Avraham Azrieli - The Jerusalem Assassin

There was a long silence. “I didn’t know about these things. I adored him.”

“And he adored you back.” An idea occurred to Lemmy. He sat on the hotel bed, pressing the receiver to his ear. “Enough to entrust the ledger to you.”

“Klaus knew that my heart belonged to him.” Then, as if an explanation was required, she added, “I was very young, barely fourteen, when he took me in.”

“A fourteen-year-old girl.” Lemmy paused. “Your birthday falls on New Year’s, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t celebrate it anymore, but yes, I was born on January first, nineteen twenty-eight.”

“I remember celebrating with you on the first day of sixty-seven. You bought a kosher cake so I could eat it.”

“ You were struggling to balance your faith with…what we had.”

“ It’s odd how certain things get stuck in your mind forever.”

“ Please come over. We have so much to discuss.”

“ It’s not safe,” he said before temptation took over. “I’ll see you tomorrow at noon in front of Metz amp; Co. There’s a green phone booth across the street. Wait for me there.” He was about to hang up, but the question just popped to his lips. “What’s Bira doing these days?”

“My troublemaking daughter?” Tanya’s voice softened. “She’s an archeology professor at Hebrew University, digging up sacred grounds, pissing off the ultra-Orthodox, including Rabbi Abraham Gerster, unfortunately.”

“ A small world. Is she married? Has kids?”

“Yes. Her oldest is in the army already. Yuval. A wonderful boy, so smart and kind and idealistic. Just like Lemmy was…I mean…just like you were…back then.”

“ And now.”

“ But all these years.” Her voice cracked. “If you only knew…how much grief.”

“ I’m sorry,” he said. “Good night, Tanya.”

*

Benjamin was waiting when Rabbi Gerster and Itah Orr returned to Meah Shearim. He had brewed fresh tea and set up cups on the dining table. “The chaplain from Hadassah Hospital brought a note for you.” He held it so they could read it together.

Abraham, I’m in the ICU at Hadassah, 4 ^ th floor, last room on right. Come ASAP. Long live Jerusalem! E.W.

Itah asked, “Who is E.W.?”

Rabbi Gerster sat down. He picked up the note and read it again, his hand trembling. “E.W. stands for Entirely Wicked.”

“ Wicked?”

“ He’s the devil himself.”

“ God shall safeguard his sheep, ” Benjamin recited, “ from evil spirits and deadly debacles that frequent this earth. ” t› Amen,” Rabbi Gerster said. “Did the chaplain say anything else?”

Benjamin offered Itah a jar of sugar cubes. “He said there were two young men guarding the patient, who appears weak, emaciated, and out of breath, yet in full command of his senses.”

“ That’s an apt description.” Rabbi Gerster stood, gulping the rest of his tea. “Benjamin, kindly call a taxi for us.”

“ At this hour?”

“ Yes. Right now.”

“ But it’s the middle of the night!”

“ There’s not a moment to spare.”

“ Then I’ll go with you. They know me well at Hadassah Hospital.” It was true. Every time a man, woman, or child from Neturay Karta was hospitalized, Rabbi Benjamin Mashash was praying at their bedside or helping feed them or comforting the distraught family members.

“ I appreciate it,” Rabbi Gerster said, “but you must stay here with your sleeping wife and precious children. Itah will join me.”

“ But-”

“ Rest assured,” Rabbi Gerster smiled, “that nothing inappropriate will happen.”

Benjamin blushed. “I didn’t mean to imply such a thing.”

“ Hey,” Itah said, “why not?”

*

The taxi brought them to the military cemetery on Mount Herzl. Rabbi Gerster gave the driver a five hundred-shekel bill and asked him to wait. The guards were off-duty for the night. He used a flashlight to find a service shed and took two shovels.

Itah followed him through rows of headstones. “I thought we were going to Hadassah.”

“ The answer lies here,” he said. After so many years of weekly visits, he could find his way around the cemetery with his eyes closed.

“ Where are we going?”

“ To pay a final visit.” He pointed the beam at the headstone. “Here we are.”

Private Jerusalem (“Lemmy”) Gerster

Killed in Battle, June 7, 1967

In the Defense of Israel

God Will Avenge His Blood

When he inserted the edge of the shovel under the corner, Itah gasped. “What are you doing?”

“ You saw the note.” Rabbi Gerster used the long handle as a lever, lifting the stone.

“ No!” She kneeled and held the stone down, preventing him from toppling it. “It was just a form of salute. Long live Jerusalem! Like a patriotic cheer or something.”

“ The man who wrote the note knows where to stab his victims for best results. I will be in pain until I find out the truth with my own eyes.”

“ E.W.?”

“ Elie Weiss. He spends most of his time in Paris.”

“ You think he’s the one giving money to Freckles?”

“ I’m afraid so. And now he’s trying to lure me to the hospital to facilitate his escape.”

“ By hinting that your son is alive?” Itah picked up the other shovel. “It’s so transparent. Cruel!”

“ But irresistible, right?”

“ Surely you don’t believe him, do you?”

“ A bereaved father would grasp at any straw of hope.”

“ But you know the truth, right? Your son is long dead. No one can bring him back to life.”

“ If anyone can, it’s Elie Weiss.” Rabbi Gerster grunted as he lifted the headstone and rolled it over, exposing the dirt underneath. “That devil has a history of playing with life and death.” He pushed the shovel hard into the soil.

“ You can’t actually believe this, can you?” But still, she joined him, and they dug until the top of the coffin was exposed. He got into the grave, stood wide so his shoes were off the coffin, and bent down to grab the cover.

“ This is so wrong.” Itah aimed the flashlight into the hole. “God will punish us.”

“ God is an illusion, remember?” Rabbi Gerster tried to pull up the side of the cover. “And so are ghosts, in case you’re worried about the neighbors.”

The coffin creaked, and the beam of the flashlight trembled with Itah’s hand. “The body of your son is only bones now. How could you tell if it’s really him?”

“ Can’t open it!” He straightened up, rubbing his hands. “Talmud forbids steel nails, only wooden nails are allowed in coffins. After all these years, it’s bonded together.”

“ A chance to reconsider,” Itah said with a tremulous chuckle.

He climbed out of the grave, turned, and jumped back in, landing hard on top of the coffin, which broke under his weight.

“ Oh, shit!” Itah dropped the flashlight into the hole.

“ Calm down. It’s only bones.” Rabbi Gerster pushed aside the shattered wood planks of the cover and reached in for the flashlight among the pieces of white cotton shroud. He shone the flashlight up and down the coffin interior, located the skull, and pulled it out.

The cranium emerged from the coffin with a length of the spine and a single shoulder, attached to an arm and a skeletal hand.

“ Here,” he said, “hold it.”

“ No, thanks. I’ll hold the flashlight.”

“ At the time, they didn’t let me see the body.” Rabbi Gerster was breathing hard as he peeled strips of shroud from the skull. “They told me Lemmy had been hit point-blank by a grenade, that he was unrecognizable. I should have insisted.”

The last piece of shroud came off the skull. He shook off the dust, and the bones rattled.