The Jerusalem Inception

Chapter 5





When the door closed, Tanya handed him the white handkerchief, washed and neatly folded. He pocketed it and took her in his arms. Pressed to his chest, she could hear his heart beating through the black coat, which smelled of cooked food and mothballs. She held him tightly, expecting the surge of love and longing that had swept over her every time she had thought of Abraham over the years. But this man did not feel like her Abraham, and the tickle of his beard on her forehead suddenly overwhelmed her with something close to revulsion. She tore away from him, turning to face the wall of books.

He blew his nose. “Oh, Tanya! To see you alive!”

She looked up at him, this bearded, imposing rabbi, who had somehow evolved from the electrifying youth she had loved. The last months of World War II had been a burst of joy within a world of blood and suffering. But his death had hacked her spirit in half, turned her into an emotional amputee. During the intervening two decades, she had missed him constantly—the warmth of his skin, the firmness of his muscles, the taste of his lips. In her dreams, he appeared unchanged, stimulating her like nerve-ends on a missing limb. In her mind, he had remained young and fierce, full of venom for the Nazis and passion for her in an emotional dichotomy of equal intensity—an eighteen-year-old who killed and loved quickly, wholeheartedly, before his world came to an untimely end.

But this man radiated neither rage nor passion, and his blue eyes were filled not with fire, but with tears.

Tanya gestured at the small study, the walls of books, a plain desk, and a narrow cot with white linen. “For this you survived?”

“No! For you I survived. For you!” He unbuttoned his coat. “They picked me up from the road and threw me in the back of a truck. A field hospital, full of wounded, dying soldiers.” He fumbled with the buttons of his white shirt. “It stunk of rotting flesh and gangrene, the ground muddy with blood.” His shirt parted, exposing the scars—crests and cavities, red and blotchy. “But I wouldn’t die!”

Tanya placed the palm of her hand on his rutted skin.

“I wouldn’t give up,” he said. “I was certain you were coming for me.”

“My God,” she whispered, moving her hand on his disfigured chest, “how terrible!”

“Through high fever and torturous chills, lungs filled with my own blood, I saw your face, felt your hand on my forehead. She’s coming! She’s coming!”

“But I—”

“Every time they cleaned my wounds, every time they squeezed the pus from my chest, I screamed. She’s coming! My Tanya is coming!” His rabbinical facade was gone, his face twisted with agony. “But you didn’t! Why?”

“You’re blaming me?”

“Blame?” He groaned. “It’s not about blame.”

“Yes, it is! Why did you go with him that morning? To kill a few more Germans? They were losing the war anyway. You left me in the forest, and he came back. I was at his mercy!”

“You should have given Elie that bloody ledger.”

“It wouldn’t have satisfied him. I had to escape.”

Abraham stepped closer, his head leaning forward to look down at her face. “Oh, God Almighty, you’ve remained the same.

So beautiful.”

Tanya stepped backward. “Elie told me. They turned Abraham into a bloody sieve. Those were his words: Bloody sieve. And the image has stayed with me since.”

“So you ran away.”

“What was I supposed to do?”

He seemed hurt by her very question. “Search for me!”

“For another rotting body among thousands?” She breathed deeply. “Why didn’t you search for me?”

He used the handkerchief to wipe his eyes. “How I missed you. All these years!”

“Your loyalty wasn’t to me.”

“True.” He buttoned up his white shirt and black coat. “I was filled with hate.”

A lifetime had passed since she had last seen him, a youth with blond hair, walking off into the forest with Elie Weiss, fearless, eager to hunt down the retreating Nazi troops. Bloody sieve. But he had somehow survived and now, not yet forty, he looked like a biblical prophet, his beard long and gray, the odd, spiraling side locks dangling by his face. His blue eyes, still young, were set in wrinkles that didn’t originate in smiling.

She fought back her tears, then gave in, letting them flow down her cheeks.

He took her hands and began to sing. “Let’s run in the fields, in the farms, explore the vineyards.”

She couldn’t breathe. His voice was the same—deep and solid, like the roots of a strong tree.

“Have the vines flowered? Have the poppies reddened? Have the pomegranates sprouted?”

She cried, and he cradled her face in his big hands. “There,” he sang, “there I shall give myself to you, my beloved.”

Tanya’s hand reached up, the tips of her fingers on his moist forehead.

“I did search for you,” he finally said, his voice cracked. “But I found Elie instead, and he showed me your boots and blanket, all chewed up, encrusted with your blood. He said there were bones too, even some hair, which he buried in the forest.”

