The Jerusalem Inception Part 21

"Seems so."

"At least they didn't riot this morning after the Knesset approved the abortion law. Great job, Weiss!"

"Thank you."

"I have another thorn in my side, and I decided you're the man to pull it out."

"I'm better at sticking thorns in than at pulling them out."

The prime minister laughed. "Pull this one out of my side and stick it in someone else's side, if you know what I mean."

"Moshe Dayan?"

"Exactly."

Elie felt in his pocket for a cigarette. He had already guessed what Eshkol wanted. Now it was time for bargaining. "You want me to meddle in politics?"

The prime minister pulled off his spectacles. "Politics schmolitics! It's about our survival! That pirate will launch a war we can't win!" He wiped sweat from his head with a handkerchief. "The public is fooled by his cheap charisma. But Israel needs mature leaders, not a young sabra who shoots from the hip."

Elie nodded. Did Eshkol know that Rabin wanted Dayan? The situation was becoming more and more interesting. "From what I hear, the generals are anxious for a preemptive strike on Egypt, and they feel Dayan is more likely to authorize it."

"Because he's reckless. We have two hundred jets, and Weitzman wants to launch all of them at first light, fly across the desert, and bomb Na.s.ser's airfields-a suicidal mission if there ever was one."

"Why?"

"They'll know we're coming as soon as the first plane takes off. The UN radar in Jerusalem will pick it up in a second. General Bull will tip the Jordanians, and they'll bombard West Jerusalem to death while alerting the Egyptians to scramble their planes into the air before we've even crossed the Suez Ca.n.a.l!"

Elie was impressed. The prime minister had outlined a viable doomsday scenario. "Do we know the UN radar's capabilities yet? Perhaps it's not powerful enough to see planes take off in the Negev or Galilee?"

"We must a.s.sume the worst. With our luck, it can track every gefilteh fish in the Mediterranean Sea and all the way to the Cyprus!"

"What exactly do you want me to do about Dayan?"

"You're creative. Bring him down, and I'll appoint you."

"Chief of Mossad?"

"I promise!"

The deal done, Elie got up to leave. "You can rely on me."

Chapter 25.

Sunday morning arrived with a bright sun shining through the window over Lemmy's bed. He sat up and realized he had slept in. His parents must have decided to let him enjoy a bit of leisure ahead of tonight's engagement to Sorkeh. He thought of Benjamin, already studying with someone else. Sweet, wise Benjamin. One day he would make a great leader for Neturay Karta.

Denunciation and Faith was the t.i.tle of the book that rested on the floor by Lemmy's bed. It was a thin volume. He had read it twice since returning from Tanya's house last night. He smiled at the memory of her delicate hands on his face, on his lips, his own hands giving her pleasure the way she had taught him, making her twist and moan and cling to him breathlessly.

When he had left near midnight, Tanya put Denunciation and Faith in his coat pocket. Now he knew why. This book spoke simultaneously of fantasy and reality-his reality. It had been written a generation earlier by the poet Uri Zvi Greenberg. In verse and metaphors, it blasted the Socialist-Zionist camp of David Ben Gurion, who had betrayed to the British authorities Jews from the right-wing guerillas of Menachem Begin's EZL and Yitzhak Shamir's LHI. The beauty in Uri Zvi's verses did not diminish the violence of his prophecy, which reminded Lemmy of the way Neturay Karta's charitable communal life did not diminish the fervor of its religious ideology. The battles were different-internal Zionist divisions compared with the ultra-Orthodox against the whole Zionist camp. But the similarity was striking-a readiness to stone, to set on fire, to spill Jewish blood, to hate fellow Jews who held conflicting beliefs.

Lemmy had made his choice. His doubts were gone. He would follow his conscience.

He dressed quickly. The thought of washing his hands and reciting the morning blessings pa.s.sed through his mind, but he dismissed it. He pulled the Mauser from under the mattress and shoved it in his belt.

In the kitchen, refreshments and wine bottles awaited tonight's engagement celebration. Cakes were baking in the oven. His mother stood at the sink, sc.r.a.ping gla.s.sy scales off a large carp. Another fish stared at him from the counter by her elbow. She worked with a serrated knife, which she applied to the fish in quick, sharp movements.

He was already in the foyer when his mother caught up with him. "Good morning, my son." She handed him a mug and watched him bring it to his lips.

Turning away from the fish odor that came from her, he took a sip. The hot chocolate soothed his mouth with warm sweetness. He embraced the mug, his hands warmed by it. He tilted the mug higher and higher with each gulp, the aroma of hot chocolate comforting, until the rim of the mug reached his nose. Another, more potent scent came from his fingers, forcing its way through the smell of hot chocolate, filling his nostrils with sweetness that was not sugary but flowery. It was the scent of Tanya's pa.s.sion.

A wave of heat went through him, and he choked on the last gulp. Coughing hard, he handed back the mug.

