Avraham Azrieli - The Jerusalem inception

Rabbi Gerster sighed. “Our sons are the essence of the eternal covenant.” He opened his hands in pleading. “But here I am, Abraham Gerster, your rabbi, standing before you today in shame!”

Many asked loudly, “What? What? What?”

Lemmy’s thumb pushed the safety latch of the Mauser.

“Shame, dear God, so much shame!” The rabbi’s voice was broken. “I have failed to raise my own son to honor the covenant.” He pointed above the men’s heads to the back of the hall.

The air froze in Lemmy’s throat. His forefinger slid into the trigger slot.

Hundreds of faces turned to him, bearded faces with bewildered eyes that looked at his blue shirt and khaki pants, at his shaven sideburns. He felt naked without his black coat and black hat. He was The Painted Bird, surrounded by its own kin, who were ready to lynch him. Fear screamed inside his head.

He saw their disbelief giving way to rage. They tore up from their seats, hands clenching into fists, lips spitting words of revilement, a collective howl of damnation, which grew louder as they advanced at him. Behind them, his father stood high on the dais, eyes shut, face upturned, hands stretched to the sides, palms open upward.

Lemmy’s hand rose, the Mauser appearing between him and the mosaic of red faces. The muzzle aimed at the black of their coats, their heaving chests.

His finger applied pressure to the trigger while his hand rose higher, across their faces, above their heads, until the bump at the end of the barrel found his father’s chest at the opposite end of the synagogue. It lingered there, while the men were almost upon him.

He raised his hand farther up and pressed the trigger.

The recoil threw him back, the explosion tenfold louder than he had expected. He fell down and saw the ejected casing hit the floor nearby. But when he looked up, he froze in terror.

The crystal chandelier, still burning bright, detached from the ceiling. The giant cluster of lights descended, gaining speed until it hit the center of the synagogue and exploded. The noise was terrifying, and the glistening crystal tears bounced up in the air and landed on the floor with ringing chimes, spreading throughout the center aisle and between the benches and under the hundreds of shoes of stunned men, who slipped and dropped to the floor with flailing arms.

The brightness of the chandelier disappeared. Twilight engulfed the synagogue, and an eerie silence.

“There’s no punishment,” Rabbi Gerster roared, “no punishment for the dead! Only the judgment of the Lord!” He brought his hands to his chest, gripped the lapel of his coat, and pulled his hands forcefully in opposite directions, ripping the black cloth apart. It made a loud tearing sound, like a hoarse cry of pain. His eyes closed, the rabbi pressed his fists to his chest, against the torn cloth. With a voice full of agony he recited the mourners’ prayer for the dead: “ Blessed be He, Master of the Universe, the true judge. ”

“Amen,” the men chorused, rising from the floor. “Amen.” None of them looked at Lemmy anymore. For them, and for their rabbi, Jerusalem Gerster was dead.

Lemmy spent a week with Tanya-reading, talking, and making passionate, tender love. When she sat for hours with the oversized headphones in the other room, he slept as if recovering from months of insomnia. For his eighteen birthday, she baked a chocolate cake and opened a bottle of wine, which they finished together. Now that he was officially an adult, she took him to a government office, where he obtained an Israeli ID card and received his military draft papers.

They barely slept that night. In the morning, they showered together and took the bus to an open field in West Jerusalem, where the IDF had set up a processing center for mandatory draftees, most of them recent high-school graduates. Several rows of military trucks waited in the sun, and female soldiers in olive-green uniform and hoarse voices tried to keep order.

Standing among hundreds of young recruits and their families, Tanya hugged him tightly. She smiled through her tears. “Keep safe, will you? And no more rebellions. Once in uniform, you must obey orders.”

Lemmy made a mock salute. “Yes, Madam!”

She waved as he climbed onto the back of the truck. “Don’t forget to write!”

He blew her a kiss and mouthed, “I love you!”

The trucks departed in a cloud of dust and engine fumes. The families, many with younger children, waved at the convoy until it made the turn onto the main road to Tel Aviv. Fathers put on brave faces while mothers wiped tears.

Tanya walked to the main road, where she planned to catch a local bus back home. She noticed Elie’s car, parked farther up the road under a tree.

Tanya got in. “You’re becoming too predictable for a spy.”

“It’s all part of the plan.” His face seemed even gaunter than before, his dark eyes sunken beside the protruding bridge of his nose. He was wearing a brown wool cap, pulled down over his ears. He emitted a medicinal smell, which she assumed came from the ointment on his burns. She watched the families leave the field, some getting into their small cars, others walking, or waiting for the bus. “The army is the best thing for him.”

“I made a few calls. He’ll be assigned to Paratroopers Command. Their boot camp lasts six months, so even if war breaks out, he’ll still be in training, safely away from battle.”

She thought of Lemmy in uniform, so different from the Talmudic scholar he had been only a week earlier. He was free now to make new friends, gain confidence in himself, and become a normal Israeli. “Have you spoken to Abraham?”

Elie uttered a strange chuckle, something between clearing his throat and blowing his nose. “He’s too furious to speak with anyone. Blames you for brainwashing his boy.”

The thought of Abraham being angry with her gave Tanya mixed feelings-a satisfaction in prevailing over him to set Lemmy free and a lingering doubt as to whether she had done the right thing, tearing a boy from his family and community.

“Better keep away from Abraham,” he added. “He’s got a temper, you know.”

His tone made Tanya wonder whether Elie was telling the truth, or was he up to his usual manipulations. “Lemmy told me that his father was sad, that he hugged him before addressing the men, and tore his coat in mourning, as if his son had died. But you say he’s furious?”

“Abraham isn’t furious with his son. He’s furious with you. But he’s a soldier in our fight for survival. A secret agent of his caliber doesn’t get distracted from his job by personal problems.”

“He’s not a machine. Losing a son is a tragedy for any parent.”

“Abraham’s job is to keep the ultra-Orthodox under control, not to babysit a troublesome teenager whose very existence was an error and whose behavior undermines Abraham’s authority. It’s better that what’s his name is gone from Meah Shearim.”

“His name is Jerusalem.”

“Right. Jerusalem.” Elie tapped the steering wheel. “Of course, to begin with, it would have been better if you had left the boy alone. Abraham’s standing in the sect would have been stronger with a devout son to follow him. But once you exposed the boy to secular culture and to carnal pleasures, it’s better he’s out of the sect. They’ll forget about him soon enough, except maybe his mother. Abraham is very concerned about her.”

Tanya thought of the woman she had seen briefly that Sabbath morning months ago, when she had visited Abraham’s home.

“He’s her only child,” Elie added as if Tanya didn’t know. “I would have her committed to a mental institution, but Abraham thinks she’ll recover better within the sect.”