The Jerusalem inception Read online

“Go to hell.” She threw open the door.

  “To hell?” Elie crossed the room slowly and stood close enough to smell her. “I’ve been there, Tanya, long nights, listening to Abraham Gerster making love to you, not even bothering to be quiet, as if I were blind and deaf and without my own desires.” He paused, regretting his momentary sincerity. “Treat me with respect, or I’ll expose your daughter’s Nazi paternal lineage. Can you imagine the consequences?”

  Chapter 10

  The following Sabbath, Lemmy found a week’s worth of newspapers on Tanya’s coffee table. A headline read: General Bull’s Demand for Reinforcements Rejected by UN Secretary General U-Thant. Another headline: Eshkol Blames Egypt and Syria for the Growing Tension at the Borders. The paper quoted opposition Knesset member Shimon Peres: Levi Eshkol and Abba Eban Sacrifice Israel’s Security for the Interests of America and the Soviet Union!

  Reading through the headlines, Lemmy realized how distorted his perception of Israeli society had been. Within the insular Neturay Karta, everyone believed the godless Israelis to be uniformly immoral, rejoicing in promiscuity and porcine gluttony. But Tanya’s newspapers reflected the dedication of the Zionist leaders to the survival of the young state. Their ideological bickering appeared sincere and passionate, not the cynical materialism that he had expected.

  Before he left, Tanya gave him a thin book by Emile Zola: I Accuse.

  Back home, his parents were taking a Sabbath-afternoon nap. He shut himself up in his room and began reading. Written in 1898, it was the story of a Jew named Dreyfus, whose career as a French army officer had ended in a disgraceful conviction for treason. The book argued that Dreyfus had in fact been framed as a scapegoat by the French establishment to cover for one of their own.

  I Accuse enraged Lemmy. Here was a Jew who lived with the Goyim, attended their schools, served in their army, and risked his life in their wars, expecting in return only the honor of equality and fraternity, as promised by the new French Republic. But his reward was injustice, humiliation, and suffering. Wasn’t Dreyfus a perfect example of the Gentiles’ pathological hatred of Jews?

  A week later, on Sabbath afternoon, Lemmy entered Tanya’s house and declared, “This book is the ultimate proof that Neturay Karta is correct, that a Jew can only live safely among other Jews who observe the strict teachings of Talmud!”

  “Only Neturay Karta?” Wearing shorts and a tank top, Tanya sat cross-legged on the floor. “This whole country is Jewish. Israel offers true equality for the Jewish people as a nation, not as a religion.”

  “Zionism is a rebellion against God, who told us to wait for His Messiah to bring us back and restore our independence.”

  “But didn’t God give us the Promised Land and told us to go there? The Zionist pioneers have fulfilled that promise, didn’t they?”

  “The Zionists violate the Sabbath, shave off their payos and beards, and don’t pray. Instead of studying Talmud, they study fragments of clay they dig up from the ground, as if those remnants of ancient dwellings could give them heritage and identity. They don’t care about God!”

  “Have you ever met a Zionist?”

  “Aren’t you a Zionist?”

  She laughed and gave him another book. “It’s the story of the first Zionist. Let’s see what you think after reading it.”

  Lemmy looked at the cover. Theodor Herzl, a Biography.

  H is face burned as he entered the apartment with the book under his coat. This was not a novel that could be excused as youthful indiscretion. This volume carried on its cover the face of Theodor Herzl-the visionary of modern Zionism. It was worse than hiding a pig under his coat.

  That night, Lemmy tiptoed through the apartment to make sure the lights were off in his father’s study and his mother’s bedroom. Back in his room, he pulled the book from behind the shelved Talmud volumes and lay in bed to read Herzl’s life story.

