Avraham Azrieli - The Masada Complex

As they approached the Judean Mountains, the slopes were blanketed with new homes, many of them on small plots half dug into the hillside, exposing the white limestone. “Just like God’s covenant with Abraham,” the rabbi said. “ I will turn you into a great nation, bless you aplenty. ”

Silver picked up the quote: “ And multiply your seed like the stars in the sky and the sand on the shore, and your seed shall inherit your enemy’s gates. ”

Masada elbowed him. “Don’t you have something from Rabbi Hillel?”

“Of course,” Silver boasted, “being with my dear friends, seeing our beautiful homeland flourish, I finally understand what Hillel meant. Who is wealthy? A man who’s satisfied with his lot. Right?”

“Wrong,” Rabbi Josh said. “Rabbi Ben Zomah said it, not Hillel.”

Silver noticed Masada exchange a glance with the rabbi, an acknowledgment of jest that was broken off immediately. He reminded himself to fuel their acrimony and suspicions. He asked Masada, “Have you called your family already? Or friends?”

She was quiet for a moment. “My parents and little brother are dead. I don’t have friends here.”

He patted her shoulder. She had never told him what had happened to her family or why she had left Israel with such bitterness, and he hoped she would elaborate now. But Masada looked out the window in silence.

The van stopped at the entrance to Hadassah Hospital. Silver stepped out with his bag. Masada offered to go in with him, but he declined, explaining that it was only a checkup ahead of Sunday’s procedure. He gestured at Rabbi Josh, who sat in the van with the open book of Psalms. “He intimated to me that you shouldn’t attend the funeral.” Seeing the hurt on her face, he added, “Maybe it’s better this way.”

She got back in the van, and he waved good-bye.

He found the Michener Eye Center on the eighth floor. Dr. Asaf was a small man with quick manners. He tested Silver’s eye with various optical instruments. “Professor,” he announced, “we are good to go.”

Silver smelled coffee. He wished the sun had set already. “What should I expect on Sunday?”

Dr. Asaf held his hand in front of Silver’s face. “Within your field of vision, the palm of my hand is eclipsed, correct?”

“Yes. It’s like a hole in my vision that looks like a black ball with hairy edges.”

“Surrounded by a whitish glow?”

“The blotch,” Silver said. “That’s what I call it.”

The Israeli doctor opened a wooden box and took out a model eye in a transparent socket. “The muscles and nerves controlling your directional and focus functions are fine, and so is the connection to the brain. In fact, for a single eye that has carried the load for so long, it’s in remarkably good shape. Nothing is wrong with your eye, except this little area right here,” he pointed, “in the rear, where the macula is degenerating.”

“Very quickly.”

“But not for long,” Dr. Asaf said with a smile. “The microscopic bleeding interferes with the optical nerve.” His finger traced it. “We will inject genetically altered stem cells to the affected macula with a very thin needle through the wall of the eye.” He turned the plastic model to show Silver. “There will be some discomfort after the operation.”

“Pain doesn’t scare me.”

Dr. Asaf put the model back in the box. “We have not treated anyone who had lost the other eye, but it should make no difference. Out of seventy-three patients so far, everyone has shown improvement. The new cells rejuvenate the area, causing cessation of degeneration and marked shrinkage in the eclipsed field of vision.”

“A miracle.” Silver looked around the room, imagining it without the blotch.

“See you Sunday morning.” Dr. Asaf showed him to the door. “No eating or drinking after midnight. And bring in your favorite music. Our patients report it helps them relax.”

Silver shook his hand. “I relax by thinking.”

Elizabeth pushed open the window, revealing a view she had only seen in photos-the Dome of the Rock, glistening in the afternoon sun, the walls of the Old City, thick and mighty. The air was tinted with pine scent and engine fumes from the traffic below.

The windowsill left a film of black soot on her hands. After washing in the bathroom, Elizabeth brushed her hair and applied fresh lipstick. She sat on the bed and flipped through tourist brochures. It was Friday afternoon. What would she do until Wednesday morning? And how would the professor reach her-he didn’t know where she was staying.

She remembered the card Bob Emises had given her and called the number.

He answered instantly. “Miss McPherson?”

“Could you help me track down someone?”

“Sure.”

“Professor Flavian Silver. He’s about seventy years old, a new Israeli citizen, arrived today on my flight.”

“Got it. I’ll call you back.” He hung up.

A taxicab stood in the circular driveway by the main lobby of Hadassah Hospital. Professor Silver got in the back seat. “Ramban Hostel, please.”

The cabby drove fast with his right hand, the left stuck out the window with a burning cigarette. “Gorgeous day, isn’t it? Where are you from?”

“Arizona.”

“Hot!” The driver changed gears. His frizzy gray hair danced over his shoulders, and his bald spot glistened with beads of sweat. “I’m Ezekiel.” He drew from his cigarette and held it out the window. “Twenty-five years in the army. Sergeant major, Maintenance Corps.” He tapped the steering wheel. “I do this to get out of the house. Wife drives me crazy. You married?”

“Not anymore.”

“You’re lucky.” They were going downhill very fast. The driver pointed with his cigarette. “That’s Herzl’s grave.”

“A great man.” Silver covered his mouth and spat.

“Want to visit him?” Ezekiel hit the brakes, swerving to the middle lane.

“Another time.” Silver patted his watch. “It’s late.”

“He’s not going anywhere, right?” He accelerated, forcing his way back into traffic. “You like retirement? I love it. Two years, one month, and three weeks.”

“Where did you serve?”

“Where didn’t I serve?” The driver drew a wide circle in the air with the cigarette. “Tell me, is America going crazy?” He grabbed a yellow flyer from the seat beside him and passed it to Silver. “Take a look.”

One side of the yellow sheet was printed in Hebrew, the other in English:

Other than the U.S., Israel has the highest number of:

High-technology companies on NASDAQ!

Academic graduate degrees!

Books published annually!

Venture capital funds!

Startup companies!

And Israel leads the world (incl. U.S.) with:

Highest percentage of scientists of any country!

More museums per person than any other country!

Highest gain in number of trees planted every year!

More new medical patents a year than any other country!

The highest percentage of immigrants of any country in the world!

The best solar energy, irrigation, and medical imaging technologies!

United States of America: Aid Yourself! Israel Doesn’t Need You Anymore!

“Fantastic!” Silver held up the yellow flyer. “Can I keep it?”

“Take more.” Ezekiel pulled a fistful from a box on the floor. “I have plenty.”

“Brilliant.” He was amused. Their bragging, even if justified, was like the last flare up of a dying candle. None of these achievements had gained them a shred of popularity in the world. On the contrary, their self-congratulating aggressiveness was fueling resentment and disgust. The Jews were becoming delusional, just like the zealots who had assumed the Romans couldn’t capture Mount Masada. Like a modern-day Flavius Silva, Abu Faddah had returned to give them a lesson to last another two millennia. “Very impressive,” he added. “We’re ahead of everybody else.”