Avraham Azrieli - The Masada Complex

“I didn’t see you at the Wall,” Masada said.

“That’s the whole point,” he answered.

It was almost midnight when she entered the Ramban Hostel. The acne-faced youth was still at the front desk, reading a book.

He handed Masada her room key and a blue sheet of paper. It was an invitation to a memorial service on Mount Masada.

By the time she reached her room, Masada had made up her mind not to go. Srulie’s memory lived with her every waking moment. She didn’t need patriotic songs and empty speeches to soil his memory.

While undressing, she noticed the beige pants had fallen off the hanger in the closet. She looked for the laundry bag, finding it on the bed, not where she’d left it that morning. And the scribbled napkin was crumpled on the floor. Had Ness sent someone to look through her stuff?

They clamped Professor Silver’s head in a steel vise and strapped his arms, legs, and chest until he could only wiggle his toes. Trays of glistening instruments surrounded him. A masked orderly rolled in a cart with electronic equipment.

“Good morning, Professor.” Dr. Asaf put on grotesque goggles that peered at Silver with detached curiosity. “Ready for the big day?”

“Ready for a clear day.” Silver coughed, his throat suddenly dry.

The doctor nodded to the nurse, who stuck a needle in Silver’s arm.

“The last pain you’re going to feel today,” Dr. Asaf assured him.

It wasn’t pain Silver was worried about. The blotch had been growing every day, as if it knew its days were numbered.

“We’ll take good care of your eye.” The doctor’s lips curled into a smile, which didn’t look real under the protruding goggles.

A terrible thought came to Silver. What if he muttered in Arabic while asleep?

“After the procedure you might have minor discomfort in the eye or a slight headache. That’s normal while the macular area begins improving.”

He felt sleepy. Don’t speak Arabic!

Dr. Asaf’s goggles buzzed as the tiny lenses changed focus. “Good night, Professor.”

A spider with steel legs descended toward Silver’s eye.

“Eyelids spread starting at sixteen millimeter.” Dr. Asaf’s voice grew distant.

The spider landed on Silver’s eye.

“Widen the spread to thirty-two.”

The room darkened.

Coming out of the Ramban Hostel to meet Tara, Masada found a small crowd waiting at the front stairs. A bearded man in a yellow T-shirt and a colorful skullcap raised his hand in a mock salute. “Shalom!”

She scanned the street for Tara’s car.

“Senator Mitchum moved up the vote to tomorrow morning.” The bearded man showed her a printed page from Yahoo News. The U.S. Senate was going to begin the debate at 10:00 a.m. Washington time, which would be 5:00 p.m. Jerusalem time. Masada read the rest of the news report: Senator Mitchum intends to force a continuous debate on the Fair Aid Act. With most of the senators signing up to speak, Senate vote is expected to take place late into the night. The White House confirmed that the president will sign the bill promptly.

The crowd at the foot of the steps grew as pedestrians stopped to watch. A bus roared by, spewing blue fumes.

Masada handed back the paper. “What do you want from me?”

“We’re moving up the big rally. Lots of people are coming from all over. The central stage will be at the Jaffa Gate and we’d like you to speak.”

“Me?”

“You started it all. People want to hear what you have to say.”

Masada noticed Tara’s Subaru. She tried to go around the delegation.

The bearded man moved into her path. “By betraying Israel, America will bring its own downfall. The rise of Islam will swallow it. America will be gone like the Greeks, Romans, Babylonians, the Spanish and British empires.”

She pushed through and got into Tara’s car. As they drove off, she said, “I’m getting tired of this harassment. We need to expose Ness as soon as possible.”

Tara took the next left turn without slowing down. “What if he’s just trying to find out the truth, like you and me?”

“What if life was a box of chocolates?” Masada hit the dashboard. “Don’t you realize? Ness is the root evil of all this!”

“I think you have a Ness complex.”

“He’s a snake and a snake charmer combined, and I’m immune to both his venom and his charm.”

“Charming he is,” Tara agreed. “And you’re looking pretty good yourself. Glowing. What’s going on? Are you sleeping with someone?”

Masada sneered.

“It’s Brad Pitt, right?”

“You can have Rabbi Josh. I’m sleeping with myself, really sleeping for a change.” She lowered the window and breathed in the morning air. “I haven’t felt this good in a long time. The welling is gone, the bleeding stopped, even my knee’s painless.”

“Maybe Israel is good for you. Home sweet home.”

The idea made Masada uncomfortable. “How was last night’s candlelight dinner?”

“Romantic.” Tara shook her hair in mock seduction. “His wife is a great cook.”

“He took you home?”

“We ate with his wife, and while she washed the dishes-”

“He slipped his hand in your cleavage.”

“No, he only used his tongue.”

“Gross!”

“To tell me about you.” Tara slowed the car, glanced left and right, and passed through a red light, speeding up again. “He’s not your enemy. He deeply cares about you.”

“Do you realize who you’re dealing with?” Masada was getting angry. “If you’re going to confide in Colonel Ness, maybe we shouldn’t work together. I have too much at stake.”

“Don’t worry.” Tara passed two cars over a solid white line, forcing her way back into traffic. “I dispense information only in front of a TV camera.” She pointed ahead at a large building. “Isn’t this the defense ministry?”

When the morning service at the small neighborhood synagogue ended, Rabbi Josh recited the Kaddish and sat on a low stool near the door. The men folded their prayer shawls and stuffed them in storage compartments under their seats. Each paused on his way out and recited, “ May God comfort you among the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem. ”

Rabbi Josh nodded at the unfamiliar faces. He wished they knew Raul.

The synagogue emptied quickly. An old man turned off the lights and locked the doors.

On the street outside, the rabbi was surprised at the bustling traffic, but he realized Sunday was a workday in Israel. The sight of men hurrying to their jobs made him think of his own future. He was alone here, unable to even sit shiva for Raul properly, as no one would pay him a visit. What would he do with his life here? He could teach, but who would hire him with his heavily accented Hebrew? There was one place he could go for guidance.

Tired of waiting by the phone, Elizabeth had decided to visit the camp, break the ice with Father, and meet the old neighbors. The taxi dropped her off at the checkpoint. An Israeli soldier approached her while three others stood at a distance watching. A concrete wall extended in both directions, gray and ugly.

She gave her U.S. passport to a soldier, and a moment later an officer appeared. “Sorry. Tourists must first obtain a travel permit.”

“My name is Elizabeth McPherson. I’m senior counsel for the United States Immigration Service. We’re now part of the Homeland Security Department, so you can rest assured-”