Avraham Azrieli - The Jerusalem inception

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.

Tanya left a message for Elie Weiss with the SOD desk at the prime minister’s office to meet her at a small cafe on Ben Yehuda Street. He pulled two of his agents from a surveillance assignment nearby and placed them at a table near the door, where they played backgammon. He sat at a corner table with his back to the wall.

When Tanya entered, he took off his wool cap and stood. It was Friday afternoon, and only a dozen other customers were in the cafe. He watched her cross the room and his breath quickened. What she radiated went beyond beauty. Perhaps it was the contrast between her black hair and the white skin, or between her physical smallness and the fierce posture. Or maybe the feline fluidity of her body’s movements.

She sat down and removed the oversized sunglasses, revealing her turquoise-green eyes.

Elie swallowed with difficulty. “You make an unlikely spy,” he said. “No one in this room will ever forget you.”

“You’ll be surprised.”

“I’m serious. How do you survive in this line of work?”

“Ill-fitting clothes, out-of-fashion hats, and never meeting their eyes.” Tanya shrugged. “I don’t bother with it in Israel, but in Europe no one gives me a second look.”

“I find it hard to believe.” Elie flagged down the waitress. “Bring us tea with lemon.”

“I have terrible news.” She kept her voice low. “Abraham’s son saw a box delivered to the most extreme guy in the sect, someone called Redhead Dan. The description fits hand grenades. Abraham hit the boy before he could tell him what he’d seen. Hit him! I don’t understand it-why would Abraham hit his son?”

Elie was more concerned with why Redhead Dan had shown him the grenades. “Hand grenades in Neturay Karta?”

“Yes!”

“Impossible. The kid is confused.”

“His description fits perfectly. And there’s talk of violence. An eye for an eye. You must contact Abraham immediately. Only he can prevent disaster.”

“Well, better safe than sorry.” Elie rubbed his scalp with his hand. “I’ll inform Abraham right away. Did his son tell you anything else?”

“No.”

Elie was relieved, but he had to make sure. “Did he hear of any plans to actually use the grenades?”

“No.”

“Does he know where they’re hidden? Anything?”

“It was a coincidence. He ran into them-”

“Lucky for us, but what was he doing out there in the middle of the night?”

Tanya blushed and looked away.

“I see.” Elie lit a cigarette. “He’s a bit young for you, isn’t he?”

“He’s almost eighteen.” She parted her hair with both hands, throwing it over her shoulders. “You have a problem with that?”

“On the contrary. How else would you suck information from him?”

“You disgust me.” She glared at him, the blushing skin of her face as smooth as that of the seventeen-year-old girl he remembered.

“You are fortunate, Tanya. Few women get to go back in time, so to speak, do it over, save a lover from the wrong path.”

She leaned on the table, her face close to his. “Abraham was on the wrong path because you manipulated him to keep hunting down Germans, and I was too naive-”

“I manipulated Abraham?” Elie sneered. “He was obsessed with revenge after he saw the Nazis butcher our families. He wanted to keep killing Nazis, terminate them in the most painful way, every one of them, including Nazis like your sweetheart, Obergruppenfuhrer Klaus von Koenig.”

“Klaus was an accountant. He didn’t butcher anyone.”

“Himmler’s deputy, the protegee who facilitated SS operations with his financial genius, was just an accountant?”

“He didn’t kill Jews.”

“Your dear Klaus was no less a mass murderer than the rest of the Nazi high command!”

“I thought we were talking about Abraham.”

“Right. That’s what drove him-avenge the Holocaust and prevent the next one. It still drives him today. Drives us! ”

Tanya smiled bitterly. “How could I compete with that?”

Elie didn’t answer. What could he say? The truth? That Abraham had changed his mind and wanted to quit his secret work to be with her? No. Telling her the truth would ruin everything.