Avraham Azrieli - The Jerusalem inception

“And how will our man know where to go inside Government House?”

“I’ve set up an intense training program for the two-the driver and the mole. The candidates are young soldiers, just finishing boot camp. I’ll have them reassigned to SOD and prepared for the mission.”

“What about the car?”

“I’ve located an identical Jeep Wagoneer in Haifa. A wealthy contractor had it special-ordered from Detroit. It’s perfect.”

“You’ll need authority from Northern Command, Armament Division, to confiscate a civilian vehicle. Tell them to call me.”

Elie was at the door. “It’s already in the safe house. The owner wasn’t too happy.”

“I’m sure he wasn’t.” Brigadier General Tappuzi laughed. “Way to go, Weiss!”

“A lie!” Lemmy tore out of Tanya’s embrace. “He could have buried her inside the cemetery!”

“Listen, please,” Tanya begged, “your father had to follow the rules-”

“You know the rules?”

“Suicide is a desecration of God’s image, in which we’re created. Talmud requires burial outside the fence, right?”

“But there’s an exception!” Lemmy hit his fists against each other. “The sages said there’s always regret in the last second of life, between the act of suicide and the actual departure of the soul. This last-minute repentance cleanses the deceased from the sin of suicide. Any rabbi would permit burial within the sacred grounds-a proper burial! Any rabbi except my father, the tzadik! ”

“Lemmy, please, don’t hate him. Your father couldn’t extend leniency to his own wife. He’s the leader of Neturay Karta. His people watch what he does-”

“Why do you defend him?”

She hesitated. “One day you’ll understand.”

“I understand it already. He’s cruel and fanatic, a self-righteous, merciless tyrant. He’s a monster!”

“ Jerusalem! ”

The way she shouted his name, the anger it carried, was like a slap in the face. He looked at Tanya, finally comprehending a reality that had simmered between them since the beginning. “You’re still in love with my father, aren’t you?”

She shook her head once, but her eyes confirmed his suspicion.

“You’ve never stopped loving him. That’s why you defend him.”

Her lips tightened as if she was holding back a cry.

“Is that why you seduced me?”

She groaned as if he hit her.

“That Sabbath, when you came to our home, you argued in his study. Why?”

Tanya opened her mouth to explain, but no words emerged.

“Did you ask him to leave Neturay Karta for you? And he refused, right? So you took me instead.” It was almost like one of the novels he had read. Tanya was the spurned lover who took revenge on the man who rejected her by stealing his only son. “You knew I would fall for it. A horny teenager who had never seen the skin of a woman’s elbow, suddenly reading romantic novels while a beautiful woman offers him paradise on earth.” Lemmy laughed bitterly. “You must think me such an idiot!”

“I don’t.”

“And after you took away his son, you pushed his wife over the edge. How biblical!”

At this Tanya physically shook, the knot in her hair collapsing, the black locks descending around her. “Don’t say that!”

He gestured at the fence. “Is that why my mother killed herself? Did she catch the two of you in the act?”

Tanya grabbed his arm, her fingers digging into his flesh. “I didn’t mean for this to happen! Your father and I did nothing wrong!”

“Killing my mother isn’t wrong?”

“Would you listen to me?”

“ Enough!” He turned away from her and faced the rows of tombstones covering the hillside, each with a Star of David. He straightened his olive-green uniform, tilted his red beret until it sheltered his right ear, and adjusted the Uzi strap across his chest. “I’m going to say good-bye to my mother now.” He took the flowers from Tanya. “I’ll hitch a ride back to the base.”

“But-”

“I don’t want to see you ever again.”

“Oh, please!” She was crying now. “Let me explain-”

Choking on his sobs, Lemmy ran along the outer fence of the cemetery.

The Antique Authority resided in a drab office building near the west campus of the Hebrew University. The director, Professor Amos Gileadi, had the leathery skin of a farmer and the thick glasses of a habitual reader. His white hair was unruly, and the breast pockets of his shirt were stuffed with papers and pencils. Like Elie Weiss, he was a German Jew who had lost his entire family in the Holocaust. They met had years earlier, when Elie brought in a box filled with ancient Torah scrolls that a veteran SS officer had kept as souvenirs. Professor Gileadi had traced the scrolls to a synagogue in Berlin, and before that, to a congregation in Cordova whose members disappeared in the 1492 Spanish Expulsion. The restored scrolls were now displayed at the Museum of the Book in Jerusalem. Since that first encounter, Elie had continued to help Professor Gileadi with cash to purchase invaluable archeological pieces, mostly from the Bedouins who travelled freely across the borders to Sinai and the east bank of the Jordan River.

The professor examined the photos of Moshe Dayan’s backyard, filled with antiques. “These photos don’t do justice to his magnificent collection.”

“He showed it to you?”

“Of course. We’ve authenticated and dated all these pieces.”

“What’s Dayan’s collection worth?”

“It’s hard to set monetary value to any archeological items when so many of them are bought and sold by collectors in the black-market. But such a massive assemblage of precious pieces?” Professor Gileadi shrugged. “Millions of dollars.”

“Isn’t the law clear that the state owns everything?”

The professor sighed. “Shouldn’t you worry about more contemporary crimes?”

Elie pulled off his wool cap and rubbed his head. “I worry about the ascendance of a criminal to the defense ministry. Don’t you?”

He laughed. “General Moshe Dayan isn’t a criminal. He’s an idealist, a first-rate Zionist, who has risked his life many times for Israel.”

“Yes, yes, I know. But this,” Elie held up a photo, “is proof that he is enriching himself by stealing state property, correct?”

“For God’s sake, Weiss! Dayan grew up in a kibbutz. He cares nothing for money.” The professor pointed to the photo of the ceramic wine jar shaped like a cow. “A Bedouin trader bought it in Jordan and offered it to Dayan. I authenticated it. Second Temple era, two thousand years ago. The Hebrew letters indicate ritualistic usage by the Levites at the Temple. We couldn’t afford it, so Dayan took a personal loan and bought it himself. He garnished six months of paychecks as a Knesset member.”

“Why would he do that?”

“The sabra boys aren’t like us. They’re not Yids from the shtetl.

They’re Israelis.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I see it with my students. Judaism isn’t a religion for them. It’s an ideology, the foundation of their nationalism. They didn’t experience the Diaspora like us. In fact, they mock Diaspora Jews as servile, honorless wimps, who’d rather beg the Goyim for mercy than fight like men. Israelis don’t believe in God and the divine concept of the Promised Land. They believe we are an ancient nation that has returned to reclaim the homeland stolen from it by the Romans. That’s the reason they’re obsessed with archeology. Every piece adds additional proof that our nation is entitled to ownership of this land. This ancestral claim is the core of the Zionist ideology for which they fight and die.”

“They die for clay pieces?”