Avraham Azrieli - The Masada Complex

She crossed over and found no guards on the Palestinian side. She walked down the road to the entrance to the camp, which was strewn with burnt tires, stones, and debris. A group of kids ran to her, begging for change. Women in robes and headdresses glanced at her from a distance. Despite the heat, she felt underdressed in her short-sleeve shirt and loose pants. She shooed the kids and quickened her steps.

Old men’s eyes followed her as she walked by an outdoor cafe, their hands lingering over the backgammon boards. She turned left into the alley, where she had played as a little girl, and approached the only true home she had ever known. Like a missing tooth, a gap appeared in the row of houses. A leg of a table stuck out from the rubble like a human arm pleading for help. She could tell it had been in ruins for a long time.

A boy not older than ten yelled from a terrace, “ Itbach el Yahood! ”

She understood his call to kill the Jews to mean that the Israelis had destroyed her father’s home. He would be in the mosque, she guessed, and turned back. Near the main strip, a group of men in jeans and green headbands blocked her way.

She smiled. “Salaam Aleikum.”

They circled her, so close that she felt the warmth of their bodies.

“ Salaam Aleikum, ” she repeated.

A man in a black hood approached her. He flashed a curved, shining blade, and Elizabeth suddenly realized that the boy’s call to kill the Jews had been aimed at her.

Rabbi Josh dipped his hands in the fountain and splashed his face. “How can she even think I was the one manipulating Al?” He searched the reporter’s face. “Do you believe I’m capable of it?”

Tara shook her head. “But I can see Masada’s logic. You had influence over Al as his rabbi, you knew his secrets, and you’re a devout Zionist.”

“Guilty until proven innocent? Would your editor let you go on the air accusing me of bribing Mahoney based on such circumstantial evidence?”

“Why did Colonel Ness attend your son’s funeral?”

“Why did you attend? To see who else was there, sniff around?”

“Fair enough. But what’s with the clandestine meeting at the Wailing Wall last night?”

He was shocked that they had followed him. “It’s the first time we’ve ever talked. He’s desperate to stop the Fair Aid Act. You can’t blame him for grasping at straws.”

“Are you a straw?”

“I’m a clueless rabbi from Arizona who had the bad luck to count Masada El-Tal and Alfred Zonshine among my parishioners. I’m a schmuck. Do you know what a schmuck is?”

Tara smiled. “I know what a shiksa is.”

“A schmuck is an idiot who thought himself smart. I thought I understood Masada, with her traumatic past, abstinence from happiness, and workaholic mania. I thought she suffered survivors’ guilt. I wanted to help her, maybe help myself too.” He breathed deeply and exhaled. “I don’t know anymore. She’s done things that cannot be reconciled with her goodness.”

“Like what?”

“Like seducing Al.”

“Bullshit! Who fed you this crap?”

Rabbi Josh was taken aback by Tara’s bluntness. “A friend overheard Masada and Al on the night of the shooting. They were doing it.”

“It’s Lenin, right?”

“Who?”

“The professor.”

“What if?”

“What if I told you he was the one who gave Masada the incriminating video clip?”

“I don’t believe it. Did she tell you that?”

“Not explicitly, but I can put two and two together.”

“Levy is a retired history professor. A good man.” Rabbi Josh shook his head. “Why would he get involved in this?”

“That’s the riddle. What motivates an elderly Jewish professor of history to bribe a U.S. senator for pro-Israel legislation and then leak the story to Masada?”

“Impossible.” Rabbi Josh followed her through the courtyard toward the exit. “The two acts are contradictory.”

“Aren’t rabbis trained in psychology?”

“I’m certain Levy Silver isn’t suffering from multiple personalities. You’re on the wrong track.”

She got into her car and lowered the window. “Maybe he’s conducting some kind of an experiment in political science? Academics do crazy things to get noticed.”

Rabbi Josh watched the TV reporter drive off. Had Levy Silver really given the video to Masada? Had he been the one manipulating Al? And where would the professor obtain such a pile of cash to bribe Senator Mahoney? Realizing how little he knew about the man he was so fond of, a sense of loss came over the rabbi. First Linda, then Raul, and now he had lost Masada, and maybe even Professor Silver. What would be the end of this suffering?

He broke into a run, sprinting along the busy street in an explosion of uncontainable energy. At the intersection on Agron Street, he turned left, away from the Old City, pounding the pavement with his feet, pumping the air with his arms, left-right, left-right, his mind going numb as his body worked madly, his skin sweating off bitter beads. He kept the sun at his back, gradually settling into a constant pace, avoiding potholes by habit learned over years of jogging.

The neighborhoods changed from old stone buildings along narrow streets to newer, taller condominium complexes along wide avenues, the men’s heads from wearing black hats to knitted, colorful skullcaps. He ran through parks and patches of pine trees, driving his body hard until his muscles burned for oxygen and his throat begged for water. He only slowed down when he saw the sign at the side of the road: Hadassah Hospital.

Professor Silver had asked the nurse to call Ezekiel, who was waiting outside when he came out of the hospital. As they drove down toward the main thoroughfare, a man with long hair ran by the car in the opposite direction. Silver turned to look though the rear widow, but couldn’t focus his eye well enough to be positive. Why would Rabbi Josh run to the hospital?

Ezekiel slowed down. “You know this guy?”

Silver settled back in the seat. “I thought Jesus has already been crucified.”

“I can see you’re feeling well!”

“Wonderful,” Silver lied. “The procedure was a great success.” Reflecting on Dr. Asaf’s behavior, he wondered whether the doctor had lied about the reasons for aborting the procedure. But why? A dreadful thought occurred to him: Had he spoken Arabic in his sleep?

“That’s terrific!” The cabbie tapped the steering wheel. “May you go strong for a hundred and twenty years!”

“God willing.” Silver felt the eye drops bottle in his pocket and focused his mind on the immediate future. He would fulfill the vow he had made to his son-find and kill the woman soldier.

First, he needed information. The memorial service would be a perfect opportunity. He would go with Masada, who would introduce him to the survivors and the victims’ families, who likely knew the identity of the woman who had tried to save their kids with her crazy rock-climbing stunt.

Second, the discovery that Masada’s little brother was the boy he had pushed off the mountain necessitated her elimination. With all that was at stake, he could not afford the risk of her prodding into that old affair.

The two challenges, he concluded, could be met in a single swipe. “Ezekiel,” he said, “are you free tomorrow night?”

“Ah!” The driver grinned. “Taking a lady on the town?”

“Actually, taking her out of town.”

“Cancelled?” Masada had taken a taxi to Hadassah to visit Professor Silver, only to be told by the nurse that he was discharged moments earlier. “But he travelled all the way from Arizona for this procedure!”