The Jerusalem inception Read online

  “There’s someone,” Elie said, “a Mossad operative whom I need. A temporary assignment.”

  “Yes?”

  “It will only be part-time, nothing too involved.”

  Prime Minister Eshkol grabbed a pencil and opened his notebook. “What’s his name?”

  “Tanya Galinski. She’s currently-”

  “ Ohhhh!” Eshkol grinned, taking off his glasses. “Tanya Galinski! Ah scheinah meidaleh. ”

  Elie didn’t respond.

  “And what do you want with Mossad’s loveliest secret?”

  “She’s been brought back for an eavesdropping assignment. What I need from her won’t interfere with her current duties.”

  “I’ll approve it. Maybe you’ll get lucky with Miss Galinski.”

  Chapter 8

  Lemmy could not sit for the rest of the day. After sunset, when Sabbath was over, Temimah crushed a block of ice and wrapped it in a kitchen towel. “Lie on your belly and put it on.”

  “Thanks.” He turned to go to his room.

  “It’s time you grow up,” she said. “Your father expects you to take over some of his responsibilities.”

  “Like what?”

  She scrubbed a pot, which had waited in the sink for Sabbath to end. “Sorkeh Toiterlich is a wonderful girl, and you’re almost eighteen.”

  Most of his contemporaries were already engaged, except Benjamin who, without a father, was a more challenging match. “I don’t feel ready,” Lemmy said.

  “It’s not a question of being ready.” His mother filled the pot with soapy water. “It’s your duty to God. To the Jewish people. And to me.”

  This surprised Lemmy. He had never thought of starting a family as a duty to his mother, whose daily life consisted of fulfilling her duties to others-to his father, to him, to the sect and its needy members. It had never occurred to him that she was also entitled, that she could be the beneficiary of someone else’s duty.

  Temimah resumed scrubbing the deep pot with an iron brush. “It’s not enough for me, taking joy in other people’s children.” The brush scrubbed faster. “I’m not asking very much.”

  “Asking me to marry isn’t much?” Lemmy shifted the pack of ice between his hands.

  “She’ll be a good wife. I’ll help her with everything. And you can keep studying in the synagogue with Benjamin every day as if nothing happened.”

  “But I don’t feel anything for her.”

  Temimah’s hand stopped scrubbing. She looked at him, her eyes moist under the tight headdress. “Do you feel something for me?”

  He didn’t know what to say.

  “I’ve prayed for more children of my own.” She glanced at the ceiling. “But your father is a special man. He knows what’s best and I, well, I’m his wife. That’s my duty. But I crave to hold a baby. If not mine, at least yours.” She turned back to the sink.

  Lemmy watched her shoulders tremble. What could he say? He wanted to relieve her sorrow, but the thought of standing with Sorkeh under the chuppah made him cringe. “Good night, Mother,” he said.

  She didn’t answer.

  He locked himself in his room, stretched on the bed with the pack of ice on his buttocks, and began reading The Fountainhead.

  Hours later, his full bladder tore him away from the story. He hurried down the dark hallway to the bathroom and back to his room to continue reading. When he finished the book, the morning sun shone through the window above his bed. He closed his eyes and imagined the tall, square-jawed Howard Roark, the architect who defied the masters of his profession, mocking their grotesque imitations of ancient Rome in American cities, their pasting of motifs from a French chateau or a Spanish villa onto modern towers of wealth. Instead, Roark designed functional buildings in furious, brutal objectivism. Lemmy admired Roark’s unyielding integrity, his willingness to sacrifice everything for his beliefs, and his love for Dominique Francon, who loved him back but joined the enemies, who swore to silence his genius.

  The Fountainhead excited Lemmy in an unfamiliar way. He could recite from memory full Chapters of Torah and Talmud, which he had studied since the age of three. He loved the scriptures’ poetic beauty and logical wisdom, and until now believed nothing else was worth reading. But here was a book that had absolutely no Torah or Talmud in it, and yet from its pages emerged a universe rich with men and women who fought for their beliefs, suffered for their idealistic goals, and served as the fountainhead of human progress while experiencing pain, love, and physical lust in ways he had always thought sinful.

