The officer pulled out his handgun. He aimed upward and released one shot.
All the black-garbed men turned as one and fled up the narrow alley toward the synagogue, except for Redhead Dan, who stayed by the gate and shouted, “Don’t run! God is great! Don’t run!”
Lemmy took refuge in a doorway. He heard someone yell, “The rabbi! The rabbi!”
Rabbi Abraham Gerster appeared at the synagogue doors up the alley. He walked in measured steps toward the gate. The men parted to give him a wide berth, bowing their heads in respect, or embarrassment. He was dressed in Sabbath clothes-black coat, white shirt, and a wide-brimmed, black velvet hat, which cast a shadow over his bearded face.
The officer watched from across the gate, gun in hand, deputies wielding their clubs.
The rabbi waved a hand, and a handful of men removed the chairs, tables, and doors. The hinges screeched as the gate opened.
He walked into the street, approaching the officer, who holstered his gun and took off his helmet, revealing gray hair. They spoke for a few moments. The officer kept shaking his head, and Rabbi Gerster pointed at the van. The officer pulled out a mouthpiece attached to a spiral cord. He stood in a pool of shattered glass, engaged in an angry exchange with a person on the other end of the radio. He threw the mouthpiece onto the driver’s seat and beckoned his men.
Rabbi Gerster spoke to him, and the officer gestured at his crotch, his eyes searching the silent crowd. He pointed. “There! The punk with blond hair!”
Rabbi Gerster curled his finger at Lemmy.
Benjamin muttered, “ Oy vey! ”
“Say Kaddish for me.” Lemmy limped out the gate.
His father looked at him-the dirty pants, the bloodied shirt, and torn coat. “Major Buskilah says you punched him.”
“He clubbed me. Here!” Lemmy motioned at his behind.
The major took a step forward. “You little-”
“ Jerusalem! ” Rabbi Gerster pointed. “Apologize to this man.”
“I’m very sorry.” Lemmy smiled at Major Buskilah. “May God ease your pain in a week or two.”
“That’s enough!” Rabbi Gerster waved his hand. “Go home and clean up!”
Benjamin waited at the gate. “What did he say?”
“We discussed the weather. Why are they here, anyway?”
“You don’t know?”
“What?”
“There was a demonstration downtown!”
Cheering sounded as Major Buskilah and his men drove off. Rabbi Gerster crossed the soiled street. The cheering quieted down. He entered the gate and walked up the alley. The men watched in silence until he entered the synagogue.
“Did you see that? Your father scared away the police!”
“What demonstration?”
“Redhead Dan organized a group. They went to King George Street to protest the abortion law. The drivers were honking, so Dan threw a rock at a car. They say the driver was injured.” Benjamin nodded knowingly. “God punished him for driving a car on Sabbath.”
“Throwing rocks is also forbidden on Sabbath.” Lemmy had heard his father say it. “Let’s find my hat.”
Chapter 7
After instructing Major Buskilah over the radio to leave Meah Shearim, Elie Weiss waited at the Russian Yard police headquarters until the force returned. The major was fuming. “We should have arrested them! Stone throwing is a crime!”
“Count your blessings,” Elie said. “The event ended without serious injury and, even more importantly, without any media presence.”
“Appeasement will only empower these fanatics!”
“Leave the strategy to me.”
“You’re a civilian. This is a police matter.”
“It’s a political matter, and I speak for the prime minister. From now on, you’ll consult with me before taking any action against the ultra-Orthodox. Understood?”
Major Buskilah grunted, but he didn’t argue anymore.
From the Russian Yard, Elie drove to Premier Eshkol’s official residence in the Rehavia neighborhood. The house rested in the shade of a giant elm tree. The previous meeting had just ended, and Elie saw Chief of Staff General Yitzhak Rabin cross the small courtyard and get into his staff car, which drove off.
An assistant showed Elie in.
Like David Ben Gurion before him, in addition to being prime minister, Levi Eshkol also held the defense portfolio. The meeting with General Rabin had left him with a red face. “They’re sucking my blood, Weiss, and spitting it in my face!” Eshkol dropped into a chair. “I’ll be remembered as the klutz who got lost in Ben Gurion’s big shoes.”
“You’re doing a fine job,” Elie said.
“And what about your job? You told me they’ll only chant Psalms and go home to eat tcholent. Now they’ve put a driver in the hospital, and the opposition is drafting a no-confidence resolution for tomorrow’s Knesset session over my government’s failure to rein in the meshuggeneh black hats. I don’t need this! I have President Nasser and King Hussein and the crazy Syrians to deal with!”
Elie lit a cigarette. “It was an accident.”
“Accident is the incompetent’s fig leaf.” Levi Eshkol had been pressed into leadership by Golda Meir and the other old-guard Labor leaders, who used him to block the younger politicians from ascending to the top. But now the Arabs were gearing up for another wholesale attack on Israel, and the media was pressuring Eshkol to yield the defense portfolio to the famed General Moshe Dayan. “Are you losing your touch, Weiss? My people were able to cut deals with the religious parties on the abortion vote in the Knesset-”
“Neturay Karta is not a party.” Elie stubbed his cigarette in an ashtray that was already full. “It’s a fundamentalist sect that cuts no deals, a fuse that can ignite a nationwide religious revolt.”
“My point exactly. They are your responsibility.” He shook his finger at Elie. “I inherited you, Weiss. I was told that your Special Operations Department can handle them, but I’m starting to have doubts.”
“Why?”
“With food comes appetite. Now rocks, tomorrow guns.”
“Shooting is not a Talmudic skill,” Elie said. “My reports outline our strategy. Neturay Karta is the epicenter of Jewish fundamentalism, of fervent anti-Zionists. We’ve been monitoring them for two decades. Ben Gurion had expected bloody religious riots within five years of declaring independence. It’s been almost two decades, and I’ve been able to contain them.”
The mention of Ben Gurion’s name had the desired effect. Prime Minister Eshkol seemed deflated. “I don’t read the Bible every day like he does. Maybe I should.”
“A small disturbance here and there is a small price to pay for civic order.”
“Not so small if you’re the poor driver who paid with a cracked skull.” The prime minister took off his thick glasses and started polishing them. “If they go meshuggah again, you must crush them like flies.”
“Neturay Karta might be a small sect, but thousands of ultra-Orthodox citizens would come to its defense from all over Israel-Haifa, Tel Aviv, Beersheba. I have informers everywhere. The black hats despise the Jewish state as a sin against God. They view the secular majority of Israelis as heretics.”
“You exaggerate.” The prime minister pulled off his shoes and rested his feet on a chair. “How many do we have nationwide?”
“Altogether about seven percent of the population. And they believe only God and his Messiah may rebuild the Jewish homeland.” Elie snapped his fingers. “Miracle making is reserved for God. They deny the authority of the government, and if they choose to go from Talmudic pontifications to action, they could destroy the Zionist dream.”
“They can sit back and let the Arabs do the job.” Prime Minister Eshkol sighed. “The Soviets have been arming the Arabs to the teeth-planes, ships, tanks, rockets, guns. The wars of ’forty-eight and ’fifty-six were child’s play compared to what’s awaiting us. They won’t repeat their mistakes. And if the Jordanians join Egypt and Syria? A unified Arab force, trained and armed by the Soviets, attacking us simultaneously on all three fronts! Armageddon! ”