Gerald N. Lund 4-In-1 Fiction eBook Bundle

by Gerald N. Lund

  “Well, there goes Yom Kippur,” Nathan muttered, moving around to the back of the bus to get the shovel.

  Miri stepped forward and took his arm. “Nathan,” she pleaded.

  He pushed her hand away. “Don’t ‘Nathan’ me!”

  Sick with shame, she turned to Ali. “Don’t pay him any attention,” she murmured. “He doesn’t really mean it. He’s just angry now.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Ali said again, his voice stricken. “I didn’t see it.”

  By three o’clock that afternoon it was clear that Nathan was not going to make it home for any part of Yom Kippur. They had dug, sweated, heaved, and coaxed the Volkswagen through all but the last ten yards of the sand when the rear axle gave a final weak whine of protest and burned out. Nathan kicked at it savagely, cursing in Hebrew. Then he grew surprisingly calm.

  “Okay, we may as well make ourselves comfortable. We’re not going anywhere.”

  “Just like that?” Brad demanded. “What do we do?”

  “Sit and wait. The army patrols this area constantly, and we’re out in the open. They’ll find us.”

  “Can’t we walk for help?” Brad persisted.

  “The nearest well is thirty miles away, and only a pinprick on the map. We have no compass and only general area maps. We will wait here.”

  “For how long?” Sarah asked.

  “Probably two days,” Nathan said. “Tomorrow is Yom Kippur. Patrols will be minimal on the holiday. But on Sunday, I think we can expect to be found. Our bus is bright blue and easily seen. We’ll build a fire at night. We have enough food and water for several days yet.” He shrugged. “We’ll make ourselves as comfortable as possible in the meantime. Our parents will be worried, but they know we can take care of ourselves.”

  Nathan smiled, as close as he would come to an apology. “We will show Brad and Ali how we Jews celebrate Yom Kippur.”

  Twenty-four

  It was Saturday, October 6, 1973—Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, the holiest day in the Jewish calendar. The Bible calls it in Hebrew Shabbat Shabbaton—the Sabbath of Sabbaths, for on this day of all days work ceases and great solemnity prevails. It is Israel’s day to expiate her sins, to receive atonement and forgiveness from God, and to restore her relationship with him. Even nonobserving Jews abstain from food and drink. One confesses his sins to God and also to his fellow men, since forgiveness from God is signified by obtaining forgiveness of one’s neighbor.

  Except for the Arab towns in Israel, it was as though all life had come to a halt. All Jewish shops and businesses were closed, and traffic virtually ceased except for an occasional emergency vehicle. No public transportation was running; no places of entertainment were open. Even the Israeli Broadcasting Service shut down for the day. And nearly half of the regular Israeli army, like Nathan, were home on holiday leaves.

  Thousands flocked to the synagogues for the five-hour morning service of atonement. Suddenly Israeli army messengers began appearing at the services. Young men folded up their prayer shawls and left, their faces grim. Devout worshippers left the synagogues to find the street filled with speeding trucks, buses, and jeeps, and the air filled with the wail of air raid sirens. Israeli Radio came back on the air, and its classical music broadcasts were continuously interrupted by coded messages laced with such incongruous phrases as “meat pie,” “sea wolf,” “lady of charm,” phrases that sent one hundred eighty thousand reservists to predesignated locations.

  Friday night, as Yom Kippur was just beginning, Egyptian frogmen swam underwater and stealthily planted explosive charges in the sixty-foot-high embankment of the Suez Canal. Above them was the vaunted Bar Lev line, named after General Haim Bar Lev, whose brain-child it was. Impregnable bunkers, tank traps, gun emplacements, and miles of trenches laced the entire east bank of the Suez Canal. It was Israel’s buffer against another Egyptian attack. On that night of October fifth, Israeli soldiers sat in their bunkers quietly, thinking of families and Yom Kippur celebrations, envious of their buddies who were fortunate enough to be back home. They were totally unaware of what was happening in the water just sixty feet below them.

  At precisely 2:00 P.M. on Saturday, a massive artillery barrage was unleashed by the Egyptian army across the canal. At the same time, plungers were shoved home, and the dynamite planted the night before blasted massive holes in the steep sides of the canal’s banks. Before the smoke had even cleared, a hundred Egyptian commandos picked up their boats, ran down to the water, and sped across. They stormed up the embankment and attacked the bunkers ferociously with grenades and flame throwers.