  Chapter 9

  During the following days, Lemmy’s bruises prevented him from sitting down. He spent the day on his feet, studying Talmud with Benjamin in the synagogue. When his legs ached, he went outside to stretch out on a bench. At night, he stayed up for hours, lying on his belly with ice on his buttocks, reading The Fountainhead again.

  The next Sabbath, after the meal, he ran all the way to Tanya’s house. He circled the wall of sandbags and knocked on the door. She appeared barefoot, in a sleeveless shirt and khaki shorts that revealed sculpted legs.

  “I brought back your book.” He averted his eyes.

  “You don’t like the way I look?”

  He swallowed. “You look the way God made you, but I’m not supposed to see so much of it.”

  Tanya laughed and took his hand, pulling him inside. Her hand was dry and cool and pleasant to touch. She placed The Fountainhead on a shelf among other books.

  He asked, “Has Ayn Rand written other novels?”

  “So you liked it?”

  “It’s a good story.” He felt foolish for keeping the real depth of his excitement from her. “America is a great country. I hope to visit it one day.”

  “What did your father think of the book?”

  Lemmy hesitated. “He didn’t see it.”

  “Why?”

  “He would tell me not to read it.”

  “You always do what your father tells you?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “And your own desire, it has no meaning?”

  “My desire is to obey my father.”

  “And what about your mother?”

  “She obeys him too.”

  Tanya smiled. “You know what I mean.”

  “My mother doesn’t expect my obedience.”

  “That’s your father’s prerogative?”

  He nodded.

  She collected a pile of papers from her desk and put them in a drawer. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Tea? Water? You must be thirsty after such a long walk.”

  “I’m fine. Really.”

  “Are you afraid my dishes aren’t kosher?” She sat on the sofa. “You needn’t worry. I’m a vegetarian.”

  Lemmy wasn’t sure what it meant. He had never heard the term. Did she eat only vegetables? That would make for a very limited diet, especially in the winter, when fresh produce was meager. He wandered around the room, touching the old furniture and the books. A framed photo on the wall showed a teenage girl with light hair and Tanya’s smile. “Who’s that?”

  “My daughter, Bira.”

  In Hebrew, Bira meant a capital city, but he had never heard it used as a name. “You named her for Jerusalem?”

  “That would have been a nice coincidence, wouldn’t it?”

  “Where is she now?”

  “In the army, defending Israel. Not hiding in the synagogue like the men of Neturay Karta.”

  “We’re not hiding.”

  “I didn’t mean you personally. You’re too young, anyway.”

  “I’ll be eighteen soon.”

  “Will you enlist?”

  “In the Zionist army?” He rolled one of his payos around his forefinger and played with it. “We defend the Jewish people by praying and studying Talmud.”

  “You really believe that prayer and study would protect Israel from three hundred million Arabs armed with the best Soviet weaponry?”


  “Torah says: God shall fight for you, and you shall be silent. For the righteous Jew, faith is the mightiest shield from enemies.”

  “Do you know the story about the Jew who complained to God that he was so poor that he couldn’t feed his cow?”

  “There are many of them.”

  “That’s true. Well, this Jew got an answer. God told him that he would win the lottery.”

  Lemmy leaned against the wall, watching her.

  “A week later, when he complained to God that he didn’t win the lottery, God asked: Did you buy a ticket?”

  Lemmy laughed. He paced along the wall, returning to Bira’s photo. She stood against a background of large buildings and signs in foreign letters. “How old is she?”

  “Twenty-one. She even has a boyfriend.”

  “ Mazal Tov. When is the wedding?”

  “It’s too early to think of a wedding. They’re dating, that’s all. Movies, dancing, kissing, you know, being young.”

  He examined the photo. The signs in the background were in German. “Is she really your daughter?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I mean, you look too young.”

  Tanya touched her face. “I was seventeen when Bira was born.”

  “And your husband?”

  “He was already dead.”