Tanya sighed. “I ran from him. The front was getting close, but the wolves, they smelled my fear, my desperation, and attacked me. American soldiers heard my screams. They shot some wolves, and the pack attacked the wounded.” She shuddered. “I don’t remember the rest.”

His shoulders sank, deflated. “It’s my fault. I left you defenseless. And for what? To hunt down Germans—an infantile revenge when the ultimate payback would have been us!”

“Us?”

“A family. Children. A new life. Isn’t that what the Nazis had set out to destroy?”

She looked at him, finding traces of her Abraham under the untrimmed beard and premature wrinkles.

“When I saw those boots, the blood,” he cleared his throat, as if the memory was choking him, “I lost hope, felt like I was dead, but still alive.”

“So you rediscovered God?”

He sneered. “There’s no God.”

“But—”

“You of all people should know. You saw their assembly-lines of death, the factories of extermination, whole families, whole villages.”

She nodded.

“You saw the innocent children. Pregnant women. Rabbis whose lives had been dedicated to worship, to the glory of God. How could He exist? It makes no sense, unless He is ruthless and evil and a menace, a graceless Almighty, who deserves neither undue recognition, nor unanswered prayers!”

Tanya glanced at the volumes of Talmud and other holy books lining the bookshelves.

He waved his hand in dismissal at the wall of books. “The Holocaust proved God doesn’t exist. No God worth His divinity would allow it to happen.”

“So why are you here?” She touched his beard. “I don’t understand.”

“After the war, Elie and I went to the camps. We saw the gas chambers, the crematoria, the skeletal survivors. I realized there was a purpose to my survival. I must prevent another Holocaust.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “My life belonged to the dead, to their legacy.”

“And to Elie Weiss?”

“To the Jewish people.” He showed her the palms of his hands. “I lost my faith, it’s true, but I had been raised to be a rabbi, and those were useful skills.”

She nodded, smiling sadly. “You’re a mole among the fanatics.”

“An agent of peace among Jews.”

“How would this prevent another Holocaust?”

“A strong Jewish state is a national shelter and deterrence against our enemies. As rabbi of Neturay Karta, the most extreme fundamentalist sect in Israel, I fight internal strife among Jews, which has caused the destruction of every Jewish state in history. It’s the biggest risk to our sovereign continuity. No one could do it better—I possess the rabbinical skills, but I am a realist, a secret atheist, a devout nationalist who’s willing to do what it takes to control Jewish fanatics from destroying Israel. It’s my destiny! Don’t you see it?”

Again she saw a biblical prophet, not her Abraham. “And what’s our destiny? You and I. To be apart?”

“That’s our private tragedy. Yes.” He sighed. “Where did you hide all these years?”

“I went where Elie wouldn’t find me. Berlin.”

Redness spread from his eyebrows upward through his forehead, the sign of anger she remembered from the snowy forests in 1945. “How could you go back? To them?”

“It’s easier to hide in ruins.”

“Did you find another Nazi lover?”

It felt like a slap in the face. “I gave birth at an American field hospital and helped them interrogate SS captives. Later, I joined Aliyah Bet, then the Mossad.”

He sat on the cot, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t have the right to judge you.”

She noticed he didn’t ask about the child. “I’ve been happy, considering. I work with terrific, idealistic colleagues. Israel is stronger because of our clandestine work.”

“How smart, to hide within the secret service. But Elie found you eventually.”

“Took him twenty-one years.”

“How?”

“I earned a citation for a successful operation. He saw my name at the prime minister’s office. A stroke of bad luck, I guess. But we can turn it into good luck.” She watched his expression. “We can defy his manipulations, start all over, together!”

Abraham smiled. “Oh, how I wish we could.”

“We’re still young enough to start a new family, raise kids together.” She held her breath, hoping he would ask about the child she had raised alone.

“How can I leave my people? Without me there will be religious riots, violence—”

“Elie can find another mole.”

For a moment, Abraham’s eyes brightened up, the sadness chased away by the prospect of handing over this mission to someone else, of starting over as a free man, reunited with the only woman he had ever loved. Tanya saw it in his face, and hope flooded her.

But the moment passed, and his sadness returned. “Maybe, one day. But not now. I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because my mission needs me here.”

“I need you.” Her voice choked. “I’ve needed you for so long.”

“I wish we could.”

“Better to live a lie?” Her hopes dashed, Tanya was filled with rage. “To deceive your people?” She pointed at the narrow cot. “To deceive your wife? And your son?”

“He doesn’t know any different. One day he’ll assume the leadership—”

“And that makes it kosher?”

“Please, keep it down.”

“How can you raise him to lead a bunch of misguided, religious fanatics?” Tanya hit the line of books with an open hand. “You teach him to obey a God whom you don’t believe exists—”

“Shhhh!”

