The Jerusalem Inception

Chapter 21





On Friday morning, Rabbi Abraham Gerster did not go to the synagogue. In the afternoon, he failed to lead his men to the boulder overlooking the Old City to pray for Jerusalem’s reunification. On Sabbath morning, when the rabbi again didn’t arrive, the men crowded around Lemmy, but he had no answers for them. After the service, the whole community congregated in the alley under the rabbi’s apartment, and Cantor Toiterlich led them in recital of the prayer for the sick and infirm, followed by God is my Shepherd. Temimah sent Lemmy downstairs to thank the men and send them away, explaining that Rabbi Gerster needed rest to recover from his injury.

On Sunday, and on each of the following mornings, the rabbi did not come to the synagogue. On Thursday morning, Lemmy found a bundle of white envelopes on a chair by the door, each with a name written on it by his father. He took the envelopes to the synagogue and placed them in a pile on the lectern before his father’s empty chair. After morning service, the men collected their weekly allowances from the pile.

Thursday passed without Rabbi Gerster’s lecture. Lemmy and Benjamin labored together on the question of ownership of a cow that broke loose from its owner’s field to graze on public land, where it was found by another man. When time came for evening service, Benjamin closed his Talmud volume and kissed it. “I wish your father would return already.”

“I don’t.”

Benjamin knuckled Lemmy’s head.

“Hey!” Lemmy grabbed his hand and twisted it.

“Ouch!” Benjamin tried to pull free, and they struggled for a moment, laughing until someone shushed them.

Lemmy had not told Benjamin what had happened between him and his father, or about Redhead Dan and his mysterious box, or about Tanya. He felt guilty keeping secrets from Benjamin. But would their friendship survive such revelations?

The cantor struck the large table on the center dais, and all the men stood to chant the prayers.

A few moments into the prayers, Lemmy felt Benjamin’s hand on his shoulder. He glanced at his friend, who smiled while praying.

After the evening service, they walked together, resuming their argument about the cow’s ownership. Benjamin’s interpretation remained attached to the text, while Lemmy theorized that the cow, which wandered off its owner’s field, got lost, and was found by another on a public land, was really a metaphor for the Jewish people. “The original owner of the cow was God. The field was the Promised Land. The cow was the Chosen People—the Jews, exiled from the Promised Land, lost in the countries of the Goyim, the Diaspora. Therefore, as a lost cow, the Jews were sold for slaughter by the Nazis. And God, like the original owner of the lost cow, took the survivors back to his field—the Promised Land.”

“But a cow is not people,” Benjamin argued, “the Promised Land is not a field, and the Diaspora is not green pasture. The sages talked about business policy. Good-faith buyers must obtain incontestable ownership no matter if the vendors actually owned the merchandise, including a cow. Otherwise, the markets would be paralyzed with distrust. And anyway, the sages wrote this hundreds of years before the Holocaust and Israel’s establishment, right?”

When Lemmy argued that the Talmudic sages were unconsciously predicting the future, Benjamin laughed so hard that his laughter became contagious.

They were standing by the building where Benjamin lived with his mother in a one-room apartment. A group of men came from the direction of the synagogue, and Redhead Dan’s voice traveled down the alley, “We’re not alone! Others support us, and not only with words! We’ll do to the Zionists what they plan to do to babies. An eye for an eye!”

On Friday, Rabbi Gerster remained in seclusion. An hour into the afternoon study session, Redhead Dan mounted the dais and announced that he would be leading a group to the great boulder to pray in view of the Old City. He invited everyone to join. Within minutes, the synagogue was empty. Benjamin tried to convince Lemmy to go, but gave up and left without him.

Lemmy sat alone in the large hall, his book of Talmud open before him. Unable to concentrate, he closed it and left.

On the way to Tanya’s house he saw the group of secular teenagers playing in the parking lot. One of the boys noticed him and waved. Lemmy waved back. A girl in shorts and a ponytail beckoned him to join. He shook his head and kept walking.

A young woman in khaki uniform opened Tanya’s door. She looked at the black coat and hat and said, “We don’t give donations to yeshivas.”

He felt his face flush. “I’m here to see Tanya.”

Her blue eyes examined him as if she suspected he was lying. Unlike Tanya’s delicate constitution, she was attractive in a strong, robust way. Her light hair was cropped at shoulder length, and her nose was small and straight.

