The Jerusalem Inception (23 page)
Rabbi Gerster’s face was white under the black hat. He opened his arms as if he wanted to embrace his followers. “I love you, my sons, as I love my Creator, His name be blessed.” He sighed. “I have sought His guidance. I have prayed and studied the words of the sages.”
A murmur passed through the hall.
“Yes, we all want the Zionists to put aside their heretical law that sanctions the murder of innocent Jewish babies. And, yes, we want them to embrace God’s law, so that one who commits an abortion shall be punished as a murderer.”
Before Rabbi Gerster could continue, Redhead Dan sprang up from his seat and yelled, “Kill Levi Eshkol!” His payos wriggled wildly as he turned left and right and yelled again, “It is written:
He who comes to kill a Jew, kill him first!”
He earned loud applause, which encouraged him. “Smash the head of the snake! Bring down the defiler of God!”
Lemmy noticed Yoram, who sat next to Redhead Dan, raise his beady eyes to his admired study companion. It was neither a glance of support nor of admiration, but of fear.
“Our learned friend,” Rabbi Gerster said, “wants to kill the Zionist prime minister.”
“It’s God’s will,” Redhead Dan yelled.
The rabbi nodded. “It reminds me of the story about a man who stood in line at the post office with a package.”
The men hushed each other. They loved the rabbi’s stories. Redhead Dan sat down.
“After waiting for three hours to send his package, the line was still long. His feet hurt terribly, his shirt stuck to his back with sweat, and he got so angry that he dropped the package and screamed that he was going to kill Prime Minister Eshkol. A woman standing in line behind him promised to keep his spot, and he ran off to kill Eshkol.”
A few men laughed.
Rabbi Gerster took out his white handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his face. “An hour later he returned. The line had moved forward a bit, and the woman who had kept his spot asked, So, did you kill him? The man answered, No, I couldn’t, because the line there is even longer!”
The hall exploded with laughter.
Redhead Dan stood up, ready to speak.
“Some of us,” Rabbi Gerster said, “believe the abortion law is a reason to go to war against the Zionist regime even today, when millions of Arab enemies are gathering to attack this sliver of the Promised Land from all directions. Some of us believe God demands that we raise our hands against our misguided brothers. But I disagree.”
A collective sigh came in response—a sigh of relief or of disappointment, Lemmy couldn’t tell.
“God is our beacon,” the rabbi declared, “the divine luminary that guides us. How could we spill blood because of laws made by foolish, faithless men in the Knesset?”
Redhead Dan’s round face was crimson. “Kill the
Rodef
to save the babies!”
“The law of
Rodef
is an extreme exception, narrowly defined.” The rabbi looked up in contemplation. “As Talmud tells the story of Yoav and Asa’el, God permits striking a pursuer in the fifth rib to disable him, but killing is allowed only if nothing else would stop the
Rodef
from murdering another Jew. Now, even if we assume that the Zionist prime minister is a pursuer who is intent on killing—”
“He is!” Redhead Dan looked around, seeking support. “God expects us to cut him down before—”
“And even if his demise would cause their Knesset to drop the abortion legislation and instead pass a law that
banned
abortions altogether, it would still be a meaningless law, wouldn’t it?”
The cryptic question ignited a flurry of hushed exchanges as the men consulted their study companions.
The Zionists enacting the opposite law?
The Knesset banning abortions?
Meaningless?
Why?
“No!” Redhead Dan must have felt compelled to respond, as if the question had been directed at him. “It wouldn’t be meaningless! It would be God’s law!”
The rabbi’s voice remained calm. “Do you really think that a law passed by the secular Zionists would stop faithless women from promiscuity? Prevent unwanted pregnancies? Save innocent babies from the abortionist’s blade?” He caressed his beard. “Such a law would only send confused women to back alleys in search of help.”
The crowd muttered in agreement.
“All we can achieve by fighting the Zionist laws is to endanger the lives of mothers on top of the babies. You remember Solomon’s judgment, yes?”
Many of the men nodded.
“Laws inscribed by human hands are meaningless,” Rabbi Gerster said. “Without faith in God, women wouldn’t know any better. It’s a waste of time to fight against Zionist laws, an exercise in futility that won’t help them see the light.”
Redhead Dan yelled, “But they’re blind!”
“By studying Talmud, by setting an example of a righteous life, by praying to God for an end to sins, we can bring out the light of Judaism. I therefore decree that in this community we shall never again mention the laws of the Zionists.” Rabbi Gerster shut his eyes, his face turned up, his hands stretched out in a gesture of begging, and his sad baritone filling the hall: “
This world is just a very narrow bridge.
”
The men of Neturay Karta joined their rabbi’s singing, “
Leading to Heaven; so don’t be afraid, no fear at all.
”
Their voices grew stronger, their bodies swayed back and forth, and they joined in a forceful, repeated affirmation of faith, “
This world is just a very narrow bridge.
”
From the rear of the hall, Lemmy’s lips moved with the words, yet his voice was mute. His body swayed, yet his heart remained indifferent. He looked at Benjamin, whose eyelids were shut tightly, his hands pressed against his chest, his voice trembling, “
So don’t be afraid, no fear at all.
” Watching his devoutness, Lemmy knew the gap between them had widened. Tears filled his eyes, and for the second time that night, he left the synagogue unnoticed.
A
t sunrise, the marksmen took their positions on the roofs near the prime minister’s residence and in discreet locations along the street. Major Buskilah had direct command. Elie went up to the third-story roof, which was set up for the press briefing with folding chairs, hot coffee, and maps of Jerusalem pinned onto plywood.
General Yitzhak Rabin leaned on the railing. “Got a cigarette, Weiss?”
Elie held out a pack of Lucky Strike for the chief of staff.