Tanya stormed out of the study. In the foyer she saw his teenage son, who quickly opened the door for her.

“Wait!” Abraham chased after her. “Be reasonable! It’s a matter of life and death!”

“It’s a sham!” She slapped his black coat.

“You don’t understand!”

She tugged at his beard. “A fraud!”

“Tanya!”

“The hell with you, Abraham Gerster! I wish you had really died—at least it would have been an honorable death!”

He grabbed her arm. “This is bigger than you and me! Just listen—”

“Listen to a dead man?” Tanya jerked her arm free and hurried down the stairs.

Lemmy stepped back, flat against the wall. The fear in his father’s face was inconceivable. No one had ever intimidated Rabbi Gerster, certainly not a woman.

He prodded Lemmy out the door. “Go, accompany her!”

Lemmy hesitated.

“Go on, son!”

Glancing back into the apartment, Lemmy noticed his mother watching from the kitchen door. Temimah Gerster’s face was inscrutable, her mouth slightly open. Her hand held the doorpost, the knuckles bleached.

He caught up with Tanya, and they left Meah Shearim through the gate on Shivtay Israel Street. She turned north, walking fast, saying nothing. On the right, high rolls of rusted barbed wire marked the strip of no-man’s land along the border with Jordan. They passed by Mandelbaum Gate—the only crossing between the two parts of Jerusalem. In addition to Israeli and Jordanian posts, it was guarded by the UN Truce Supervision Force, composed of Norwegian and Indian soldiers in blue caps. Tanya stayed close to the buildings, whose walls were pockmarked with shrapnel and bullet holes, left untended since 1948. Lemmy wondered if she knew about the Jordanian sniper’s attempt on his father’s life the day before.

He stole a quick glance at Tanya, who seemed oblivious to his presence. It was hard to guess her age. Thirty? Forty?

They reached a scarred, one-story house made of uncut stone. The east section was reduced to rubble, and two formerly internal doorways were sealed with bare bricks. Rusty metal shutters covered all the windows, shedding off dry flakes of turquoise paint. A wall of sandbags shielded the front door. The border was a stone-throw away, and he wondered why Tanya lived in such a perilous location.

She unlocked the door. “What’s your name?”

“Lemmy,” he said. “It’s short for Jerusalem.”

“How inspiring.” Her sudden smile revealed a perfect set of white teeth. “Do you have any siblings?”

“None.”

She went inside, leaving the door open, and reappeared with a book. “Here. A reward for your gallantry.”

He looked at the cover. The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand. “Thanks, but I don’t read such books.”

“Why?”

“A good Jew devotes all his time to studying Talmud.”

“Does Talmud forbid reading Ayn Rand?”

“Not specifically, but—”

“Aren’t we supposed to be a guiding light for the Gentiles?”

He nodded.

“How could Jerusalem Gerster be a guiding light to the Goyim if he’s not allowed to become acquainted with their way of life?”

Embarrassed to keep staring at her, Lemmy examined the photo on the back of the book. “Is she a Gentile?”

“Ayn Rand?” Tanya laughed. “Actually, I think she’s Jewish.”

“Oh. Then I can read it.”

“Bring the book back when you’re done. I’d like to hear your impressions.”

Lemmy stuffed The Fountainhead in the pocket of his black coat and headed back to Meah Shearim.

Elie Weiss sat in his gray Citroën Deux Chevaux, parked up the street from Tanya’s house. He drew on his cigarette, watching Abraham’s son. The black-garbed youth walked fast, his payos angled back in the wind like a girl’s braids. Elie held up a black-and-white photograph that showed Jerusalem Gerster, his hand raised in emphasis of a Talmudic argument, while his study companion buried his face in his hands in mock desperation.

The second photo in Elie’s hand was smaller, its edges fraying, yellow with age. He had taken this photo during the war with a camera that had previously hung from the neck of a Nazi officer. Abraham had twisted the leather strap tighter and tighter until the German’s tongue grew out of his mouth like a baby eggplant and his black boots stopped twitching. In the photo, Abraham was already wearing the boots, which had fit him perfectly.

Elie held the two photos together, the face of young Abraham in 1945 next to the face of his son in last week’s photo, which Elie had taken from a rooftop near Meah Shearim. The resemblance was astonishing, which meant Tanya was now very confused.

He dropped the photos on the passenger seat, drew once more from his Lucky Strike, and tossed it out the window. A gust of wind blew smoke back in his face, and his eyes moistened. He closed the window and latched it in place. Pressing the lever into first gear, he made a U-turn and drove away, leaving behind a wake of blue engine fumes.