The synagogue on Rue Buffault had been restored to its original, pre-war glory through the efforts of several patrons. Andre Silverman had been a pivotal force in the restoration project, especially in the details of craft and decoration. Now the names of his parents, who had died in Auschwitz, were displayed on the Wall of Memory by the entrance, along with thousands of other victims.
A police car and a black Citroen limousine were parked in front of the synagogue. Two uniformed gendarmes stood in the forecourt, chatting with a chauffeur in a visor hat. They glanced at the group entering the foyer of the synagogue, where Rabbi Dasso greeted Andre and his guests. Coats and scarves were discarded, the men entered the crowded prayer hall, and the women climbed the stairs to the second-floor mezzanine. Tanya sat next to Juliette near the railing and looked below, where the congregants shook Andre’s hand and patted Laurent’s shoulder. All the big names in the French art scene were here, many of them Gentiles, including Charles Devaroux, a fellow art dealer who was now minister of art and culture under President Jacques Chirac.
The rows of seats faced east, filled with men and boys in suits, ties, and colorful skullcaps. Laurent sat next to the rabbi on the dais by the Torah ark, facing the congregation.
Tanya tried to follow the prayers in the book. She had not been inside a synagogue in many years.
After an hour of silent prayers and joyous singing, the rabbi took the Torah scroll out of the ark and passed it to Laurent, who carried it to the dais. Andre Silverman joined his son, who rolled open the parchment and read the Hebrew words in a thin voice with a heavy French accent.
The Torah chapter was divided into seven, and for each part a male relative was called up to recite a blessing. For the last portion, Laurent recited, “ Blessed be God, king of the universe, for choosing us from all the nations to receive the Torah. ”
He proceeded to read aloud, “Remember, O Israel, what Amalek did when you escaped from Egypt, weary and famished, how Amalek cut you down and killed your weakest. Therefore, you shall erase the nation of Amalek and leave no trace of it under the sky. You shall never forget!”
*
Abu Yusef watched the Jews put their holy scroll back in the ark. Their rabbi went up to the pulpit, bringing with him the chubby boy, who held a sheet of paper. Abu Yusef glanced at Bashir.
“Dear family and friends,” the boy said in a trembling voice, his eyes on the paper. “Thank you for sharing this important day with us. This morning we read how God orders us to remember what Amalek did to us and take revenge, Nekamah, of our enemies.”
Abu Yusef leaned over and whispered to Bashir, “That’s us!”
Bashir placed a calming hand on Abu Yusef’s knee. They were seated in the last row, all the way to the side, dressed formally like the men and boys around them. They wore skullcaps on their heads, and the prayer shawls around their necks were white with blue stripes, like the Israeli flag. But unlike everyone else, the soft blue velvet cases in their laps were not empty.
The boy looked up and smiled at a woman in the mezzanine. “We ask a question,” he continued. “Why did God order King Saul to kill every Amalekite man and woman, baby and child, ox, lamb, camel, and ass without mercy?”
Abu Yusef realized he was sweating. He glanced back over his shoulder and was relieved that the doors remained shut. The gendarmes stayed outside during the service. He heard noises from above, looked up at the mezzanine, and saw the women passing around bags of candy. He took a deep breath. Everything according to plan.
“Amalek attacked the Israelites after God split the Red Sea for them and drowned the pursuing Egyptians. By attacking us, Amalek challenged God. That’s why it was singled out for total and eternal revenge.”
Bashir unzipped his blue velvet case. Abu Yusef did the same.
The boy cleared his throat. “But other than Amalek, even enemies deserve a chance to repent their cruelty and become friends. Forgiveness and peace should always prevail between Israel and its neighbors.”
Abu Yusef almost sneered. Peace! Right!
Bashir’s hand slipped into his velvet case.
“In conclusion, dear family and friends, God wishes us peace, shalom. And today, as I become a man, I thank my beloved parents for bringing me up to this occasion, and Rabbi Dasso for helping me prepare my Torah reading. Sabbath Shalom!”
Everyone stood and tossed sweets at the boy. “Mazal tov! Mazal tov!”
In the back of the prayer hall, Abu Yusef and Bashir pulled the hand grenades from their velvet cases, drew the rings from the fuses, and hurled the grenades through the rain of candy toward the podium. They dropped to the floor and covered their heads with their hands.
The explosions followed one another in rapid succession. An instant later, the two Arabs got up and ran through the rubble toward the front of the synagogue, away from the doors.
The wooden benches had smashed into one another as if hit by a giant fist, taking the congregants down, flesh and wood gritted together into a mass of red and brown. Smoke filled the air, descending slowly. The floor was strewn with body parts. Abu Yusef’s shoes squeaked in the puddles of blood.
A woman up in the mezzanine shrieked, “Laurent! Laurent!”
The explosions had shattered most of the wooden dais. The boy sat upright, his back to the Torah ark. The sun shone on him through the blown windows. At the foot of the dais, a white-haired Jew slumped, his chest open. Spasms of dark blood burst out between his ribs, which protruded from the flesh like broken sticks. He didn’t move. Nearby, another Jew tried to push up from the floor, his head rocking up and down. But he had no legs anymore, only stumps that oozed blood. He tried to reach down and stem the gushing blood. Slowly his head stopped rocking, and the stream of blood slowed to a trickle.
The woman in the mezzanine kept shrieking, “ Laurent! ”
The boy’s eyes opened.
Abu Yusef followed his gaze and saw, through the descending smoke, the woman lean over the railing above. She cried again, “ Laurent! ”
“ Oui, Mama? ” His voice was clear, but a moment later his head bowed, his chin rested against his chest, and his gaze froze.
“Get one of them!” Bashir’s voice tore Abu Yusef from momentary paralysis. He bent down and collected the Jew with no legs. With the corpse pressed to his chest, Abu Yusef followed Bashir, who was carrying a toddler with a split skull and a severed forearm.
The doors opened and the gendarmes peeked in cautiously.
*
The explosions tore Elie out of deep sleep. At first he thought the noise belonged in his dream. Using the wall for support, he made his way to the window. He pushed the curtains aside. Three floors below, people were running in the street.
He bent over the windowsill and looked to the right at the forecourt of the synagogue. A cloud of smoke was rising, and a small crowd formed a semi-circle around a pavement strewn with pieces of glass and wood.
His mind was maddeningly slow.
An explosion? In the synagogue? How?
It’s not Abu Yusef. Couldn’t be. Had no time to plan, to scout, to infiltrate.
Must be another group.
Hamas? Hezbollah? Al-Qaida? The Iranians?
More screaming!
A man with a colorful skullcap emerged from the smoke, carrying a bloody child.
Another man followed, also carrying a child. No. Not a child. An old man without legs!
The wounded were laid down on the pavement. A faraway siren sounded, and another one. More people ran from both ends of Rue Buffault toward the synagogue.
But against that tide of curious spectators, the two men who had carried out the first wounded walked toward Rue Chateaudun. Their suits were stained with blood, but they seemed composed and purposeful. As they passed across from his window, Elie recognized them.