Avraham Azrieli - The Jerusalem inception

A mirror in the foyer was covered with black cloth, and men in black coats swayed while reciting prayers. Someone handed Elie a prayer book, and he stood by the wall, pretending to read from it. He took quick glances, registering the open doors to a dining room on the left, a hallway straight ahead, and a study on the right, all filled with men.

Rabbi Gerster was leading the service. Elie could not see him, but the tone of his voice said it all, and for a moment Elie was beset by regrets. He had not expected this to happen, had not wished it to happen, and should not be responsible. It had been Abraham’s mistake. He had insisted on marrying Temimah, arguing that a wife would be necessary for a leader in Neturay Karta. And he had compounded that mistake by satisfying his wife’s initial childbearing urges. Eighteen years ago, Abraham had dismissed Jerusalem’s birth as a token of happiness for his wife. Now she had paid back that token, plus interest, and Abraham would contend with grief and guilt and anger for the rest of his life. But from an operational point of view, Elie noted to himself, the woman’s departure eliminated a major risk of exposure, which her intimate presence in Abraham’s life had always threatened.

Everyone quieted down when the rabbi recited the Kaddish. He reached the last sentence of the mourners’ prayer: “ He who brings Shalom to heaven… ” The men joined him for the last words, “ He shall bring Shalom upon us and upon all the people of Israel, and we say Amen. ”

While the men removed the black straps of their tefillin and folded their prayer shawls, a few women in long sleeves and tight headdresses brought out bread and coffee. The men lined up to wash their hands, recited a blessing, and ate quickly.

Elie watched them file into the study, each man sitting for a few seconds next to Rabbi Gerster and reciting the traditional shiva farewell: “ God shall comfort you among the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem, and you shall not know sorrow again. ” As they departed, the men glanced at Elie, who stood in the foyer in his plain khakis and wool cap, clearly out of place in Neturay Karta. He made sure to keep his face down, pretending to recite Psalms. No one asked him anything-a house of mourning was open to all who wished to pay a shiva call.

When the apartment finally emptied, he entered the study.

Rabbi Gerster was sitting on a low cot without a mattress, as was the custom during the seven days of mourning. His blue eyes were half-closed, his face gray. He looked up. “ You? ”

It was a loaded question. This visit violated the strict rules of separation they had followed for two decades. But Elie had a reason to take this risk. “I had to bring you my condolences in person. It’s a tragedy. Absolutely terrible.”

“I told you. It was killing her.”

“If we could only turn back the clock.”

“I shouldn’t have waited.”

“But you reached out to the boy, didn’t you?”

“Temimah wrote to him, but he didn’t respond. I can’t understand it. Why couldn’t he at least send a short reply, a postcard, something?”

Elie didn’t respond. What could he say? That Jerusalem Gerster had not received any letters? That he had no knowledge of his mother’s repeated pleas? That his letters had to be diverted, or he surely would have responded? No, Abraham should never know why his son had not responded, because in his web of conflicting loyalties and heightened emotions, even an accomplished agent of his caliber couldn’t accept that it was necessary to isolate the boy, who had a destiny to fulfill.

“It would have been different if we moved out of Neturay Karta. It would have given my son a message, louder and clearer than a hundred letters, that we really forgive him, accept him, want him back. And then she would still be alive.”

It was true. Abraham had wanted to relocate so that his son and wife could reunite, but he had agreed to wait. Duty came first. That’s why Elie had never contemplated starting a family of his own, which by its nature necessitated painful choices at the expense of loved ones. And the leader of Neturay Karta could not just get up and leave, especially not on the eve of war, when it would

not be beyond the messianic elements in the sect to advocate a treasonous patronage pact with the Jordanians, as some in Neturay Karta had proposed back in 1948.

The cot creaked under Rabbi Gerster. “I sent a telegram to him yesterday. Look at it.”

On the desk rested a carbon copy of a postal telegram. Elie picked it up, though there was no need. He had the original in his pocket, having received it last night from his contact at the IDF postmaster office, who had intercepted the telegram on its way to the Negev. But for the sake of appearance, Elie held the copy and read it:

Jerusalem; your mother went to be with the Master of the Universe; she is at peace now; please come home to sit Shiva for her; she loved you more than life itself; signed: your father, Rabbi Abraham Gerster;

“I’m sure your son is on his way here,” Elie lied. “Perhaps he’s delayed by all the military convoys.”

“I don’t think so.” He reached inside his black coat and pulled out another telegram.

Elie took it and again pretended to read, though he had drafted and sent it to this apartment last night-a short and clear response on behalf of Abraham’s son:

Rabbi Gerster; you’re not my father anymore; I am free of your cruelty; and so is Mother, who will no longer suffer under you; signed: Jerusalem Gerster;

Elie put down the telegram. “The boy must be upset. He’ll come around eventually, I’m sure of it.”

“But this response has maliciousness in it, which I’ve never seen in my son. I don’t understand it.”

“He was responding to the news-”

“I must find him, speak with him. After the shiva, I will travel to his base and talk to him.”

“You might cause the opposite result to what you’re hoping to achieve.”

“Why?”

“Give the boy some time. Don’t contact him for a while.” This was Elie’s purpose in visiting Abraham in person-to keep the father and son apart. “Let him work it out emotionally. For a few months, at least.”

“But I’m worried about him. Such anger could cause Jerusalem to take unnecessary risk. You know how it is when one is consumed by anger.”

Elie nodded. “Do you want me to make some calls, check on him?”

“Yes! Get the IDF to assign him to an office, a clerical job. For now. He’s very smart, almost fluent in German. Some English too.”

“Absolutely. I’ll make some calls, get him transferred. He’ll be safe.”

“Do it! If I lose him,” Abraham’s voice broke, “I’ll have nothing. Nothing at all.”

A young man entered the study with a plate of food and a cup of tea. Elie recognized him-the study companion, Benjamin Mashash. It was time to start a file on him.

Elie stood and headed to the door, murmuring the traditional condolences: “ May God comfort you among the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem. ”

L emmy sat with his legs over the side of the bed, his feet resting on the cold tiles. There was light in the window. Tanya was asleep, curled under a heavy comforter. He went outside. The air smelled of Jerusalem sage, a blooming carpet of yellow flowers along the rusting barbwires and warning signs: Border Ahead! Danger!

He heard a distant ambulance siren, but he couldn’t tell whether it came from the Jewish or the Jordanian half of the city. He thought of his mother, in constant motion, cooking, mopping, hanging wet linen on wires outside, or helping young mothers with babies. How could she be dead? The finality of it seemed impossible.

He heard the radio inside come to life, warming up with static. A series of beeps preceded the hourly news broadcast on the Voice of Israel.