  For a few moments, neither of them spoke. He saw a newspaper on the coffee table, Ha’aretz, a Hebrew daily that was banned in Meah Shearim. The date was October 7, 1966, yesterday’s paper. He read through the headlines. China’s Independence Day marked by a conciliatory letter from Moscow. U.S. government proclaiming optimism that Hanoi would accept the peace initiative to end the Vietnam War. Syrian diplomats, in a meeting with UN General Odd Bull, threatened an attack on Israeli air bases. Terrorists infiltrate through the border with Egypt and sabotage fuel lines. Shots from the Jordanian side of Jerusalem injure an eleven-year-old boy playing soccer with friends, while UN observers stood by. Ben Gurion celebrated his eightieth birthday at his Negev Desert kibbutz with President Shazar and the author S.Y. Agnon, but without Prime Minister Eshkol.

  Lemmy turned the page and read the first paragraph of an article about the release from jail in Germany of Nazi leaders Albert Speer and Baldur von Schirach. The writer expressed regret that the two men had not been executed twenty years earlier with the rest of Hitler’s henchmen.

  A photograph on the opposite page shocked Lemmy. It was his father! Under it, the paper reported: NETURAY KARTA RABBI: ABORTION IS MURDER!

  The Knesset Committee on Health heard testimony from Rabbi Abraham Gerster, leader of ultra-Orthodox sect Neturay Karta, regarding proposed legislation to permit abortions for out-ofwedlock, incestuous pregnancies, or when the mother’s physical or mental well-being is at risk. Rabbi Gerster declared: “Laws are made by God, not by democracy. God said, Thou shall not kill! Did God set a minimum age for murder victims? No! A viable fetus is a live person, created in God’s image! How could you allow doctors to kill babies inside their mothers’ wombs?” Security officials fear anti-abortion riots by ultra-Orthodox extremists, especially after last Saturday’s rock-throwing incident.

  Tanya asked, “What do you think? Will history repeat itself? Like the Jews who killed each other inside the Temple during the Roman siege?”

  “I don’t know. God will decide our fate.”

  “What’s the word inside Neturay Karta?”

  “Abortions are a symptom of Zionist decay, like driving during Sabbath, eating pork, violating sacred gravesites for antiques. That’s why we shun the secular Zionist society that surrounds us. Most Talmudic scholars believe God will soon punish Israel. Some want to throw rocks, attack government buildings, maybe burn police cars.”

  “And you?”

  “Me? I’m too young to decide those things.”

  Her hand rested on his shoulder, her face very close. “So who’s going to decide if Jewish blood will run again in the streets of Jerusalem? Rabbi Abraham Gerster?”

  Mint, Lemmy decided, that’s what her breath smelled like. He knew he should get up and leave, but he couldn’t. The fire from her hand had spread to his loins. “My father is a great scholar of Talmud. Our people listen to him.”

  “Because they think he’s a tzadik? ”

  “Yes. He is a righteous man.”

  “Oh, Jerusalem.” Tanya’s hand slipped off his shoulder. “It must be nice to be so innocent.”

  He stood up and glanced at the bookshelf.

  “Would you like another novel?” Tanya picked one. “That’s a good one.”

  Lemmy couldn’t contain his smile. It was Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged.

  E lie Weiss watched from his Deux Chevaux as Abraham’s son left Tanya’s house and walked down the street, his black coat unbuttoned, his black hat tilted jauntily. When the boy was out of sight, Elie got out of his car and knocked on Tanya’s door.

  She stood in the doorway. “What do you want?”

  “A bit of your time. May I come in?”

  She moved aside.

  He entered a large, tidy room. The closed door to his left probably led to the equipment room where she listened in on UN radio traffic. He sat on the sofa.

  Tanya remained standing. “I need to go back to my work.”

  He pulled out a pack of Lucky Strike.

  “Don’t smoke here.”

  “No problem.” Elie slid the pack back into his pocket. “How was your reunion with Abraham? Lots of hugs and kisses?”

  “You told him I was dead!”

  “I told him the facts. He drew the conclusion.”

