Tribulation Force: The Continuing Drama Of Those Left Behind (29 page)

“I arrived yesterday morning. I need your help.” Buck told Rosenzweig he needed to get closer to the Wailing Wall. “I tried,” he said, “but I probably didn’t get within a hundred yards. The two men were preaching, and the crowds were much bigger than I ever saw on
CNN
.”

“Oh, there are bigger crowds now as we get closer to the signing of the covenant. Perhaps in light of the signing, the pair have stepped up their activities. More and more people are coming to hear them, and apparently they are even seeing Orthodox Jews converting to Christianity. Very strange. Nicolae asked about them on the way over and watched some of the coverage on the television. He was as angry as I have ever seen him.”

“What did he say?”

“That was just it. He said nothing. I thought he looked flushed, and his jaw was set. I know him just a little, you understand, but I can tell when he is agitated.”

“Chaim, I need your help.”

“Cameron, I am not Orthodox. I do not go to the Wall, and even if I could, I would probably not risk the danger. I don’t recommend that you do either. The bigger story here is the covenant signing Monday morning. Nicolae and the Israeli delegation and I finalized everything in New York Friday. Nicolae was brilliant. He is amazing, Cameron. I long for the day when we both are working for him.”

“Chaim, please. I know every journalist in the world would love to have an exclusive with the two preachers, but I am the one who will not give up until I get it or die trying.”

“That’s just what you might do.”

“Doctor, I’ve never asked you for anything but your time, and you’ve always been most generous.”

“I don’t know what I can do for you, Cameron. I would take you there myself if I thought I could get in. But you will not be able to get in anyway.”

“But you must know someone with access.”

“Of course I do! I know many Orthodox Jews, many rabbis. But—”

“What about Ben-Judah?”

“Oh, Cameron! He is so busy. His live report on the research project will be broadcast Monday afternoon. He must be cramming like a schoolboy before a final examination.”

“But maybe not, Chaim. Maybe he has done so much research that he could talk about this for an hour without notes. Maybe he’s ready now and is looking for something to occupy him so he doesn’t overprepare or stress out waiting for his big moment.”

There was silence on the other end, and Buck prayed Rosenzweig would yield. “I don’t know, Cameron. I would not want to be bothered so close to a big moment.”

“Would you do this, Chaim—just call and wish him the best and feel him out about his schedule this weekend? I’ll come anywhere at any time if he can get me close to the Wall.”

“Only if he is looking for a diversion,” Rosenzweig said. “If I sense he is buried in his work, I won’t even broach the subject.”

“Thank you, sir! You’ll call me back?”

“Either way. And Cameron, please don’t get your hopes up, and don’t hold it against me if he is unavailable.”

“I would never do that.”

“I know. But I also sense how important this is to you.”

Buck was dead to the world and had no idea how long his phone had been ringing. He sat straight up in bed and noticed the Sunday afternoon sun turning orange, the stream of light making a weird pattern on the bed. Buck caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he reached for the phone. His cheek was red and creased, his eyes puffy and half open, his hair shooting out in all directions. His mouth tasted horrible, and he had slept in his clothes.

“Hello?”

“Ees dis Chamerown Weeleeums?” came the thick Hebrew accent.

“Yes, sir.”

“Dees ist Dochtor Tsion Ben-Judah.”

Buck jumped to his feet as if the respected scholar were in the room. “Yes, Dr. Ben-Judah. A privilege to hear from you, sir!”

“Thank you,” the doctor managed. “I am calling you from out front of your hotel.”

Buck fought to understand him. “Yes?”

“I have a car and a driver.”

“A car and driver, yes sir.”

“Are you ready to go?”

“To go?”

“To the Wall.”

“Oh, yes, sir—I mean, no, sir. I’m going to need ten minutes. Can you wait ten minutes?”

“I should have called before arriving. I was under the impression from our mutual friend that this was a matter of some urgency to you.”

Buck ran the strange-sounding English through his mind again. “A matter of urgency, yes! Just give me ten minutes! Thank you, sir!”

Buck tore off his clothes and jumped in the shower. He didn’t give the water time to heat. He lathered up and rinsed off, then dragged his razor across his face.

He didn’t take the time to find the electrical adapter for his hair dryer but just yanked a towel off the rack and attacked his long hair, feeling as if he were pulling half of it out of his scalp.

