“ Really? Don’t you preach against Israel?” Itah counted on her fingers. “First, that modern Zionism caused the collapse of Jewish observance. Second, that Israel’s secular nationalism and emphasis on material land possessions contradicts spiritual Judaism? Third, that the promiscuous Israeli society is a menace to the future of the Jewish faith?”
“ Yes, we contend that-spiritually speaking-modern Zionism has cost this nation more Jews than the Holocaust. But we don’t advocate violence. We would never condone killing of another Jew!”
“Even of a Zionist politician who’s a danger to others? Even a Rodef, a pursuer of Jews, who must be struck down according to Talmud?” Itah knuckled the table. “From Shin Bet’s perspective, your support of Rabin’s assassin is perfectly logical.”
Benjamin shook his head. “The only possible explanation is that Shin Bet thinks Lemmy is fooling us into hosting him, that we don’t realize who or what he really is.”
“Then I must leave,” Lemmy said. “It’s only a matter of time before they come here. I don’t want to put you at risk.”
Benjamin gestured at the window, painted red with the setting sun. “Sabbath is about to begin. They won’t dare to invade our community.”
“ Why?”
“ This is the City of Jerusalem, home to over two hundred thousand ultra-Orthodox Jews, many of whom are prone to religious protests. Our Neturay Karta community is small, but visible. The government will not risk inciting a riotous explosion in Jerusalem on the eve of the peace rally. I think you’re safe within Meah Shearim, at least until after the rally.”
*
Gideon and Agent Cohen spent a couple of hours in the emergency room. A series of tests revealed no concussions, fractures, or internal injuries for either of them, which was surprising as they had been unconscious for almost an hour. Spinoza clearly knew his business.
A report came from the Shin Bet desk at the airport. The name Horch had popped up on a KLM passenger list for that morning’s flight to Amsterdam. The individual had been dressed in a sport coat and khaki slacks, eyes shielded by gold-rimmed Ray-Ban sunglasses. He presented a valid German passport that identified him as Abelard Horch, age 69. Carrying an overnight bag though security, he bought a Sony Walkman at the duty free store and a German translation of an Ira Levin novel, Sliver. Despite the identical last name, the German tourist did not match the age and physical description of Spinoza. He was allowed to board his flight, which had taken off before noon, passing over Tel Aviv and the Mediterranean coast toward Europe.
Agent Cohen tossed the report. “The real Horch was here at Hadassah Hospital at the same time. It’s a good thing we’re not looking for a guy with my last name, or we would get a thousand reports a day.”
“We’re running out of time,” Gideon said.
“It’s your fault. I told you to shoot him!”
“How could I put a bullet in a man who raises his hands and speaks Hebrew?”
“He’s a chameleon, don’t you get it? For what the Saudis can pay, they hire the best. This guy is probably the top assassin operating in the world today. He can probably pass for a Frenchman, a Russian, or a Hungarian for all we know. You should have eliminated him at first sight, like I told you to.”
Gideon nodded thoughtfully. “I’m impressed with how he disabled us so quickly. But why didn’t he kill us?”
“Do I have to repeat myself?” Agent Cohen rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Spinoza is a professional. He won’t kill unless he’s being paid to kill you, or if you represent mortal danger to him, which obviously you weren’t. Next time, I suggest that you shoot, not talk, okay?”
“ First we have to find him. An ultra-Orthodox man in Jerusalem is like a needle in a haystack.”
“ There’s a way to deal with those schvartzehs. ” Agent Cohen used the derogatory term blacks for the ultra-Orthodox. “They know each other’s business like there’s no tomorrow. Watch this.”
He curled his good finger at the hospital chaplain, who was waiting just outside the ER.
The chaplain rubbed his hands nervously while explaining how Rabbi Benjamin Mashash, the leader of the Neturay Karta sect, had arranged with him to bring a minyan of men to pray with patients. “This is a Jewish hospital,” he said, “how can I refuse when a righteous rabbi offers to spend time here, provide spiritual healing to the-”
“That’s why Rabbi Gerster yelled Benjamin! ” Agent Cohen spat on the floor. “He was telling Spinoza to go to Rabbi Mashash in Neturay Karta!” He waved off the chaplain, who scattered away before they changed their minds.
“ But what’s the connection between Rabbi Gerster, Rabbi Mashash, and Spinoza?”
“ Maybe the Saudis are paying Neturay Karta to help Spinoza. That sect hates Israel as much as the Arabs do.”
“ I doubt it. But let’s assume he’s still with them. Neturay Karta has hundreds of families, and each one would do the rabbi’s bidding and hide Spinoza, no questions asked. How are we supposed to find him?”
“ Break down their doors one by one until we get him!”
“Not so simple.” Gideon pressed on the bruise at the back of his head. “Going door to door would require lots of agents, together with police support, roadblocks, armored vehicles. There’s going to be resistance, barricaded doors and windows, stone throwing. And as soon as word gets around Jerusalem about police invasion in the middle of the Sabbath, thousands will flood the streets. Neturay Karta is a core of fundamentalism, but the rest of the other ultra-Orthodox neighborhoods aren’t exactly bastions of patriotism. Unless we’re ready to deal with a city-wide riot, we must come up with a better plan.”
The ICU doctor appeared. “I checked Weiss. His vitals are fine, but we can’t wake him up. I don’t know what’s going on. It might be neurological.”
“We need him awake,” Gideon said. “He possesses information that’s essential to our investigation. It’s a matter of national security.”
The physician shrugged. “You’ll have to wait.”
“He’s pretending,” Agent Cohen said. “Stick a needle in his foot, and he’ll wake up.”
“We tried pricking his toe.”
“And?”
“No response. Not even an eyelid twitch.”
“What did you expect?” Gideon chuckled. “You’re not dealing with a normal human being.”
“Try breaking his finger,” Agent Cohen said. “Or poking his eye.”
*
Saturday, November 4, 1995
Sabbath morning at Benjamin’s small apartment was different than any other morning. A huge pot of meat, potatoes, and pinto beans had been simmering on the stove since sundown on Friday, filling the apartment with the unique smell of tcholent that Lemmy remembered from childhood. He was looking forward to Sabbath lunch after the services.
Everyone was up early, preparing to go together to the synagogue. Rather than a full breakfast, Sorkeh had put out slices of pound cake and a pitcher of milk. Benjamin sang to the youngest while changing his diaper. Lemmy helped one of the boys lace up his shining Sabbath shoes, while Sorkeh brushed her teenage daughter’s hair and tied it with a red ribbon. Itah borrowed a flowery headdress from Sorkeh, which went well with a taupe dress she had found in a box of donated clothes. The oldest boy, Jerusalem, was lying on the living room sofa, his face rosy with fever. When everyone was dressed and ready to go, they wished Jerusalem Good Sabbath and a speedy recovery, and went to the synagogue.
Itah walked with Lemmy behind the large Mashash family. “I used to hate them,” she said. “Their black coats and hats, their beards and side locks, and their holier-than-thou isolationism, as if we, secular Israelis, were not really Jews.”
“And now?”
“Now that Neturay Karta is the only place I’m safe?” She laughed. “Your father cares for these people, and I understand why. They’re like a Jewish microcosm, a biosphere of Talmudic life, unchanged and uncontaminated since before modernity. Look at them-like shtetl dwellers in Poland three centuries ago.”