the wrong path.”

She leaned on the table, her face close to his. “Abraham was on the wrong path because you manipulated him to keep hunting down Germans, and I was too naïve—”

“I manipulated Abraham?” Elie sneered. “He was obsessed with revenge after he saw the Nazis butcher our families. He wanted to keep killing Nazis, terminate them in the most painful way, every one of them, including Nazis like your sweetheart, Obergruppenführer Klaus von Koenig.”

“Klaus was an accountant. He didn’t butcher anyone.”

“Himmler’s deputy, the protégée who facilitated SS operations with his financial genius, was just an accountant?”

“He didn’t kill Jews.”

“Your dear Klaus was no less a mass murderer than the rest of the Nazi high command!”

“I thought we were talking about Abraham.”

“Right. That’s what drove him—avenge the Holocaust and prevent the next one. It still drives him today. Drives
us!
”

Tanya smiled bitterly. “How could I compete with that?”

Elie didn’t answer. What could he say? The truth? That Abraham had changed his mind and wanted to quit his secret work to be with her? No. Telling her the truth would ruin everything.

“I don’t have to atone for failing to save Abraham or for losing him,” she said. “Abraham lost me then, and he lost me again a few months ago. He’d rather stay with those misguided Talmudic souls than live with me in happiness. But Lemmy is a different story.
Him
I can save!”

Elie clapped. “Bravo!”

For a moment he thought Tanya would hit him, but she turned and left. His agents put down the dice and started to rise, but Elie shook his head, and they sat back and watched her leave.

He took his seat and slurped cautiously from his tea. The waitress brought the check, and he dropped a few bills on the table. He had no intention of informing Abraham. The risk was small that Lemmy would approach his father again about the grenades before tomorrow morning. The boy was still smarting from a good fatherly beating.

T
anya left the café on the verge of tears, determined not to give Elie the satisfaction. She walked down the street, shielding her face from the wind. He was doing it again, the same as twenty years ago, during those few months in the forest with Abraham, when Elie’s dark eyes had cast a constant shadow over their passion, his thin lips lopsided in a humorless grin. Now he was doing the same thing, mocking her relationship with Lemmy. But why was she so upset? Was there a grain of truth in it? Was she a pathetic middle-aged woman trying to relive the lost passion of her distant youth?

She reached a bus stop and huddled in the small canopy with a few other people. Lemmy would be preparing for the Sabbath now, changing into his best clothes. Earlier, when she had seen him stand next to Bira at the door, Tanya could hardly breathe. She had loved their fathers, one a Nazi general, the other a scion of a rabbinical line, two men who could not be more different. Yet Bira and Lemmy looked like siblings, with blue eyes, blond hair, and strong build. Even their different outfits—Lemmy’s ultra-Orthodox black garb and Bira’s IDF uniform—barely camouflaged their resemblance.

The bus approached, and the passengers lined up to board it. She glanced up the street at the café. Elie had not yet left, and his two goons were still bent over their game board. Why wasn’t he rushing off to warn Abraham? Why was he unconcerned with the warning she had delivered with such urgency?

“Young lady?” The bus driver tapped the steering wheel. “I don’t have all day!”

The realization hit her suddenly. She hurried back to the café.

“How did you know?”

Elie put down the tea cup. “Back already?”

“How did you know it was the middle of the night?”

He lit a cigarette. “When else would anyone deliver contraband?”

“It was you!” She pointed a finger in his face. “You delivered the grenades!”

“Nonsense.”

“You’re an evil man!” Her voice rose.

He signaled his agents, who shooed out the few patrons.

She leaned on the table. “Abraham has kept them quiet for eighteen years, sacrificed everything to prevent violence, and now you’ll destroy all his achievements!”

Elie clucked his tongue while stubbing the cigarette in the ashtray. “Even your darling Abraham can’t control them forever. We always knew that one day it would turn bloody. Read the Bible, it’s all there. Better it happens on my terms. My timing. My plan.”

“Have you consulted Abraham about
your
plan?”

Elie brushed the question aside. “He’s a soldier. Need-to-know basis. He managed to control them over Sabbath violations, their demonstrations at archeological sites, their window smashing at restaurants serving bread on Passover. Maybe he’ll control them over the abortion issue. But it’s getting harder. What I’m doing will eliminate his internal opposition in the sect. They’ll tremble in fear.”

“So why don’t you tell him about it? These are his people. He knows them better than you!”

“I spent a night in a cell with that Redhead Dan character. We bonded, prayed together like kindred spirits, a pair of seditious fanatics determined to teach the Zionists a painful lesson.” Elie chuckled hoarsely. “Physical pain and sleep deprivation are great fodder for brainstorming. He bought right into my act. We worked up a concept for a sensational attack.”

Tanya felt weak. Was he just bragging? “When?”

“Tomorrow morning. I promised to create a diversion, so the two of them can escape back to Meah Shearim. But, as Eshkol likes to say, I didn’t promise to keep my promise.”

“Where?”

“The prime minister’s residence, during a press conference about defending West Jerusalem in the event of a surprise Jordanian attack. Eshkol and Rabin will brief the journalists on the roof, and then—
boom!
They’ll see it from above in live action, like a movie. As soon as the black-hat terrorists attack, they’ll be cut down.”

Tanya grabbed the table, making the empty tea cups rattle in their saucers. “What do you mean
cut down?
”

“They attack, the guards respond. Fair game. And the media will have photos of two ultra-Orthodox men, black coats and all.”

“It’s murder!”

