Avraham Azrieli - The Jerusalem inception

A half hour later, they arrived at the police compound at the Russian Yard on Jaffa Street. A policeman showed them into Major Buskilah’s office.

“I want to know,” Rabbi Gerster demanded, “why did you beat my disciple?”

“For the same reason I let your son go.” The major pointed at his belt, which rested on the desk with the holstered gun and truncheon. “Violence will be met with violence, peaceful protest will be met with peaceful measures.” He gestured at two metal chairs. “Please.”

Rabbi Gerster sat down, but Lemmy remained standing.

“I hope the lesson was clear enough for the other Talmudic scholars.”

“That violence must be met with violence?” The rabbi pointed at the truncheon. “This type of reasoning could go both ways, back and forth, worse and worse, until we lose control and spill blood.”

“There won’t be any violence on our side if your guys stop throwing rocks at people every time you disagree with something. We’re not Neanderthals any longer, you know?”

Lemmy stepped forward, but his father raised a hand, stopping him, and said, “Hurtling insults is a common prelude to hurtling rocks. I’m here to make sure we don’t have either.”

Major Buskilah nodded. “I’m listening.”

“If a Knesset majority supports the proposed abortion law, Neturay Karta will have to march in protest, bring out the word of God. But we will remain peaceful and hurt no one as long as we are not attacked by others.”

“I will communicate the request to those who make such decisions.”

“We seek Shalom,” the rabbi said, using the Hebrew word for peace, “but Torah requires us to denounce sinners. We’ll need safe passage and an opportunity to be heard without harassment.” He stood and turned to leave, but when his eyes met Lemmy’s, something in his expression communicated an implied license to act.

Without haste, Lemmy pulled the major’s truncheon out of its holster, grasped it with both hands, lifted it high, and with all his strength landed it across the back of the metal chair. The wooden truncheon broke in half.

Lemmy put the handle on the desk, picked up the other part, and placed it next to the handle. “Good day,” he said and followed his father.

They left the police compound and went through the market on Jaffa Street, with its clutter of shoppers and vendors under a whirl of dust. The noise jarred Lemmy’s ears, and the dense air burned his tired eyes. He followed his father’s wide back through the chaos.

The narrow passageway welcomed them with the familiar foul smell. The beggar in a hooded cloak was sitting by the door on crossed legs, his back to the wall, reciting from Psalms. Rabbi Gerster placed the sacred book in the beggar’s lap and went inside. Lemmy followed.

They washed their hands, stepped outside, and recited the appropriate prayer. Rabbi Gerster took the book from the beggar’s lap and dropped a coin in his cup. The beggar did not look up.

D uring the evening, news filtered into the synagogue that the abortion vote was delayed, as the Knesset was engaged in a heated debate over military issues. Earlier in the day, the Syrian defense minister, Hafez al-Assad, had accused Israel of planning an attack on Syria on behalf of the United States in order to topple the Syrian Ba’ath regime. He declared: “The Syrian army would destroy the Jews!” Egyptian president Nasser followed with a promise to “Recover the stolen Arab land and throw the Jews into the sea.” Meanwhile, retired general Moshe Dayan opined from the Knesset podium that the government’s sheepish response to Arab threats amounted to an invitation for attack: “The current leadership is putting our collective neck on the executioner’s block,” Dayan said.

The debate in the Knesset continued into the night, and many Neturay Karta men remained in the synagogue, praying and studying.

Shortly after four on Thursday morning, the Voice of Israel reported on the radio that, after a brief presentation and without much debate, a majority of the Knesset approved the proposed abortion law, which was sent back to the committee for fine-tuning before its submission for a final vote.

From the time the news came until sunrise, the synagogue bustled with anger over the new Zionist atrocity. A large group clustered around Redhead Dan, who explained that this law was not another instance of the Zionists committing personal sins, such as driving on Sabbath or digging up sacred graves. Rather, the Zionists had reached a new low, combining two of the greatest sins: Shedding the blood of another Jew and defiance of God’s first mitzvah to procreate and fill the land with their seed.

After morning prayers, the men lined up before Rabbi Gerster to receive the white envelopes containing bundles of Israeli liras, which they took outside and handed to their wives to shop for the Sabbath. Rabbi Gerster did not come out to bless the families of Neturay Karta, but told the men to go home and change into their best clothes.

O n hearing the news of the abortion vote, Elie Weiss drove to the Knesset building. The note inside Abraham’s book yesterday had made it clear that a showdown was only a matter of time:

If the legislation passes second call in the Knesset, I’ll have to lead the protests. Neturay Karta will be joined by many others. Buskilah must control his policemen. No shooting-we don’t need martyrs. p.s. Did you reach Tanya?

At the service entrance in the rear of the Knesset building, Elie was directed into the underground garage, through a second security checkpoint, to a long, gray Chevrolet, which was guarded by two men in short-sleeve shirts.

Prime Minister Levi Eshkol was in the back seat, reviewing a pile of documents. He glanced up when Elie got in and returned to his papers, penning brief notations on each document. When he finished, the prime minister lowered the window and handed the document to one of the guards. “So, Weiss,” he said, “what bad news do you have for me today?”

“Religious riots against the abortion law.”

“My enemies should have my luck.” Eshkol sighed. “Abortions! My fellow Yids think we’re in Holland. Next thing they’ll be planting tulips. Can you believe it? Not a generation since the Nazis killed two million Jewish children, and we talk about abortions. We need babies, not abortions!”

“I think it’s more about women, not babies.”

“And why now? What’s the urgency? The Arabs are gathering again to kill us, and I have to waste my time on abortions? I wish I had time to create such a problem for a pretty woman!”

Elie smiled. The clerical-looking prime minister’s only known vice was his young and attractive wife-his third, who had formerly been the Knesset librarian.

“Speaking of pretty, how did you do with Tanya Galinski?”

“It came to nothing,” Elie lied. “Now, about the abortion law, can you suspend the legislative process?”

“They won’t listen.” The prime minister sighed. “I’m under siege. Liberals on my left, Menachem Begin on my right, Dayan behind my back, the religious parties going through my pockets, and Ben Gurion’s errand boy, Shimon Peres, crapping on my head without lowering his pants!”

Elie chuckled.

“It’s not funny! The Soviets have delivered enough MiG jets to Nasser that he can line them up and skip from wing to wing all the way from Cairo to Tel Aviv without getting sand between his toes. And the newspapers say I’m unqualified to defend Israel! Why? Did I lose the Old City in ’forty-eight? Did I withdraw from Sinai in ’fifty-six in reliance on the incompetent UN? They think Dayan is better because he looks like a pirate!”

“I can make you popular again.”

“Ha! I’m chewing pebbles and passing rocks. Popularity is far from my mind.”