He jerked the comb through his hair and brushed his teeth. What did one wear to the Wailing Wall? He knew he wouldn’t be getting inside, but would he offend his host if he was not wearing a coat and tie? He hadn’t brought one. He hadn’t planned on dressing up even for the treaty signing the next morning.

Buck chose his usual denim shirt, dressy jeans, ankle-high boots, and leather jacket. He dropped his tape recorder and camera into his smallest leather bag and ran down three flights of stairs. When he burst from the door he stopped. He had no idea what the rabbi looked like. Would he look like Rosenzweig, or Feinberg, or neither?

Neither, it turned out. Tsion Ben-Judah, in a black suit and black felt hat, stepped from the front passenger seat of an idling white Mercedes and waved shyly. Buck hurried to him. “Dr. Ben-Judah?” he said, shaking his hand. The man was middle-aged, trim, and youthful with strong, angular features and only a hint of gray in his dark brown hair.

In his labored English, the rabbi said, “In your dialect, my first name sounds like the city, Zion. You may call me that.”

“Zion? Are you sure?”

“Sure of my own name?” The rabbi smiled. “I am sure.”

“No, I meant are you sure I can call you—”

“I know what you meant, Mr. Williams. You may call me Zion.”

To Buck, Zion didn’t sound too much different from Tsion in Dr. Ben-Judah’s accent. “Please call me Buck.”

“Buck?” The rabbi held open the front door as Buck slid in next to the driver.

“It’s a nickname.”

“All right, Buck. The driver understands no English.”

Buck turned to see the driver with his hand extended. Buck shook it and the man said something totally unintelligible. Buck merely smiled and nodded. Dr. Ben-Judah spoke to the driver in Hebrew, and they pulled away.

“Now, Buck,” the rabbi said as Buck turned in his seat to face him, “Dr. Rosenzweig said you wanted access to the Wailing Wall, which you understand is impossible. I can get you close enough to the two witnesses so that you can get their attention if you dare.”

“The two witnesses? You call them the two witnesses? That’s what my friends and I—”

Dr. Ben-Judah held up both hands and turned his head away, as if to indicate that was a question he would not answer or comment on. “The question is, do you dare?”

“I dare.”

“And you will not hold me personally responsible for anything that might happen to you.”

“Of course not, but I would like to interview you, too.”

The hands came up yet again. “I made quite clear to the press, and to Dr. Rosenzweig, that I am not granting any interviews.”

“Just some personal information, then. I won’t ask about your research, because I am sure after boiling down three years into a one-hour presentation, you’ll explain your conclusions fully tomorrow afternoon.”

“Precisely. As for personal information, I am forty-four years old. I grew up in Haifa, the son of an Orthodox rabbi. I have two doctorates, one in Jewish history and one in ancient languages. I have studied and taught my whole life and consider myself more of a scholar and historian than an educator, though my students have been most kind in their evaluations. I think and pray and read mostly in Hebrew, and I am embarrassed to speak English so poorly, especially in an egalitarian country like this. I know English grammar and syntax better than most Englishmen and certainly most Americans, present company excepted I’m sure, but I have never had the time to practice, let alone perfect, my diction. I married only six years ago and have two teenage stepchildren, a boy and a girl.

“A little over three years ago, I was commissioned by a state agency to conduct an exhaustive study of the messianic passages so the Jews would recognize Messiah when he comes. This has been the most rewarding work of my life. In the process I added Greek and Aramaic to the list of my mastered languages, which now number twenty-two. I am excited about the completion of the work and eager to share my findings with the world by television. I don’t pretend that the program will compete with anything containing sex, violence, or humor, but I expect it will be controversial nonetheless.”

“I don’t know what else to ask,” Buck admitted.

“Then we can be done with the interview and get on with the business at hand.”

“I am curious about your taking the time to do this.”

“Dr. Rosenzweig is a mentor, one of my most beloved colleagues. A friend of his is a friend of mine.”

“Thank you.”

“I admire your work. I read the articles about Dr. Rosenzweig that you have done, and many others, too. Besides, the men at the Wall intrigue me as well. Perhaps with my language proficiency we will be able to communicate with them. So far, all I have seen them do is communicate with the masses who assemble. They speak to people who threaten them, but otherwise, I know of no individual who has spoken with them.”

