Avraham Azrieli - The Jerusalem Assassin

“ Exactly!” Rabbi Gerster closed the book. “I have heard that some rabbis now argue that Prime Minister Rabin is like a Rodef because his peace policies have led to terror and will cause even more loss of Jewish lives and handover of sacred land.”

“ That’s right!” A young scholar in the back rose halfway from his seat. “He’s a Rodef, and so are his heretical colleagues in the Zionist government!”

A few others voiced their support.

Rabbi Benjamin Mashash glanced up from his seat by the Ark of the Torah, but Rabbi Gerster shook his head. It was better to let hotheads blow out steam. Once they calmed down, they would listen to reasoned arguments.

Cantor Toiterlich raised his hand, which caused the younger men to quiet down. Not only was he one of the sect’s elders, but as the cantor he was the person who led the prayers and represented every member of Neturay Karta in pleading for health and prosperity before the Master of the Universe. “An argument could be made,” the cantor said, his baritone filling the hall, “that a person could only be considered a Rodef if he is in hot pursuit to kill another Jew, a physical chase with weapon at the ready. Therefore the Rodef concept doesn’t apply to a political leader signing peace agreements with the goal of ending war, even if his well-intentioned actions could have indirect fatal ramifications.”

“ But what about the Moser concept?” It was the same young scholar in the back. “Just like Rodef, we have a duty to kill a Jew who is about to telltale or hand over another Jew to the Gentiles. There’s no hot pursuit here, but still the same rule applies, right?”

“ That’s an excellent point,” Rabbi Gerster said. “Can anyone offer a counter-argument?”

Jerusalem Mashash, Benjamin’s eldest son, raised his hand. “ Soff ma’asse be’makhshava tekhilah. Judge a deed by its motivation.”

“ Indeed!” Rabbi Gerster clapped. “Jerusalem, my boy, please explain what you meant.”

“ A person cannot be found guilty of a crime, or a sin, without having the intent to do wrong.” The youth turned red, having found himself speaking in front of the whole sect in the middle of Rabbi Gerster’s surprise sermon. But his eloquence wasn’t hindered by his embarrassment. “In order for a Jew to be considered a Rodef or a Moser , we must prove his intent to cause deadly harm. Only with evidence of malicious intent can we judge him to be a criminal who deserved to be killed.”

“ Thank you, Jerusalem.” Rabbi Gerster tugged at his beard. “You just reminded me of what the sage Hanina said: I’ve learned a lot from my friends, even more from my teachers, but most of all I’ve learned from my students. ” He glanced at Benjamin, whose eyes glistened with fatherly pride. “Our learned youngster is correct. How could Rabin, or any political leader, be guilty of a crime when his intentions are to prevent more terror, to bring peace, and to save lives? From a Talmudic standpoint, a Jew is innocent if his intentions are pure, albeit tragically misguided.”

Rabbi Gerster looked around the hall, filled with the bearded faces and the affectionate eyes of the men with whom he had spent half a century. “What is in a man’s heart? What is on his mind? What is the primary motivation that guides him? Those are the questions we must ask in order to fairly judge another Jew.” He paused, his eyes connecting with a few of the older men. “And I hope,” he concluded, “that when the day comes for you to judge me, you shall apply this fair measure.”

The men gasped, for the idea of judging the tzadik, the most righteous man in Neturay Karta, seemed implausible in the extreme.

“ My life here, my achievements and my failures, should be taken as a whole. I implore you to find me innocent, for I have lived among you most of my days on this earth, working for this God-fearing community with love as my impetus and kindness as my inspiration.”

The tone of finality, almost of a eulogy, did not escape the Talmudic scholars of Neturay Karta. They stared at him, up on the dais, and waited for an explanation.

But Rabbi Gerster only smiled. “And with that,” he said, “I wish you Good Sabbath!”

The men stood up as he descended from the dais and returned to his seat. Cantor Toiterlich approached the lectern and commenced the last portion of the Sabbath prayer. Gradually the men joined in chanting the Hebrew words. Moments later, when Rabbi Gerster glanced up from his prayer book, he found Jerusalem Mashash staring at him from among the swaying men. The rabbi winked at Benjamin’s son, whose face broke into a bright smile.

*

According to a brass plaque at the entrance, the Metz amp; Co. department store had operated on the same corner since 1740. Lemmy took the stairs up to the restaurant on the top floor. He sat by the window, which had a panoramic view of the southeast section of Amsterdam. Looking down, he saw the wide Kaizersgracht, its banks lined with houseboats of different sizes and ages, all meticulously painted, with garden chairs and potted flowers on the decks. A glass-covered motorboat, loaded with off-season tourists, cut through the oily water, passing under the arched bridge. On the street along the canal, a tram rattled on its steel rails, ringing its bell, while pedestrians and bicycle riders scattered out of the way. This was an ideal spot for tomorrow’s meeting with Tanya.

The store was already decorated for the holiday season. Shoppers chatted in their throaty Dutch, eyeing the goods. Lemmy’s mind went back to Paula and Klaus Junior. He had placed them in danger by the very nature of his work. The Shin Bet’s aggressiveness in hunting down Tanya boded poorly for anyone associated with Elie Weiss. Was Shin Bet making a play for SOD’s agents and resources? Was it about the Koenig account? And how long would it take for the capable Israeli agents to figure out that Wilhelm Horch was Elie’s prime asset? How could he protect his identity-or his family? And then there was Tanya’s story about his father. Had Rabbi Gerster been a mole within the ultra-Orthodox, working for Elie Weiss? Had his own decision to join SOD and serve Elie been based on lies? Had he wrongly hated his father all these years? It was hard to believe, but Tanya wasn’t a liar. Or was she?

All the answers rested with Elie Weiss in Jerusalem.

Lemmy finished his coffee and left a generous tip. Downstairs, he used a pay phone by the glass doors to call the American Hotel and leave a message for Frau Koenig to expect his call tonight at nine p.m. He hung up and punched in another number.

A familiar voice answered, “Doctor Mullenhuis Data Recovery.”

“Oh, yes. I’d like to recover a crashed ego.”

“Ego was too big?” Carl laughed. “You must be Swiss!”

“Why? You think we’re self-important?”

“It’s a fact. You Swiss are a bunch of pompous asses.” The crunching of computer keys indicated Carl was securing the line from eavesdropping. He had obtained a doctorate in computer engineering five years after graduating with Lemmy from Lyceum Alpin St. Nicholas. But his career with IBM Europe ended abruptly after a competitor mysteriously obtained the code to revolutionary data storage software that Carl was working on at about the same time that Lemmy helped him buy a restored 1938 Horch 853 Phaeton, the only motorcar of its kind to survive WWII, for a huge sum in cash. Going independent, Carl had specialized in facilitating the acquisition of data in sophisticated yet unsavory methods, such as the surveillance system he had installed for Lemmy at the Hoffgeitz Bank.

“ Okay,” Carl said. “Safe to talk now. How’s the system working? You have a problem?”

“The system is great. It helped me save my father-in-law the other day.”