  An assimilated Austrian Jew, Herzl was a reporter for the Vienna Neue Freie Presse who believed in modernity and freedom as a basis for a peaceful humanity. He did not observe Jewish laws and saw himself as a free citizen of Europe. But while covering the 1894 trial of Alfred Dreyfus in Paris, Herzl had witnessed fervent anti-Semitism, both within the quiet halls of justice and on the streets, where the mob chanted, “Kill all the Jews!” He became convinced that the Jews in Europe faced a grave danger, and the only way to save them was the creation of a Jewish state. In a pamphlet titled, Der Judenstaat, The Jewish State, he outlined a new home for the Jews in the Holy Land, based on political freedom, religious tolerance, and racial equality. Herzl called for a secular democracy that would include the indigenous Arabs and bring progress to the desolate Ottoman colony of Palestine. He summoned the first Zionist Congress in Basel and called on Jews everywhere to end their twenty centuries of exile and return to their ancestral homeland. He travelled to Palestine, met Keiser Wilhelm II, and negotiated with the Ottoman Grand Vizier, as well as Sultan Abdulhamid II himself. From Constantinople, Herzl travelled to London, obtaining tacit support from Great Britain. Meanwhile, Zionist activists took his message to countless Jewish shtetls across Russia, Poland, Germany, Hungary, and Romania, where millions of religious Jews recited daily: Next year in Jerusalem. But the rabbis rejected Zionism and ordered their followers to continue the long wait for the Messiah. Herzl died eight years after publishing Der Judenstaat, lonely and disappointed, never to find out that his premonition of disaster would be validated in the Nazi Holocaust that killed six million Jews.

  Herzl had written: If you wish, this is not a fable; in fifty years, we can have a Jewish state. Lemmy calculated quickly in his head and was awed by Herzl’s prescience: The 1948 founding of Israel came fifty-two years after Herzl had made that prediction.

  It was tragic, Lemmy thought, that the rabbis had rejected Herzl’s vision. Their reasoning was familiar-it was still the foundation of Neturay Karta’s anti-Zionist stand. But the irony didn’t escape him. The small minority of European Jews, who had defied their rabbis and left Europe to build a Jewish homeland in Palestine, lived to mourn their families and friends who had obeyed the rabbis, rejected Zionism, and died in Hitler’s gas chambers, crying, “ Hear, O Israel, Adonai is our God, Adonai is one. ”

  Chapter 11

  As the weeks passed, Lemmy’s buttocks healed, and another winter descended on Jerusalem. He visited Tanya every Saturday afternoon, exchanging books and browsing the newspapers. She served him tea in a glass cup, and they discussed the news or the book he had just read. He was often tempted to ask how she knew his father but sensed that the subject was taboo. She gave him the works of major writers, such as Tolstoy, Edgar Allen Poe, and Jack London, which were available in the Hebrew translation. Some novels, such as Gone with the Wind, Madame Bovary, Tom Sawyer, A Tale of Two Cities, and Martin Eden, led to discussions in which Tanya described European history and the American civil war with knowledge that hinted of extensive study and travel. And certain books aroused feelings inside Lemmy that he had never experienced before, especially when it came to the relationship between men and women, so different from the rigid division that was strictly applied in Neturay Karta. He began to read books in German, using a dictionary to bridge the gap between the spoken Yiddish he was fluent in, and the more proper German grammar and vocabulary of literature. He read some of the books more than once, gaining better understanding of the characters, subjects, and meaning. The stories of S.Y. Agnon, for example, were populated with religious Jews like himself, yet described their innermost feelings and passions in a way that Lemmy found irresistible.

  With time, his life divided into two separate tracks. His days as a Talmudic scholar started shortly after dawn, with a quick rinsing of his face and off to the synagogue for morning service. Breakfast was bread, jam, and milk in the foyer of the synagogue, followed by studying Talmud with Benjamin. Lunch was followed by Rabbi Gerster’s daily lecture and independent study until sunset and the evening prayers. Lemmy and Benjamin usually stayed in the synag
ogue for another hour to settle their arguments.

  Dinner at home was the conclusion of a day of studying. While Temimah served them soup and a dish of meat and potatoes or fish with vegetables, his father always asked the same question: “What do you know tonight that you didn’t know this morning?”

  This question led to a discussion of the pages of Talmud that Lemmy had studied with Benjamin. Invariably, Rabbi Gerster shed new light on the subject, revealing hidden threads and subtle concepts that had escaped Lemmy.

  Each scholarly day ended when his father recited the final prayer after the meal and retired to his study. Lemmy always helped his mother clear the dinner table before wishing her good night.