Rabin pulled a few cigarettes, put one between his lips, and pocketed the rest. “My wife wants me to quit,” he said with a lopsided grin. He drew deeply, holding the smoke for a long while before releasing it into the air in a long, straight thread. “Rumor has it that your
Nekamah
campaign has killed more Nazi officers than the Allied forces managed to kill.”
“An exaggeration. Many of them continue to live with impunity.” Elie lit a cigarette. The burns on his neck itched as hell, and he struggled to keep from scratching.
“They say that you caught an SS officer raping a Jewish girl, cut off his genitalia, and shoved it down his throat.”
“Not his throat.”
General Rabin chuckled. “An inspiring story nevertheless.”
“I like working with blades,” Elie said. “I find it nostalgic.”
Rabin’s cigarette stopped midway to his lips. “Nostalgic?”
“My father, rest in peace, was a kosher butcher.”
The young general laughed. But when he realized Elie had not been joking, he tried to control himself, his face turning red. “Sorry, Weiss, it just sounded funny.”
“I understand.” Elie hid his anger, thinking how this ignorant sabra knew nothing of Jewish life in old Europe. A
shoykhet
was the only person trained in the ritual slaughter of livestock. Without him, the community would have no kosher meat and starve through the harsh winters, losing children to simple infections. A
shoykhet
should have been more important than a rabbi, yet the Jews of his childhood had revered Abraham’s father, Rabbi Yakov Gerster, while Elie’s father, Nahman Weiss, was treated like the carpenter, the shoemaker, or the blacksmith.
How the tables had turned!
“J
erusalem!”
It was his father’s voice. “Wake up!” Lemmy got out of bed and opened the door. Rabbi Gerster was dressed and ready. “We must go now.”
On Saturdays, morning prayers were held later, giving the men of Neturay Karta an opportunity to observe the command:
And on the Sabbath you and your livestock shall rest from all the work that you have done.
But for some reason his father was up early.
When they left the house, Rabbi Gerster turned in the opposite direction from the synagogue. Lemmy followed, still not completely awake. They entered an apartment building at the edge of Meah Shearim and went down a damp staircase. The rabbi knocked on a door.
Redhead Dan was still in his pajamas. He held the door open, and they entered a small room packed with a table, a sofa, and a bookcase. A baby started crying in the next room.
“Good Sabbath, Dan,” Rabbi Gerster said. “I believe you have in your possession something that a God-fearing Jew should not possess.”
Redhead Dan’s mouth opened for an instinctive denial, but he thought better of it.
They waited as he disappeared into the other room. The baby cried harder, and a woman’s voice comforted him. A moment later Redhead Dan returned with the box, which he placed on the table. “God had ordained this,” he said. “A righteous man was jailed with me and we just knew that God—”
“You were tricked by the Zionists.” Rabbi Gerster opened the box. “These things could have killed you and your family.” He took out each of the grenades and checked the fuses. “And the neighbors too.”
Redhead Dan sat down, his face buried in his hands.
The rabbi closed the box. “Tonight, when the Sabbath is over, you’ll pack a suitcase and take the bus to Safed, where Rabbi Shimon Elchai will take you into his yeshiva on probation. Your wife and son will remain here, and the community will take care of them. One year from now, not a day earlier, you may return. If I find your repentance sincere, you’ll be allowed to return to this holy community and reunite with your family.”
Lemmy carried the box up the stairs. He shuddered at the sound of Redhead Dan crying and realized that his father had taken him along to witness the banishment of a Neturay Karta member and to hear his sobs.
It was a lesson.
A warning.
The alleys of Meah Shearim were still deserted. At the gate, Rabbi Gerster turned east toward the border. They heard soldiers chattering in Hebrew and an occasional laughter from the concrete bunker facing the rolls of barbed wire and the Jordanians across. The entrance to the bunker was surrounded by sandbags. Two soldiers sat outside, their backs against the sandbags, smoking.
Rabbi Gerster said, “Shalom!”
The soldiers were startled.
“We found this box.” He motioned for Lemmy to put it on the ground. “Please be careful.”
One of the soldiers opened the box. “Hey! Look at these puppies!”
“Have a good Sabbath.” The rabbi walked away.
“Wait! What’s your name?”
He kept walking, his pace fast but not rushed. Lemmy kept up. They turned a street corner, the soldiers’ excited voices fading behind.
A
n aid came up to the roof to summon General Rabin and Elie Weiss downstairs. Prime Minister Eshkol was sitting alone at the kitchen table, sifting through a pile of newspapers. A black-and-white television set was tuned to the BBC without sound.
“Look at this!” The prime minister threw a copy of the daily
Ha’aretz
across the conference table.
Elie read the front-page headline:
New Delhi Summit: Tito, Nasser, and Mrs. Gandhi Express Support for the Legitimate Rights of the Palestinian Arabs
.
“Look at the rest,” Eshkol said impatiently, “look!”
Elie scanned the front page.
Anti-American riots in Manila.
Washington to cease bombing N. Vietnam if political solution is found.
Syrian deputy prime minister accuses Israel of preparing to attack Egypt and Syria.
British spy George Blake escaped London prison via ladder of knitting needles.
“Look here!” The prime minister flipped the pages. “Only here, in the corner of page three, they finally mention it:
Eshkol Appoints Galilee as Information Minister.
A charade, that’s what it is!”
Rabin and Elie read the piece, which quoted Prime Minister Levi Eshkol’s speech before the Knesset assembly:
The new Information Ministry will direct the provision of information to the public. While information is not a substitute for policy, the government must communicate clearly its sound policy to the Israeli citizenry.
“Can you believe this?” Eshkol shook the newspaper. “A knitting English spy belongs on the first page, but the prime minister of Israel is dumped in the corner of the third page, next to wedding announcements.”