Avraham Azrieli - The Jerusalem inception

A section of the wall came into view, then the headboard of his mother’s bed, illuminated through the window by the same street lamp that shed light into his father’s study.

Another sigh.

The door opened further. Lemmy saw his mother.

Temimah was on her back, her head slightly up, her shaved scalp shining with sweat. She sighed again, her face almost happy. Her hands reached back over her head, pressed to the headboard. Her left knee was bent to the side, the white kneecap pointing at Lemmy. Her nightgown was pulled up to her waist.

The bed shook.

The door opened all the way, revealing his father, who crouched over her, holding her thighs apart, thrusting into her again and again-a slow slide backward, another thrust, a slide backward, a thrust. His mother’s sighs were hushed yet throaty. Her face twisted with each thrust in pained pleasure, her eyes locked on her husband’s face. The thrusts came faster, his father staring at the wall over the headboard, his beard trembling. Suddenly, he paused and pulled backward, detaching from her, and sat on his ankles. His right hand reached into his groin and started shaking rapidly.

Startled, she looked up at her husband and groaned.

The light drew the lines of her full breasts, heaving under the nightgown, the valley between her thighs suddenly vacant. She sat up and grabbed onto his shoulders, trying to bring him down onto her, trying to embrace his hips with her thighs. She moved up and down, grinding against him. She attempted to force away his shaking hand, to pin herself onto him, to direct his seed into her body. He used his free hand to shove her away, down on the bed. His right hand shook faster and faster until he froze, and his whole body seemed to tense up in a hard, arched way, and he looked up at the ceiling and grunted.

His right hand still capped his groin as he stepped down from the bed. He stood with his back to the door, unaware of Lemmy’s presence, and looked down at Temimah. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

She was lying on her back, her lower body naked, her legs open. She turned to the window and whimpered.

His back slightly hunched, the rabbi turned, took a step toward the door, and froze.

Lemmy stood in the doorway.

His mother was sobbing now, facing the other way.

His father did not move. They looked at each other for a long moment.

Lemmy turned, entered the bathroom, and closed the door. He did not turn on the light, but lowered the hinged toilet seat and sat down. The wooden seat was cold, and he shuddered. He rested his elbows on his knees, his chin between his palms. He stared into the dark, absorbing what he had seen, comprehending his father’s refusal to seed his mother. There was only one explanation. God had nothing to do with her infertility, and Lemmy realized that he had grown up without siblings because his father didn’t want more children.

And then a terrible thought occurred to him: Had his father ever wanted any children?

Lemmy’s lips trembled. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

Friday was a day of study, but Lemmy could not concentrate on the page of Talmud before him. He tried not to gawk at his father, who sat at the front of the synagogue, where men came up to him with questions. Trying in vain to convince himself it had been a nightmare, Lemmy knew the truth: The great rabbi was a liar.

The evening meal was a big affair, as the whole Toiterlich family was invited for dinner to celebrate the impending engagement. Cantor Toiterlich sat at the opposite end from Rabbi Gerster. His children shared two to a chair, except for Sorkeh, who was placed across from Lemmy. While Mrs. Toiterlich helped Temimah with the food, the cantor filled the room with his rich tenor, chanting the traditional blessing for a new couple: “ Delight and enthuse, the beloved and betrothed, as you took joy in your creation, at Eden, in the beginning. ”

Lemmy saw the joy on his mother’s face as she filled the kids’ plates and caressed their heads. He thought of her face the other night, the film of sweat, the pleasure, and the agony. He could not drive the image from his mind, could not forget that her utmost desire-to bear children-was denied by his father, who made everyone believe it was God who was keeping Temimah barren.

The meal lasted a long time, with singing and several toasts in honor of the young couple. Lemmy chatted with Sorkeh, doing his best to be cordial. But whenever his father spoke, he looked away, afraid that his eyes would betray his feelings.

That night he again read The Painted Bird, falling into a fitful sleep that left him tired and confused.

D uring Sabbath morning prayers, at the conclusion of his sermon, Rabbi Gerster said, “I understand that some of you wish to hold a protest later against the faithless Zionists. Remember, however, the words of the Torah: You shall not raise your hand against your brother! Your behavior must exemplify the righteousness of this community.”

Sabbath lunch felt as if it would never end. Lemmy couldn’t wait to go to Tanya’s house. But after the blessing, Rabbi Gerster told Lemmy to join the other young members of Neturay Karta, who were leaving soon for the demonstration.

A s soon as the group reached the intersection of Jaffa and King George streets, Lemmy noticed several police vans parked up the street.

Redhead Dan stepped into the road and waved his fists at passing cars. “Sabbath! Sabbath!”

The cars swerved into the opposite lane to avoid the blackgarbed man. The drivers cursed through open windows. Some raised their middle finger.

Surrounded by other Neturay Karta men, his flaming beard and payos flapping in the wind, Redhead Dan shouted, “Sabbath! Sabbath!” He chased slow-moving cars and pounded on them with his fists. “ He who violated the Sabbath is destined to die! Stone him with rocks until his soul leaves his body! ”

The quote was correct, Lemmy knew, but Talmud disfavored capital punishment, saying that a Sanhedrin, a rabbinical court, which issued one death sentence in seventy years, was a deadly Sanhedrin.

The parked police vans turned on their flashing lights, their doors opened, and policemen jumped out. They put on their helmets and held up their shields and truncheons.

Redhead Dan grabbed Lemmy’s arm, pulled him up front, and yelled, “Our rabbi sent his son! God will punish you if you touch the rabbi’s son!”

Lemmy tried to free his arm. “Are you crazy? We can’t fight them!”

“God will fight for us!”

“They knew we were coming!”

“Don’t worry, the whole Zionist army couldn’t silence God’s voice!”

“It’s a trap!”

Redhead Dan was too worked up to listen. “The Zionists are afraid of us! They’re afraid of you, Gerster!”

Lemmy looked across the street at the policemen. The major stepped forward and smirked, swinging his baton.

Another attempt to release his arm from Redhead Dan’s grip failed. The young man didn’t even notice. He pulled Lemmy after him while the group clustered tightly, their faces touched by fear.

The policemen lined up along the opposite curb.

Redhead Dan dragged Lemmy with him to the side of the road and lifted a stone as big as a fist. “ He, who violated My Sabbath, stone him to death! ”

Lemmy shouted, “Don’t!”

“It’s God’s war!”

Additional police cars blocked the surrounding streets. Traffic ceased, and the men of Neturay Karta faced the policemen in riot gear and truncheons.

Major Buskilah held a tin cone to his mouth. “Disperse immediately!”

In response, Redhead Dan raised his hand, reached back, and hurled the rock across the street. It flew in a wide arc and hit one of the policemen, who cried and fell down. Major Buskilah lowered the tin cone and shouted orders to his troops.