  He read Tanya’s books every night, including books she borrowed for him at the public library. His nights filled with excitement as his eyes raced across printed pages filled with strange characters, foreign societies, and human conflicts. When his eyes burned, he’d go to the bathroom, splash cold water on his face, and return to reading. The forbidden books transported him to locations far beyond the walls of Meah Shearim, and the excitement lingered even when his eyelids refused to stay open and he fell asleep for a couple of hours before another day started.

  Lemmy learned to juggle his daily studies and nightly escapades. The days were filled with the intellectual intensity of cracking Talmudic riddles with Benjamin among the companionship of a synagogue filled with cigarette smoke and familiar faces. The nights were spent in literary forays outside Neturay Karta. He erected a virtual wall between the life he shared with Talmud, family and friends, and the solitary adventures of his nights. He knew that a crack in the wall could precipitate a deluge of acrimony-his father’s wrath, his mother’s tears, Benjamin’s hurtful betrayal. But the books’ allure was too great.

  Chapter 12

  On a frosty morning in late December, Tanya switched the eavesdropping equipment to automatic recording and left her home for the long walk to the bus station in West Jerusalem. Across the border, in the Armenian Quarter of the Old City, church bells tolled to summon the faithful to Christmas mass.

  The bus took almost three hours to reach Tel Aviv, often stopping to wait for the army to scout the road ahead for Arab terrorists. Getting off the bus at the central station, Tanya walked west toward the Mediterranean coast.

  The first Jewish city in modern times, Tel Aviv, which meant Spring Hill, was nothing like Jerusalem. Its inhabitants were secular Israelis. Women wore outfits that revealed the contours of their bodies, and men were muscular and sun-beaten in a healthy, exuberant way that contrasted with the pale Jews of Jerusalem. The sea air was fresh, and the sun shone as if summer hadn’t yet departed.

  She changed into a bathing suit in the public showers at the beach and walked across the strip of soft sand to the water. The sea was almost flat, only shallow waves lapping at her feet. She took a deep breath and ran into the chilly water of the Mediterranean.

  By early afternoon, the unseasonably mild weather had drawn hundreds of bathers, who rose and fell with the waves, squealing in a blend of Hebrew, English, German, and Arabic. A lifeguard with bronze skin and a hairy chest rowed his white fiberglass board toward Tanya and offered to take her for a ride. She declined, and he continued on his patrol.

  After drying herself, she spread a towel on the sand and lay down in the sun.

  Bira and Eytan met her for dinner at an outdoor cafe near the beach. He was a dark Israeli with a sunny smile, and seemed unconcerned when the two women lapsed into German, reminiscing how Tanya had taught Bira to ride a bicycle in a Munich park until they both fell into a shallow reflecting pool.

  Tanya spent the night in the tiny apartment Bira shared with five other soldiers. They chatted late into the night, and Tanya went to bed content that her daughter had acclimated to life in Israel. Bira had grown up in a succession of European cities, their frequent relocations dictated by Mossad needs. But the disadvantage of a rootless childhood was balanced out by a multilingual fluency that served Bira well in her IDF research duties, while she easily made new friends among her fellow troops.

  W ell before sunrise, Tanya walked the short distance to the Kirya, the fenced-off IDF headquarters in the center of Tel Aviv. She passed through several checkpoints, and took a long elevator ride down to the Pit-the underground command center.

  The meeting convened in a large room with solid concrete walls and mechanical ventilation. Prime Minster Levi Eshkol sat at one end of a long table, his thick eyeglasses on his forehead, his eyes buried in a document. The IDF chief of staff, General Yitzhak Rabin, sat at the other end, puffing on a cigarette. The rest of the seats around the table were taken by IDF generals and the civilian chiefs of Shin Bet and Mossad, all much younger than Eshkol. Plastic chairs lined the walls, occupied by aides and advisors.

  On the opposite side of the room Tanya noticed Elie Weiss, diminutive and brooding. His wool cap covered his ears. He beckoned Tanya to an adjoining seat, but she sat near the door.

  General Rabin approached a large wall map, the cigarette dangling from his lips. “ Boker Tov,” he said.

  A few voices replied, “Good morning.”

  “What morning?” the prime minister asked, looking up from his papers. “It’s still the middle of the night!”

  Rabin smiled. At forty-five, he was a handsome man with reddish-brown hair and a healthy tan. “As I see it, our goal is to avoid war. But our duty is to prepare for one.”