“You must be Bira.”

“Guilty as charged.” She offered him a hand. “And you are?”

“Lemmy.” He hesitated, and shook her hand.

Bira yelled, “Mom!”

Tanya hugged him and took his coat and hat. Bira disappeared into another room

They sat down, and Lemmy told her what had happened since he had left her house the previous week—the mysterious box, his father’s slap, and the anxiety in the sect.

“But I don’t understand. Why did he hit you? It makes no sense.”

“My father demands complete obedience.”

“He must be under enormous pressure,” Tanya said. “To lead a fundamentalist sect in these tumultuous times. A great deal rests on his shoulders. I’m sure he regrets hitting you.”

“I doubt it.”

“So you never actually told him about the objects in the box?”

“No.”

“Then I must pass the word to the appropriate people.” Tanya kissed him. “You should go home now.”

Bira appeared, carrying a duffel bag and an Uzi machine gun. “Time to head back to Tel Aviv,” she said.

Tanya hugged her daughter. “You two can walk together.”

Lemmy took her duffel bag. It was heavier than he had expected.

For a while they pretended to be occupied by the scenery. He pressed his hat down as the wind grew stronger. On the left, across the border, a Jordanian soldier shouted a slur in Arabic.

Bira said, “Soon we’ll kick them out and reunite Jerusalem.”

She had an air of physical strength and confidence that befitted carrying an Uzi and kicking Jordanians.

“God will give it back to us,” Lemmy said, “like He gave it to King David. Then we’ll build a new temple.”

“How about a new university? Or factories? That’s what we need.”

“Not in Jerusalem,” Lemmy said. “Factories need water, materials, natural resources, but there’s nothing here except proximity to God. That’s the only reason every ruler in the history of the Middle East wanted to possess Jerusalem—Nebuchadnezzar the Babylonian, Cyrus of Persia, Alexander of Macedon, Antiochus the Syrian, and the Roman emperors Silvocuses, Pompey, Hadrian, and evil Titus.”

“Because it was the capital city of the Jewish kingdom.”

“And why was that? Because kings saw Jerusalem as proof that God was on their side. But God chose us, not them.” He pointed at the golden Dome of the Rock, shining in the sun’s midday rays.

“But they think God chose them.” Bira grabbed the duffel gab, stopping Lemmy. She searched inside, found a crumpled magazine, and showed him a page with black-and-white photos of pieces of clay and primitive utensils. “This was found in Beit Zait, a two-hour mule ride from here.” She pointed to one of the slivers of clay. “Star of David. And the piece was dated to King David’s era as described in the Book of Samuel. That proves our ownership.”

Lemmy examined the photo closely. “How can they date a piece of clay?”

“A chemical process. It’s pretty accurate, and it proves Jews were here long before the Arabs, who are temporary squatters on our land, just like the Greeks, Romans, Crusaders, Caliphates, Ottomans, and the British.” She folded the archeological magazine and stuffed it back in the duffel bag. “The Arabs can eat their headdresses until they choke. This piece of real estate is ours!”

A muezzin wailed from a tiny terrace atop a pointed minaret across the border. Bira pointed. “We lasted two thousand years in exile, including massacres, expulsions, forced conversions, and genocide. But now we’re back!”

“You’re nothing like Tanya.”

Bira’s intense expression broke into a grin. “I adore my mom, but the whole generation of Holocaust survivors is a little weird.” Bira drew circles on her temple.

Lemmy had meant the two were different physically, but he didn’t correct Bira, afraid she would notice the all-consuming lust that he felt for her mother.

They reached the corner of Shivtay Israel Street. Lemmy put down the duffel bag. He glanced at the gate to Meah Shearim. “You should keep going. Our people aren’t very tolerant of women in Zionist uniforms.”

Bira picked up the bag. “I read about your leader in the newspaper. He said that abortion is like murder.” She twisted her face. “There was a picture of him. He looks like some crazy prophet.”

“He’s my father.”

“Oops.”

He laughed.

“My big mouth. I always do that.” Bira pecked him on the cheek. “See you soon.”

He touched his face where she had kissed him and watched her walk away, her Uzi dangling from her shoulder. As she reached the next street corner, Bira looked back and waved. Lemmy waved back, and then she was gone.