"Why didn't she write me something to explain, to let me know I wasn't to blame?"
"I don't know. I so wish I did, but I don't. But I do know you were the best thing that ever happened to her, Naomi. I saw it in the pictures. That's still true, no matter how your relationship ended."
Naomi burst into tears, covered her face, and sort of toppled toward me. I held her tight as she shook against my shoulder. She cried for a long time. Partly in sorrow, and partly in relief, I thought. She now knew she hadn't driven Moria to suicide. The burden of guilt had lifted, at least most of it. Now she could begin mourning in earnest.
We stayed that way even after her tears ceased. I wasn't sure how long; time seemed different.
When she pulled away, Naomi looked embarrassed, and my arms felt empty. She got up to wash her face, returning a few minutes later, looking drained.
"There's something I don't understand," she said. "Why did Moria's father hire you to investigate her death if he had the note she mailed him?"
"He didn't. I don't know why, but it never reached him. It wouldn't be the first time a letter got lost in the mail."
"And Dr. Leitner?"
"I'm pretty sure he got his note. When I asked him if he thought Moria killed herself because of him, he got very upset and blamed her in the crudest language. Maybe he did have a conscience somewhere under all that ambition."
"What will happen to Moria's father?"
"He'll go away for a long time. Either to prison or the insane asylum."
"Good," she said. "I hope he dies locked up."
I did too. For what Gafni had done to his daughter, he deserved not being free ever again.
"He took a big risk hiring you, didn't he?" she asked.
"Because I might discover what he did to her?"
"Yes."
"He must have figured Moria wouldn't have told anyone about it. And, apart from her and him, no one else knew. It was only by accident that I discovered the truth. Also, I think he truly loved her—a sick, twisted love, but love all the same—and he couldn't stand the thought that she'd killed herself because of him. The chance of learning someone else was to blame was worth the risk."
"Are you going to tell him the truth?"
"Moria would want me to. But I'll wait until after his trial. Let him get his sentence first." I didn't tell her I was worried about how Gafni would take it. He was deranged enough to want to kill the messenger, and he had more than enough money to pay someone to come after me. I wanted a little rest before I had to deal with that.
Changing the subject, I said, "Naomi, there's one more thing I need to know. Did you visit Moria's apartment a few weeks after her death?"
Naomi nodded. "I lied about that too."
"What did you take?"
"Nothing. During our relationship, Moria wrote me poems. I gave them back to her when I ended things. I went to her apartment to look for them, but I didn't find them. She must have thrown them out." A pause, a deep inhalation. "I'm sorry I lied to you, Adam."
"That's all right. I understand why you did it. I'm sorry for jumping to the wrong conclusions, for blaming you for... well, for everything."
A twitch of her lips. "I suppose I brought it on myself with all my lies." She gave me a direct look. "There's something here, isn't there, Adam? Between the two of us?"
"Yes," I said. "Yes, there is."
"I felt it on the day we first met."
"I think I did too."
"But I can't do anything about it. I wish I could, but I can't. Please tell me you understand why."
An image of her husband, crippled and mute and blank-faced, caught between life and death, flashed before my eyes. I had to clear my throat before I spoke. "I do, Naomi."
"If I could, would what I did with Moria change things?"
I thought about it and shook my head. "No. I don't believe it would."
Naomi's smile was both happy and sad. She gripped my hands. Her pulse thrummed through my skin, in perfect rhythm with mine.
We sat like that for a long, peaceful while, our fingers clasped, communicating wordlessly yet deeply, knowing it would soon be time to say goodbye.
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Author's Note
Dear reader,
Thank you for reading A Death in Jerusalem. I hope you enjoyed it. I would like to tell you how I came to write this book and provide more historical details of the fascinating time in which this novel is set.
On January 7, 2020, I watched footage from Washington, DC, where the day before a group of protesters had stormed the Capitol Building as part of a demonstration against the election of Joe Biden as President of the United States.
With amazement, I watched history repeat itself. I was at the time busy writing the early chapters of A Death in Jerusalem, which begins with the storming of the Knesset in January 1952.
Long before beginning A Death in Jerusalem, I knew that I would write an Adam Lapid novel set in that time. I knew that Adam, a Holocaust survivor who lost his family in Auschwitz, would be incensed by Israel's intention to negotiate with Germany for reparations.
The political struggle over negotiations with Germany, which peaked in the violent demonstration outside the Knesset, was one of the most volatile moments in Israeli history, a time in which the country appeared on the verge of coming apart at the seams. Menachem Begin's fiery speech, parts of which I literally translated from Hebrew and included in this novel, might easily have served as a declaration of civil war. It is only by luck, or providence, that Israel avoided such a fate.
The issue of reparations arose much earlier. Even before Israeli independence, various Jewish organizations considered the matter, and Israeli officials discussed it as early as 1949. Many favored reparations but rejected any direct contact with Germany; Israel's government voted against direct negotiations in 1950 and again in 1951. Instead, Israel tried working through the western Allied powers, mainly the Americans, who at the time occupied West Germany.
This approach failed utterly. Western powers, wishing to prop West Germany as a bulwark against communism, were reluctant to place further financial obligations upon it. To get reparations, the government of David Ben-Gurion would have to deal with the Germans directly. Israel's dire economic situation forced Ben-Gurion's hand, and Israel and Germany commenced secret discussions in 1951.
These discussions bore fruit. In September 1951, West German chancellor Konrad Adenauer gave a historic speech in the West German parliament, the Bundestag. Adenauer declared that indescribable crimes against Jews had been committed in the name of the German people, and that while only a minority of Germans participated in these crimes and most abhorred them, these crimes demanded material reparations. He said Germany was willing to resolve the issue with Jewish and Israeli representatives.