“I disagree,” Elie said. “The Orthodox will react with fear and self-flogging. And the few bad ones, we’ll pick like blackberries and squash them.”
The waitress showed up with a freshly brewed tea pot.
Elie filled his cup. “Remember what happened to weak Jews? Israel will be destroyed unless we eliminate our enemies.” He slurped his tea, and the rising steam blurred his face for a moment.
“I won’t let you go through with this madness!”
“It’s way over your head.” He warmed his hands over the tea pot. “Don’t interfere.”
“And if I do? You’ll have me cut down as well?”
“Just a short vacation.” Elie put on his wool cap and beckoned the two agents. “In seclusion.”
When she saw the agents approach, Tanya grabbed the steaming tea pot and emptied it in Elie’s face.
L emmy was reading The Painted Bird when his mother knocked on the door and entered his room. “Benjamin is in the foyer to see you. Would you like some milk and cookies?”
“Thanks.” He stuffed the book under his pillow and went to greet Benjamin. As he reached the foyer, the door to his father’s study opened and Yoram, Redhead Dan’s study companion, came out, quickly leaving the apartment.
Rabbi Gerster emerged from his study. He wore a white shirt and black pants held by suspenders. He looked tired. The bandage was gone from his forehead, the small wound covered by a scab.
“Good day, Rabbi,” Benjamin said. “I hope you’re feeling better.”
“Seeing you here makes me feel better.” Rabbi Gerster held a book in his hand, bound in rugged brown leather. The Zohar. “You know, boys, what’s the difference between a sin against God and a sin against a fellow Jew?”
“Yes,” Benjamin said. “God won’t forgive the latter unless you sought forgiveness from the one you offended.”
“Jerusalem?” His father waited until their eyes met. “Yoram told me about the box. I now understand what you wanted to tell me that night.”
Lemmy shrugged.
“But I was too upset to listen. It was after midnight, and no one knew where you had gone. Your mother almost went out of her mind with worry. You understand?”
Another shrug.
“It was my duty to discipline you. Talmud says: A father who deprives his son of the whip is like a father who hates his son. Right?”
Lemmy glanced at Benjamin, whose mouth was slightly open, looking from father to son.
“You understand why I had to hit you, yes?”
“Are you asking for my forgiveness?”
The rabbi smiled sadly. “Yes, I am.”
“Perhaps you should first ask Mother for her forgiveness? I mean, what’s a slap on the face compared to what you’re doing to her?”
Rabbi Gerster’s shoulders sagged, and the strong hand that had slapped Lemmy a week ago came up and tugged at the graying beard. He turned and stepped back into his study.
Lemmy grabbed Benjamin’s arm and led him to his room. A plate of warm cookies and two glasses of milk were waiting on his desk.
“Master of the Universe!” Benjamin took off his black hat. “What’s going on?”
“It’s complicated.” Lemmy shut the door. “Here, have some milk.”
“I can’t.” Benjamin looked at his watch. “I ate a late lunch, turkey sandwich, so I’m not allowed dairy for another two hours. Are the cookies dairy?”
“I’m sure they are. My mom uses milk chocolate chips.” He felt angry at the sight of milk and cookies kept from Benjamin’s enjoyment because of the six-hour wait required between eating meat and dairy. “This is all so idiotic!”
“What’s so idiotic?”
“All God said in the Torah was: Do not cook a calf in its mother’s milk. From this symbolic ethical rule we Jews have created a behemoth!”
“The dietary rules make sense,” Benjamin said.
“To avoid the risk of cooking a calf in its mother’s milk, the early sages banned cooking any calves in any cow’s milk. The next generation of rabbis decided not to cook any cattle-young or old-in any milk, including goat, sheep, and camel’s milk. The next generation decided to ban eating any meat simultaneously with any dairy product-just in case! Then Jews bought separate sets of pots and pans and plates and silverware for meat and dairy to make sure there’s no risk of cooking a calf in its mother’s milk!”
Benjamin laughed. “You know the answer. These are fences to guard us from an accidental sin.”
“Accidental incestuous cooking? Is that the reason we treat chicken like beef, lest one day a clever Yid farmer would breed a chicken that gives milk, and his dumb wife might cook a little, soft-feathered chick’aleh in the milk of its mother hen!”
“Could happen!”
“And finally, the rabbis decided that we should wait six hours after eating meat or fowl because, if we ingested dairy, it might lead to cooking!” Lemmy leaned forward and pulled on Benjamin’s side lock, extending the rolled hair until it straightened as long as his arm. “It’s written: Do not shave the side of your beard like the Gentiles.” He let Benjamin’s side lock spring back into place, dangling down to his shoulder. “God didn’t want Israelites imitating the pagan hairstyle of biblical times. But over generations, Don’t shave became Don’t trim, Don’t cut, Don’t touch your payos from birth to death, as if this hair,” he tugged again on Benjamin’s side lock, “these dead cells are somehow sacred. It’s ridiculous!”
“Is God ridiculous? Where do you get these ideas?”
Lemmy pulled out The Painted Bird and handed it to him.
Benjamin examined the front cover, the colorful drawings of a painted bird.
“This story is written so well that you feel like you’re watching a movie.”
It was an odd statement. Neither of them had ever seen a movie. Movies were for the sinful, empty-minded Zionists. Benjamin read a few lines, threw the book on the bed, and rubbed his hands against his pants. “It’s a sin to read books like that!”
“It’s about the life of a kid like us in a different time.” He picked the book up from the bed. “It makes you think about the horrible things people do to each other, and-”
“Shush!” Benjamin’s hand covered Lemmy’s mouth. “A good Jew must devote all his time to studying Talmud!”
“Aren’t we supposed to be a guiding light for the goyim?”
“So?”
“How could we be a guiding light for those about whom we know nothing?” It felt odd to repeat Tanya’s argument to his friend.
“You don’t need to commit sins to understand the sinners.” Benjamin went to the door. “Sabbath starts soon. We should go to the synagogue.”
“Wait!” Lemmy’s impulsive sharing of his secret had placed them on a risky path, and he was determined to make his friend understand. “At least read a page, see how wonderful it is!”
“No! Don’t you realize that Satan is trying to seduce you?”
He opened the book and started turning the pages of fine print. He was running out of time. “This boy’s parents left him with an old woman at the beginning of the war. They were Jews, or Gypsies. A few months later the old woman dies, and the boy hits the road. He encounters all kinds of strange people who abuse him. And after every cruel experience he finds hope in a new method of worship. First he is superstitious, completely obsessed by witchcraft and evil spirits. Next he becomes a devout Catholic, counting each prayer against each indulgence. Finally he decides that, because all his devotion didn’t save him from suffering, God doesn’t exist. So he becomes a communist, constantly reciting party slogans about equality and freedom. At one point, a peasant paints a bird in different colors, and when it’s released to rejoin its flock, they don’t recognize it and attack. The boy sees a rain of feathers-red, blue, yellow, green, and orange-fall to the ground.”
“And the same will happen to you!” Removing a volume of Talmud from a shelf, Benjamin opened it. “Generations of sages created this eternal wisdom for you. Why go to foreign pasture when your own field is already so lush?”
A loud knock sounded, and Rabbi Gerster entered the room. “Shall we go to the synagogue?”