"What's wrong?" Temimah patted his back. "Are you okay?"

He pushed his hands deep in the coat pockets. "I'm fine."

She fixed the hat on his head, tilting it slightly to the right. "Study well. It's a big day."

"It's a great day!"

Pa.s.sing by the synagogue, he headed for the gate and turned left toward Jaffa Street. From there he followed King George Street to Rehavia, a tree-lined neighborhood of stone houses inhabited by intellectual Zionists and government officials. Young women pushed strollers, taking advantage of the unseasonably warm sun. His black coat and hat drew curious glances.

He entered a barber shop, and a bell tolled above the door. Two teenage boys about his age sat in the waiting chairs. The barber held a blade over the lathered face of an elderly man. Everyone stared at Lemmy while a ceiling fan creaked above. He sat down, picked up a magazine and pretended to read. The Mauser pushed against his spine.

The barber resumed his conversation with the customer. A few moments later he let the man out of the chair, collected a few bills, and turned to the two teenagers. "Who's first?"

The one with dark curls pushed his friend to go first, laughing in a way that resembled Benjamin.

The teenager said, "I'm joining the army tomorrow."

"A soldier already?" The barber put a white cape around his neck. "Only yesterday your mother pushed your stroller. How come you grew up, and I never got older?"

"My father says that a true Zionist remains young forever."

"Your father should be in politics." The barber's hand messed up the boy's honey-colored hair. "Let's clean you up for the army!"

A few minutes later, the two shorn teenagers paid the barber and left, teasing each other. The barber showed Lemmy into the chair and swept the piles of hair to the corner of the shop. Lemmy removed his hat and looked at his reflection in the mirror. His blond hair covered his forehead, the spiraling payos came down to his shoulders. His heart raced.

The barber propped the straw broom against the wall and tied a cape around Lemmy's neck. "What will it be, son?"

He tilted his head in the direction of the door. "Like them.

The barber touched Lemmy's payos. "These too?"

Swallowing hard, Lemmy nodded.

A pair of scissors appeared in the barber's hand. A single snip, and the spiral chunk of hair, which had never been touched by scissors, dropped to his right shoulder, rolled down his chest, and rested in his lap.

The left one followed.

Lemmy shook the white cape, sending his payos from his lap to the floor. The deed was done. There was no way back.

As the barber picked up the electric clippers, Lemmy noticed the blue number tattooed on his forearm. The clippers buzzed over his head, clumps of hair falling off.

The barber removed the white cape. Lemmy glanced at the stranger in the mirror, got out of the chair, and pulled out his wallet.

"Keep your money," the barber said. "For good luck."

"I don't understand."

"I also was a true believer, a G.o.d-fearing Jew, in Poland. I had payos-beautiful, long payos, just like yours." His hand motioned at the floor. "Until the n.a.z.is took us to the camps. My parents, my brothers, all of us." His voice broke, and he took a deep breath. "We were the Chosen People-chosen all right, chosen to die like animals while our G.o.d, Adonai," he spat the word in disgust, "did nothing to save us. But I'm still here-and no thanks to Him! He doesn't have my faith anymore, and I'm glad to see He doesn't have yours either!" The barber grabbed Lemmy's hand and shook it vigorously. "Good luck, son!"

Shmattas took one look at Lemmy and uttered a frightened whimper, followed by a long, unintelligible monologue in Romanian, accompanied by face twisting and hand wringing. He sifted through her stock and found khaki pants, a blue shirt, and a windbreaker with a fake fur collar. He changed behind a screen and offered Shmattas some money. She waved her hands at him and began another monologue in Romanian, interspersed with, "Oy vey, Rabbitzen!"

He wanted to explain to Shmattas that the black coat and hat were not a Jewish tradition at all, merely an imitation of the Polish aristocracy of a few centuries ago, which Jews had adopted for no religious reason. But he knew she wouldn't understand.

Lemmy emerged a clean-cut, blue-eyed young man, with a bundle of black clothes under his right arm and a Mauser stuck in his belt under the windbreaker. His head felt cold, neither hair nor a hat to protect it. He strolled down King George Street, enjoying the sun. The secular women glanced at him differently now, some smiling openly. He smiled back.

When the sun touched the rooftops in the west, he headed home. He knew his parents would be shocked, but they would have to let him live according to his principles. They had to understand and accept him in this new phase of his life as a modern Jew. After all, he was their only child. The threat of banishment was empty, Lemmy was certain. His father had preached: Our child is our creation. Once we give birth to a child, it's ours, flesh and blood, for better or for worse. As to the rest of the sect, Lemmy did not care what they thought. He was done studying Talmud from morning to night, and his future did not include marrying Sorkeh, he was certain of that. Maybe she could marry Benjamin?

His mother opened the door. She gasped and stumbled backward until her back met the wall. Slowly her knees gave way, the whites of her eyes appeared, and she descended to the floor.