The Mercedes parked near some tour buses, and the driver waited as Dr. Ben-Judah and Buck mounted a set of stairs to take in the view of the Wailing Wall, the Temple Mount, and everything in between. “These are the largest crowds I have seen,” the rabbi said.

“But they are so quiet,” Buck whispered.

“The two preachers do not use microphones,” Dr. Ben-Judah explained. “People make noise at their own peril. So many want to hear what the men have to say that others threaten those who cause any distraction.”

“Do the two ever take a break?”

“Yes, they do. Occasionally one will move around the side of that little building there and lie on the ground near the fence. They will often trade off resting and speaking. The men who were consumed by fire recently actually tried to attack them there from outside the fence when they both rested. That is why no one approaches them there.”

“That might be my best opportunity,” Buck said.

“That was my thinking.”

“You will go with me?”

“Only if we make it plain we mean them no harm. They have killed at least six and have threatened many more. A friend of mine stood on this very spot the day they burned up four attackers, and he swears the fire came from their mouths.”

“Do you believe that?”

“I have no reason to doubt my friend, though we are several hundred feet away.”

“Is there a better time than another to approach, or should we just play that by ear?”

“I propose we join the crowds first.”

They descended the stairs and moved toward the Wall. Buck was impressed that the crowd seemed so reverential. Within forty or fifty feet of the preachers were Orthodox rabbis, bowing, praying, sliding written prayers into the cracks between the stones in the Wall. Occasionally one of the rabbis would turn toward the witnesses and shake his fist, crying out in Hebrew, only to be shushed by the crowd. Sometimes one of the preachers would respond directly.

As Buck and Dr. Ben-Judah reached the edge of the crowd, a rabbi at the Wall fell to his knees, his eyes toward heaven, and howled out a prayer in anguish.

“Silence!” shouted one of the preachers, and the rabbi wept bitterly. The preacher turned to the crowd. “He beseeches almighty God to strike us dead for blaspheming his name! But he is as the Pharisees of old! He does not recognize the one who was God and is God and shall be God now and forevermore! We come to bring witness to the Godship of Jesus Christ of Nazareth!”

With that, the crying rabbi prostrated himself and hid his face, rocking in humiliation at the wickedness of what he heard.

Dr. Ben-Judah whispered to Buck, “Would you like me to translate?”

“Translate what? The prayer of the rabbi?”

“And the response of the preacher.”

“I understood the preacher.”

Dr. Ben-Judah looked puzzled. “If I had known you were fluent in Hebrew, it would have been much easier for me to communicate with you.”

“I’m not. I didn’t understand the prayer, but the preacher spoke to the crowd in English.”

Ben-Judah shook his head. “My mistake,” he said. “Sometimes I forget what language I’m in. But there! Right now! He’s speaking in Hebrew again. He’s saying—”

“Sir, sorry to interrupt. But he is speaking in English. There is a Hebraic accent, but he is saying, ‘And now unto Him who is able to keep you from falling … ’”

“You understand that?!”

“Of course.”

The rabbi looked shaken. “Buck,” he whispered ominously, “he is speaking in Hebrew.”

Buck turned and stared at the two witnesses. They took turns speaking, sentence by sentence. Buck understood every word in English. Ben-Judah touched him lightly and he followed the rabbi deeper into the crowd. “English?” Ben-Judah asked a Hispanic-looking man who stood with a woman and three teenagers.

“Español,” the man responded apologetically.

Dr. Ben-Judah immediately began conversing with him in Spanish. The man kept nodding and answering in the affirmative. The rabbi thanked him and moved on. He found a Norwegian and spoke to him in his native tongue, then some Asians. He grabbed Buck’s arm tight and pulled him away from the crowd and closer to the preachers. They stopped about thirty feet from the two men, separated by a fence of wrought-iron bars.

“These people are hearing the preachers in their own languages!” Ben-Judah shuddered. “Truly this is of God!”

“Are you sure?”

“No question. I hear them in Hebrew. You hear them in English. The family from Mexico knows only a little English but no Hebrew. The man from Norway knows some German and some English, but no Hebrew. He hears them in Norwegian. Oh God, oh God,” the rabbi added, and Buck knew it was out of reverence. He was afraid Ben-Judah might collapse.