  “You tricked him, just like you had tricked me about his death. Bloody sieve! ”

  “It’s a miracle he recovered, and it was a miracle the wolves didn’t eat you.”

  Tanya’s pretty face was red with anger, making her even more attractive. “We needed one more miracle, but you’re still around!”

  “I saw your new friend leave. Good-looking boy, Abraham’s son. Snip off those payos and strip the black clothes, and he’s a carbon copy of the Gerster you once loved.”

  Tanya’s face grew even redder. “You’re a sick man!”

  He was pleased with her reaction, which confirmed his strategy. “I need to know what he told you. Anything about Neturay Karta?”

  “You haven’t changed.”

  “He must have told you something.” Elie wanted her to think this was just about snooping for information on the fundamentalist sect, let her believe he had given up on the fortune her Nazi lover had stashed in Switzerland.

  Tanya walked to the opposite end of the room. “You already have Abraham in position. He’s your agent. Leave his son alone.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s an innocent victim.”

  “You read too many novels.”

  “He’s just a boy.”

  “He’s the same age Abraham was in forty-five. You remember the boy he was, yes? The heads he blew? The necks he squeezed? The hearts he stabbed, or broke?”

  Tanya turned away. She released her hair and held it to her cheek like a child seeking comfort in a familiar rag. “You couldn’t make me betray Klaus twenty years ago. You think I’ll betray Abraham now?”

  “Your loyalty to ex-lovers is commendable.”

  “A snake,” she said, “is what you are.”

  “A very powerful snake.” Elie looked around. He knew she would not leave the Nazi’s ledger in plain sight, but he hoped to see something useful, a hint of where she had hidden the key to the dormant fortune. “You’re taking it too personally. This is not about me or you or Abraham. This is about the future of Israel. We won’t survive the Arabs’ attacks while a Talmudic Trojan horse spews religious violence in our midst.”

  “A few hundred fragile scholars are a threat to the state?”

  “Neturay Karta’s fundamentalist ideology is like a spark that could start a brushfire, which will spread to every religious community in Israel.”

  “You’re be
ing paranoid.”

  Elie put a cigarette between his lips. “Orthodox Jews believe that one day the Messiah will ride into Jerusalem on his white donkey and twiddle a magic wand to recreate King David’s empire and bring us back to the Promised Land. Therefore, they perceive modern Zionism as a blasphemous usurpation of God. Remember the zealots who killed the great priest and caused Roman victory over Jerusalem two thousand years ago? Neturay Karta is the reincarnation of those ancient fanatics, the modern-day progenitors of a violent rebellion against the secular Israeli democratic government-”

  “You’re wasting time. I work for Mossad, not for you.”

  “Actually, soon you’ll also be working for my Special Operations Department.” He could see her face tense up. “I won’t interfere with your regular duties, but you’ll have to follow my orders and provide me with all information and items that you possess.”

  Tanya shook her head sharply, her hair flying about her, making her look like a young girl. “General Amit won’t force me.”

  Elie thought for a moment. “Are you sleeping with the chief of Mossad?”

  “You’re repulsive!” She picked up a book and threw it on the desk in frustration. “Yes, Elie Weiss. I sleep with General Amit, I sleep with Abraham and his son, I sleep with dogs and pigs, and I sleep with everybody except you. Now leave my house!”

  He got up and paced to the framed photo on the wall. “Your daughter’s lovely.”

  “Leave!”

  “Bira Galinski. Private First Class, mandatory service, IDF Media Department, Central Command.” He looked at the photo closely. “Not as pretty as her mother. Light hair, blue eyes, big bones. Must be her father’s looks. I hear she wants to be a historian, a scholar, not a spy. Odd, if you consider her parents’ career choices.”

  He turned to Tanya, whose face went pale. She said nothing.

  “Now, let’s see. She was born in Berlin on July eleventh, nineteen forty five. A healthy baby-three kilos two hundred grams. Her birth certificate refers to the father as deceased. But he must have been alive and well back in,” Elie counted on his fingers, “say, late winter, nineteen forty four, which was when you and Herr Obergruppenfuhrer Klaus von Koenig-”