“Don’t be naïve. By tomorrow night, the public will rally behind Eshkol. I hired a professor at Tel Aviv University to do a whole analysis. He went back to Roman times, examined all cases since then, all the way through Queen Victoria—four attempts on her life, by the way. The American president, Andrew Jackson, who beat up his assassin with a cane. And Adolf Hitler, an excellent example too, attributing his survival to divine intervention. President De Gaulle, as well. Politicians who survive assassination attempts automatically gain hugely in popularity. Political scientists call it
Popularity by Misfire
. It’s the twisted psychology of public sentiment.”

“You’re sick!”

“Desperate situations require desperate measures,” Elie said. “The ultra-Orthodox fanatics will make Eshkol a hero to the secular majority.”

Tanya dropped into the chair. “You must call it off! These Neturay Karta men are like children, living in the fairytale world of Talmud. And why give them live grenades? You could have given them smoke grenades!”

“It has to look real. Can you imagine the mocking headlines:
Assassins Believe Smoke Enough to Knock Down Eshkol.
It would defeat the whole purpose. We need a heroic survival, photos of an unscathed prime minister standing in the rubble, sipping coffee amidst the debris, laughing in the face of danger. Don’t you see the brilliance of this plan?”

“Throwing grenades in a residential neighborhood, based on political science? Do you hear yourself?”

“You’ll see. Eshkol will address the nation with confidence, reassuring the people of his control of the situation. With the war imminent, the army needs a popular prime minister. The silent majority will unite behind him, and the Orthodox will keep their black hats down to the floor for years.”

“It will never work!” She could barely control her fury. “You’ll produce a handful of martyrs, and the next day hundreds of other Orthodox youngsters will start collecting weapons in all the yeshivas. You’ll start the very armed rebellion you’re trying to prevent!”

“I disagree,” Elie said. “The Orthodox will react with fear and self-flogging. And the few bad ones, we’ll pick like blackberries and squash them.”

The waitress showed up with a freshly brewed tea pot.

Elie filled his cup. “Remember what happened to weak Jews? Israel will be destroyed unless we eliminate our enemies.” He slurped his tea, and the rising steam blurred his face for a moment.

“I won’t let you go through with this madness!”

“It’s way over your head.” He warmed his hands over the tea pot. “Don’t interfere.”

“And if I do? You’ll have me
cut down
as well?”

“Just a short vacation.” Elie put on his wool cap and beckoned the two agents. “In seclusion.”

When she saw the agents approach, Tanya grabbed the steaming tea pot and emptied it in Elie’s face.

L
emmy was reading
The Painted Bird
when his mother knocked on the door and entered his room. “Benjamin is in the foyer to see you. Would you like some milk and cookies?”

“Thanks.” He stuffed the book under his pillow and went to greet Benjamin. As he reached the foyer, the door to his father’s study opened and Yoram, Redhead Dan’s study companion, came out, quickly leaving the apartment.

Rabbi Gerster emerged from his study. He wore a white shirt and black pants held by suspenders. He looked tired. The bandage was gone from his forehead, the small wound covered by a scab.

“Good day, Rabbi,” Benjamin said. “I hope you’re feeling better.”

“Seeing you here makes me feel better.” Rabbi Gerster held a book in his hand, bound in rugged brown leather.
The Zohar
. “You know, boys, what’s the difference between a sin against God and a sin against a fellow Jew?”

“Yes,” Benjamin said. “God won’t forgive the latter unless you sought forgiveness from the one you offended.”

“Jerusalem?” His father waited until their eyes met. “Yoram told me about the box. I now understand what you wanted to tell me that night.”

Lemmy shrugged.

“But I was too upset to listen. It was after midnight, and no one knew where you had gone. Your mother almost went out of her mind with worry. You understand?”

Another shrug.

“It was my duty to discipline you. Talmud says:
A father who deprives his son of the whip is like a father who hates his son.
Right?”

Lemmy glanced at Benjamin, whose mouth was slightly open, looking from father to son.

“You understand why I had to hit you, yes?”

“Are you asking for my forgiveness?”

The rabbi smiled sadly. “Yes, I am.”

“Perhaps you should first ask Mother for her forgiveness? I mean, what’s a slap on the face compared to what you’re doing to her?”

Rabbi Gerster’s shoulders sagged, and the strong hand that had slapped Lemmy a week ago came up and tugged at the graying beard. He turned and stepped back into his study.

Lemmy grabbed Benjamin’s arm and led him to his room. A plate of warm cookies and two glasses of milk were waiting on his desk.

“Master of the Universe!” Benjamin took off his black hat. “What’s going on?”

“It’s complicated.” Lemmy shut the door. “Here, have some milk.”

“I can’t.” Benjamin looked at his watch. “I ate a late lunch, turkey sandwich, so I’m not allowed dairy for another two hours. Are the cookies dairy?”

“I’m sure they are. My mom uses milk chocolate chips.” He felt angry at the sight of milk and cookies kept from Benjamin’s enjoyment because of the six-hour wait required between eating meat and dairy. “This is all so idiotic!”

“What’s so idiotic?”

“All God said in the Torah was:
Do not cook a calf in its mother’s milk.
From this symbolic ethical rule we Jews have created a behemoth!”

“The dietary rules make sense,” Benjamin said.

“To avoid the risk of cooking a calf in its mother’s milk, the early sages banned cooking any calves in any cow’s milk. The next generation of rabbis decided not to cook any cattle—young or old—in any milk, including goat, sheep, and camel’s milk. The next generation decided to ban eating any meat simultaneously with any dairy product—just in case! Then Jews bought separate sets of pots and pans and plates and silverware for meat and dairy to make sure there’s no risk of cooking a calf in its mother’s milk!”