Avraham Azrieli - The Jerusalem Assassin

“ I was wondering,” Rabbi Gerster said, holding up the detention order, “how many renewals you could obtain before the law requires you to release us or bring us before a judge?”

“I won’t need renewals.” Agent Cohen broke off another chunk of bread and smeared it with butter. “This whole thing will be over next week.”

“ Sounds good to me,” Gideon said. “I’m going back to graduate school.”

“ You want us to believe that?” Agent Cohen laughed.

“ I’m going back to Channel One,” Itah Orr said with sudden venom, “and you’ll watch me on TV telling the nation about you!”

“ I don’t think so,” Agent Cohen said. “You’ll be busy with criminal defense lawyers, trying to stay out of jail, fighting off computer hacking charges. Your friend at the treasury ministry has been very cooperative.” Before she could respond, he turned to Rabbi Gerster. “And you? Will you go to Switzerland?”

The rabbi played with his fork, taking a moment to organize his thoughts. He had a feeling that the Shin Bet agent was fishing for information, that he didn’t know the real situation. “Why Switzerland?”

“ We know you called Zurich from the King David Hotel yesterday. Do you keep money at the Hoffgeitz Bank? Or is it SOD deposits?”

The rabbi exchanged a glance with Elie. Agent Cohen was assuming that the Zurich connection was merely about financial convenience and secrecy. His error must be reinforced. “God’s work doesn’t come free,” he said.

The Shin Bet officer sipped from his orange juice. “Tanya Galinski was also in Zurich a couple of days ago.”

“ That’s impossible!” The harshness in Elie’s voice made everyone turn to him. “You’re lying!”

Agent Cohen pulled a photo from his pocket and placed it on the table. It had been taken in the rain from a distance too great for detailed clarity. A man and a woman were sitting on a park bench under a bare tree. Her hair was loose, and he was pressing a handkerchief to the side of her head. Her petite size and pale face resembled Tanya, though it was hard to tell, especially as Rabbi Gerster had not seen her in many years. The man, however, he recognized from last night’s encounter at the entrance to the King David Hotel: Lemmy!

“ Shin Bet agents following Tanya Galinski?” Elie took a few shallow breaths. “It’s illegal for you to spy on Mossad, and it’s twice illegal to do it abroad!”

“ Don’t get technical with me.” Agent Cohen beckoned the housekeeper to remove the dishes. “Who’s this man Tanya met? Is he a bank employee?”

“ She has many men,” Elie said.

Rabbi Gerster was delighted. This photo confirmed that Lemmy was living in Zurich and working at the Hoffgeitz Bank. Also, it was obvious that Elie recognized Lemmy. And best of all, Shin Bet had not yet figured out who he was.

Agent Cohen turned to Gideon. “Do you know him?”

The young SOD agent shook his head. “Never been to Zurich.”

Rabbi Gerster said, “Why don’t you ask Tanya?”

Agent Cohen shrugged. “She’s gone incommunicado at the moment.” He pocketed the photo. “We have people in Zurich trying to identify the man she met. But it would be easier if you just told us.”

Elie Weiss smirked. “Easier for whom?”

“ Easier for him,” Agent Cohen said. “My men are very upset. He’ll suffer less if he turns himself in.”

“ Upset?” Rabbi Gerster struggled to keep his voice disinterested. “Why are they upset with this Swiss guy?”

“ He shot one of our agents. When we find him, we’ll make sure he also limps for the rest of his life-if he lives.”

*

“ Master of the Universe,” Benjamin cried. “Blessed be His name for keeping us alive to celebrate this day!”

They held each other for a long time.

“ Master of the Universe,” Benjamin kept saying, “Master of the Universe!”

They wiped their eyes and stepped out to the foyer. Behind them, the men in the synagogue returned to studying Talmud, as wasting time was considered the worst of all sins.

They sat down, and Lemmy told Benjamin that the corpse of a Jordanian soldier had been buried in Mount Herzl under his name while he assumed a new identity and served Israel abroad. He gave no more details. It was safer for Benjamin not to know.

Benjamin told Lemmy about his life as Rabbi Gerster’s heir, about his wife, Sorkeh Toiterlich, who had once been engaged to Lemmy, and his children, whom he listed by name and age, starting with his eldest, Jerusalem, born ten years after Lemmy’s departure. Benjamin’s wise eyes became moist again. Up close, Lemmy could see the wrinkles from age and responsibility, the paleness from the indoor life of a scholar.

“ It worked out for the better,” Lemmy said. “You’re worthy of my father’s place.”

“Oh, no.” Benjamin shivered. “Who could possibly replace Rabbi Abraham Gerster? We try to follow the path he has charted for us, that’s all.”

“He’s not an easy man to please. I know from experience.”

“That’s true!” Benjamin laughed, his white teeth and squinting eyes instantly transforming him back to the youth Lemmy remembered.

Lemmy laughed too. “Crazy, isn’t it?”

“ It’s wonderful! To see you alive…thank God for miracles!” Benjamin’s face became serious again. “But your father is gone now. It’s a terrible scandal. We’re so worried about him.”

“ I saw him yesterday. He was arrested. We couldn’t talk, but he communicated to me that I should come to you.”

“To me? But I don’t know anything.”

“ Perhaps he left papers or letters?”

“ Government investigators came here and took all his belongings. Come, I’ll show you.”

A small alcove off the foyer held a cot, a desk, and Rabbi Gerster’s chair. The bookcase was empty. The desk drawers were pulled out and turned over.

“They took everything, even his books.”

Lemmy sat in the chair and gripped the carved lion heads at the ends of the armrests. “He committed no crimes. It’s a diversion from what’s really going on. That’s what I’m trying to find out. Did he tell you anything?”

Benjamin shook his head. “A woman was here, the TV journalist that’s also being accused. And the rabbi received a note from a patient at Hadassah hospital.”

“What did it say?”

“Asked him to come to Hadassah. And it said: Long live Jerusalem! Now I understand what it meant!” Benjamin took a deep breath. “Did he recognize you last night?”

Lemmy nodded.

“ He must be so happy! Every week he visited your grave. Your death continued to torment him. So when the note came, he rushed out with the woman in the middle of the night. He didn’t tell me where they went, but there was mud all over their shoes the next morning, and he was happier than ever.”

“Then he must have left me a note somewhere. Where could it be?”

Benjamin waved at the walls. “They took everything.”

A memory came to Lemmy. On his last day here, back in 1967, his father carried The Zohar, the book of Kabbalah mysticism, which only the most righteous rabbis dared to study. “Go back into the synagogue and have the men search all the bookcases for my father’s copy of The Zohar. It’s bound in brown leather.”

“I know how it looks.” The hesitation confirmed Lemmy’s assumption that The Zohar was the perfect hiding place for a note. Even an accomplished scholar like Rabbi Benjamin Mashash was wary of it. “Your father wouldn’t leave it in the synagogue, where others could happen upon it.”

“Please,” Lemmy said. “Trust me.”

Benjamin left, and a moment later his voice boomed from the dais inside the synagogue. Lemmy could hear the benches creak and the floorboards groan as the men fanned out to the walls of the synagogue to search the long shelves that carried thousands of books.