  Several generals nodded. They seemed accustomed to Rabin’s slow, deliberate manner of speech.

  “The tension on the borders,” Rabin continued, “is growing. In the north, Syrian bombardments rain down from the Golan Heights. In the east, PLO terrorists infiltrate from Jordan and kill civilians. In the south, Egypt is building up its forces in Sinai. In the west, terrorists attack us from Gaza. The daily casualties on every front erode our citizens’ morale.”

  “It’s a chronic disease,” the prime minister said, “like bronchitis, or cataract.”

  Everyone laughed, knowing that he was suffering from both.

  “It’s becoming a fatal disease,” Rabin said. “The Arabs smell blood. They’re finally strong enough to overrun Israel.”

  “The world won’t allow it,” the prime minister argued. “The UN will confront the Arab leaders. I sent Abba Eban to urge General Bull.”

  “Our intelligence reports,” Rabin continued, “indicate that Egypt might block the Straits of Tiran.”

  “Impossible!” Prime Minister Eshkol shook a finger at Rabin. “We have guarantees from the Americans. That’s why we agreed to withdraw from Sinai after the ’fifty-six campaign! Egypt will never have the chutzpah!”

  “The Soviet Union is arming the Egyptians and Syrians in hopes of creating another Vietnam here. But our eastern border is the longest. To succeed against us, Egypt and Syria need Jordan.” With the point of a long stick, Rabin traced the meandering border down the middle of the Sea of Galilee to the mouth of the Jordan River and inland toward the Mediterranean Sea, where it ran parallel to the coast, creating a narrow strip where Israel was less than ten miles wide. Near the northern suburbs of Tel Aviv, the border veered east to the Judean Mountains. It sliced Jerusalem in half, with the Old City on the Jordanian side and the Jewish neighborhoods in a small peninsula. The border immediately dropped back west, circling the southern bulge of the West Bank, under Jordanian control, then east again to the desert valleys below the Dead Sea. The southern part of Israel, almost two-thirds of its odd-shaped territory, was the Negev Desert. It was dotted with isolated kibbutzim, collective farms that defied the harsh desert with green islands of alfalfa, carrots, and tomatoes.

  General Rabin’s pointer returned to the narrow coastal strip north of Tel Aviv. “Here is our soft belly. Unlike the south and the north, where we have a bit of territorial depth to fight, a massive Jordan bombardment of West Jerusalem and the coastal strip will destroy us.”

  “They won’t dare!” Prime Minister Eshkol leaned forwa
rd, his elbows on the table. “It would be a violation of every UN resolution!”

  Drawing long from his cigarette, Rabin took his time. “If diplomacy fails, we’ll have to fend off King Hussein, or war will be lost on the first day.”

  “I can’t spare any troops,” said General Dado Elazar, CO northern command. “The Syrians sit in their bunkers on the Golan Heights and shoot down at our kibbutzniks in the valleys. We have casualties every day. How long are we going to tolerate it?”

  “My lines are stretched to the max,” said General Gavish, CO Southern Command. “Three hundred kilometers of desert. I have gaps wide enough for an entire Egyptian battalion to march through. We operate a phantom division in the middle section-three old tanks driving back and forth, raising dust to fool the Egyptians about our size. But if they actually attack, we’d better prepare white flags and learn Arabic.”

  “Imagine that,” said a voice from the corner, “the Israelites going into Egyptian captivity all over again.”

  Tanya had not noticed him before. General Moshe Dayan, veteran IDF chief of staff, wore plain khakis and his black eye patch. He joined his fingers, forming a peak. “We’d better pull out the old blueprints for the pyramids.”

  “Happy Passover,” someone said, and the room erupted in laughter.

  “War is coming,” Dayan said, suddenly serious. “The IDF must attack first, or we’ll all die.”

  “Madness!” Prime Minister Eshkol was red in the face. “We are a tiny country, an island of Yids in an ocean of Goyim! The United Nations guaranteed our sovereignty. It’s General Bull’s responsibility!”

  “What’s he going to do?” Dayan smirked. “Order his thousand UN observers to observe more closely?”

  “We can’t fight alone.” Eshkol’s voice trembled. “We need America. Or France. Alone, we’ll be squashed!”