Avraham Azrieli - The Masada Complex

“Are you drunk?”

“I’m serious! I expected Israelis to be rough and rude, but they’re really cool, definitely friendlier than any Europeans. And the technology and history and music, and all these handsome guys in uniform. I’m falling in love every five minutes!”

“I’m determined to continue to hate this place,” Masada said.

“So please don’t confuse me with the facts.”

Tara slapped her on the thigh. “Bad girl!”

At the intersection near the Central Bus Station, Ness turned left.

“He’s not going home.” Masada found a city map in the glove compartment. “We need a camera.”

“Funny you should say that.” Tara pulled out her phone. “I got a text message this morning from a cameraman who heard I’m in town.” She browsed down her message list. “Here it is: Oscar Photography and Video. ”

Even though he had never been to Jerusalem before yesterday, its streets felt familiar to Rabbi Josh. Entering the Old City through the Jaffa Gate, he made his way through the market alleys by intuition. He followed their gentle descent, filling his lungs with the smoky, odorous air while the Arab vendors proclaimed their goods.

At the end of an alley he found stairs leading all the way down to the great plaza under the Wailing Wall.

The giant stones were still warm, even though the sun had descended behind the surrounding buildings. He joined a group for the afternoon prayer and swayed back and forth to the familiar tune. At the end, he recited the mourners’ Kaddish , and the strangers around him said, “Amen.”

He lingered near the Wall, reluctant to let go of the sense of peaceful familiarity.

“Good Sabbath,” a man said.

He looked left and right, finding no one.

“Down here.”

“Oh.” He recognized the elderly amputee who had laid a wreath at Raul’s funeral.

The man moved his wheelchair closer and shook the rabbi’s hand. “How are you?”

Rabbi Josh sat on a bench. “I must accept His decision.”

“Acceptance first, then a struggle to make sense of the loss, to find meaning in what has happened.”

The rabbi looked away. “It’s hard.”

“I know. My son flew an F-14 in Lebanon.”

“I’m sorry for you. But at least his death served a great purpose.”

“True, but somehow the pride doesn’t diminish the pain.” He passed a hand through his white hair. “You must be angry at the writer.”

“She didn’t press the trigger.” Rabbi Josh sighed.

“Words often stimulate the pressing of triggers.” The man’s blue eyes were unwavering, all-knowing. “Your loss foreshadows our nation’s loss. It’s too late to bring back the dead, but there’s still time to prevent the political disaster she is bringing upon us.”

“She’s not an ordinary writer.” The rabbi forced his eyes away from the man’s penetrating gaze and looked up at the top of the Wailing Wall, where a soldier stood surveying the plaza. “She’s complicated.”

“Look at them.” Masada felt vindicated. “The master spy and his prized agent. Now you believe me?”

Tara peeked over the partition that separated women from men near the Wall. “They do seem chummy.”

“Where’s your cameraman?”

“I told him to look for a scruffy Brad Pit with a ponytail and a yarmulke.”

“Very funny.” Masada searched among the men near Ness and the rabbi. “The Orthodox will crucify him if he pulls out a camera before sunset. It’s still Sabbath.”

Tara moved away from the partition. “He’ll manage unless we blow our own cover.”

“We don’t have a cover.” Masada was already outlining in her mind the portion of the new article describing Rabbi Josh’s clandestine meeting with his Israeli handler, Colonel Dov Ness.

“They must be planning damage control for after the Senate approves the Fair Aid Act.”

“You’re naive. The Israelis will continue to work against it until the senate’s done voting.” Masada followed her, tailing a group of tourists. “Ness doesn’t give up. I mean, a normal amputee would be sitting at home, collecting disability and watching TV. This one’s flying helicopters and asking out blondes.”

Tara leaned closer and whispered, “He must have been a knockout in bed.”

“Hush! We’re at the Wailing Wall!”

They burst out laughing, drawing shocked glances from the tourists.

“I agree,” the man in the wheelchair said. “Masada El-Tal is a complicated woman.”

Rabbi Josh looked away. “She’s very different from the person portrayed by the media.”

“I knew Masada in the army. She was an incredible young woman.”

“You’re no government pensioner, are you?”

“I’m a concerned Zionist, like you.”

“I expected to be approached by someone from the government, but not someone like you.” The rabbi chuckled. “Anyway, Masada El-Tal was a member of my congregation. And a close friend. But I still don’t know whether she was the mastermind behind the bribe or a victim like me. The evidence points in both directions.” He gestured at the Wall. “I came here hoping for divine guidance.”

“If this is your dilemma, I can solve it. Masada is mentally incapable of manipulation or deceit.”

“But you’re capable of both.” Rabbi Josh felt a surge of anger. “Who are you … really? ”

“I’m Colonel Dov Ness. Her former commander.”

“Why did you release her conviction to the media?”

“It’s not about me or Masada or you.” Colonel Ness leaned closer. “It’s about saving the Jewish state by finding who’s behind the bribe. You study Talmud, right?”

The rabbi nodded.

“Then you understand Talmudic logic about risk versus benefit. For Masada, the supposed benefit was revenge-if that’s her motivation. But she could achieve the same goal by writing critically of Israel, its policies, even its very existence. The risk of a criminal scheme, which could land her in federal jail forever, was disproportionally greater than the benefit. For the Israeli government, the benefit of a Mutual Defense Act would be miniscule compared with the risk of harming the relationship with the United States. Therefore, it would be illogical for Masada or the State of Israel to take the enormous risk of bribing a U.S. senator.”

“What seems illogical in hindsight may have seemed logical in foresight.”

“None of this has been an accident. There must be a person out there who planned it all, who controlled Al Zonshine, who knows why, how, and when this whole scheme was conceived and launched.”

“Masada?”

“Do you really believe it’s her?”

The rabbi wanted to nod, but he couldn’t. In his heart, he knew she was all good.

“You already know who that person is.”

“No.” Rabbi Josh stood. “I don’t.”

Ness looked up. “But you do, Rabbi. You don’t realize it, but you do.”

“I don’t!” His shout made a praying Hassid nearby pause and glance over.

“You do!” Ness rolled his wheelchair after the departing rabbi. “You just don’t want to see it. It’s too inconvenient .”

Masada and Tara waited at a bar for Oscar. He turned out to be a French-born Israeli with dark skin and a buzz cut, who fashioned a Hawaiian shirt. He showed them photos of Colonel Ness and Rabbi Josh-talking, arguing, the rabbi departing in anger. “No audio,” Oscar said, “too much background noise.”