"Mother!" Lemmy knelt beside her.

The hinges creaked as the study door opened. Lemmy looked up at his father, who seemed calm, as if he had expected his son to come home with his payos chopped off.

"Fetch water for your mother."

Lemmy ran to the kitchen and brought a gla.s.s of water. He held it to her lips while his father supported her head. Her eyes slowly came into focus.

They held her up and walked her to her room, where she collapsed on the bed. Lemmy took her hand, but she pulled it away.

"You are the same," she whispered, "the two of you, the same." She closed her eyes and rolled onto her side, facing the wall.

Rabbi Gerster left the room and waited for Lemmy in the hallway. "Did Tanya tell you to do this?"

"No. She told me to make my own choices."

"I see." There was no anger in his voice. "Is this your final decision?"

"Yes."

"You feel you have no other choice?"

"Correct."

"Then I have no choice either." Rabbi Gerster gestured at Lemmy's bare head. "Put on your yarmulke. We're going to the synagogue."

"The synagogue? I don't think it's a good idea."

"Obey me, Jerusalem, this one last time."

As they were leaving the house, Lemmy saw The Zohar in his father's right hand. Why was he taking the book of Kabbalah to the synagogue? Lemmy's heart beat faster as thoughts raced through his mind. Was his father planning to cast a spell on him? No. That was a ludicrous idea! More likely, his father would use the book to somehow make the men accept Lemmy in his new form. And if they refused? He touched the bulge of the Mauser against the small of his back. The men in the synagogue would be shocked by his snipped payos, his Zionist outfit, his proverbial slap in the face of his father, their beloved rabbi. Would they scream? Wave fists? Throw rocks?

His legs weakened, and his throat went dry. He had expected his choice to cause discomfort, maybe even a bit of acrimony with his parents, but he had not planned to follow his father, like the first Abraham, to an altar. And Abraham held up the slaughterer's knife to slay his son.

Entering the synagogue behind his father, Lemmy was blinded by the glow of the crystal chandelier, which burned with a thousand drops of light. He realized it had been turned on in honor of his scheduled engagement, in celebration of continuity, of the first step in the rabbinical succession at Neturay Karta.

The two of them entered the hall and stood behind the rows of men, who swayed as they studied, unaware of Rabbi Gerster and his only son, who was no longer a faithful member of their community.

"Good bye, Jerusalem." His father started to turn away, but suddenly changed his mind, took Lemmy in his arms, and pressed him tightly.

Lemmy's hands hung listlessly at his side. He wanted to speak, but no voice came out. His father had not hugged him since he was a toddler.

Rabbi Abraham Gerster let go, turned, and walked down the aisle. A thousand crystal tears rustled above him. Row after row, the men's voices quieted. They noticed their rabbi's slow pace and bowed head. They watched him climb onto the dais and kiss the blue curtain.

The rabbi turned and faced his men. "Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai wrote this book eighteen hundred years ago." He held it up.

The men murmured, "The Zohar! The Zohar!"

"This book lists the secret names of G.o.d." Rabbi Gerster's hand pointed up, toward the ceiling. "G.o.d's names are divided into three groups: Names related to Adam, the source, the first father. Names related Eve, the first mother, who was created out of Adam's rib. And names related to the son, who is like Malkhoot, the kingdom of continuity."

From the rear, Lemmy saw rows of heads in black yarmulkes or hats. The men focused on Rabbi Gerster. None of them looked back yet to see Lemmy's missing payos, his pale face, and his right hand, which emerged from under the jacket, clenching a handgun.

"A son represents continuity of faith. For every Jewish father and mother, a son is the focus of all sacred things, a cherished vessel to carry G.o.d's Torah onward to the next generation." Rabbi Gerster closed his eyes and turned his face up in meditation.

Lemmy's heart beat hard. He wanted to flee, but his legs wouldn't move. His fingers clung to the ivory handle of the Mauser.

"G.o.d entered into a covenant with our patriarch Abraham." Rabbi Gerster's voice roamed through the synagogue. "You shall be the Father of mult.i.tudes, and the land of Canaan shall be for you and your seed to possess forever. I shall be your G.o.d."

Now Lemmy knew what was coming: Abraham sacrificing his son! A voice screamed inside his head: Run!

Rabbi Gerster sighed. "Our sons are the essence of the eternal covenant." He opened his hands in pleading. "But here I am, Abraham Gerster, your rabbi, standing before you today in shame!"

Many asked loudly, "What? What? What?"

Lemmy's thumb pushed the safety latch of the Mauser.

"Shame, dear G.o.d, so much shame!" The rabbi's voice was broken. "I have failed to raise my own son to honor the covenant." He pointed above the men's heads to the back of the hall.

The air froze in Lemmy's throat. His forefinger slid into the trigger slot.