  Within the next half hour three Russian-built tanks were ferried across to join them. One bulldozed its way into the main bunker and opened fire at point-blank range. Of the fifty Israeli defenders in the bunker, seventeen surrendered, a few fled, and the rest were annihilated. The highly touted Bar Lev line crumpled like soda crackers in a rainstorm, and Egyptian armor and men poured into the Sinai—the Sinai they had fled from in shame and panic just six years earlier. Now it was Israeli soldiers who were caught by surprise. Some fled, leaving their shoes behind; many were captives before they had time to comprehend what was happening. Many more died before they could know that the fourth war between Israeli and Arab in twenty-five years had begun with a vengeance.

  As the Egyptian army punched across the Suez, Syria opened a second front on the Golan Heights in Northern Israel. A deafening bombardment from long-range artillery hurled tons of high explosives onto Israeli settlements. Six divisions—one hundred thousand men—backed by fourteen hundred tanks, launched a savage attack across the United Nations demilitarized zone. Israeli intelligence had reported frightening buildups along both Arab borders, but the government had not responded. Later they would claim they waited in order to let the world know without question that the Arabs had struck first. But mobilization had not been called for until a scant four hours before the attack was launched. There was little question but what the Israelis had been caught by surprise.

  Later questions about that lack of preparedness would eventually topple Golda Meir’s government and bring Moshe Dayan, Minister of Defense and adulated war hero of the Six Day War, under severe criticism. But for now, a stunned nation rushed frantically to fill the breach. On the three o’clock news broadcast in Jerusalem, a newscaster nearly screamed into his microphone. “This is war! It is not just border ‘incidents.’ We are at war!”

  * * * * * *

  Brad sat quietly on the blanket, leaning up against the bus. Miri had her head in his lap, her eyes closed, though he didn’t think she was asleep. He studied her face, caught in the wonder of her. The tan skin drawn smoothly over high cheekbones, the long, finely sculpted nose, the firm chin and full mouth—they all blended together to create a very lovely face.

  She half opened her eyes. “Tell me what you are thinking,” she said lazily.

  “No way,” he said, shaking his head.

  She opened her eyes wide. “And why not?”

  “Because it would give you an inflated ego.”

  “Mmmm. That’s what I need. Tell me.”

  “I was thinking that you are very lovely.”

  She smiled and started to get up, but Brad pushed her back down where he could watch her.

  “Really?” she asked. “Was that what you were honestly thinking.”

  “Cross my heart.”

  “That’s nice. Tell me more.”

  “You can’t handle more. Tell me what you were thinking.”

  “Where’s Nathan?” she asked, turning her head to look around.

  “He and Sarah are still up on the ridge. Ali’s in the back of the bus asleep. Why?”

  “I wouldn’t want him to hear this or to tell my parents. But I was thinking that this is the nicest Yom Kippur I’ve ever had. I’m glad the bus is broken.”

  Brad nodded. It had been delightful. They had eaten a simple meal yesterday afternoon, and then just before sunset, Nathan, embarrassed because he c
ouldn’t remember more, had acted as cantor and had sung the kol nidre, the hymn used by Jews the world over to usher in the Day of Atonement. It supplicated the Lord, asking for forgiveness for any vows, promises, or obligations the individual may have overlooked during the year that would interfere with his obtaining God’s forgiveness. Nathan had a rich tenor voice, and the plaintive, haunting melody of the prayer, sung in the vastness of the Sinai, deeply stirred Brad.

  Today they had spent in quiet relaxation, Ali and Brad joining the three Jews in their abstention from food. Nathan and Sarah had gone for several walks, giving Brad and Ali ample opportunity to talk Mormonism with Miri. She had not reimposed her previous restrictions on Brad again. In fact, she now seemed to welcome his earnest attempts to sway her. They had read the original requirements for the Day of Atonement as given to Moses and recorded in the Book of Leviticus, Brad pointing out the symbolism of Christ. It had been a slow, lazy, enjoyable day.

  He touched her cheek lightly. “I love you,” he said happily.

  Miri reached up and took his hand, but left it against her cheek. “And I you. I think back to how rude I was to you those first few days, and I get a cold, scary feeling. What if you hadn’t stayed?”

  Brad smiled with the memory. “We had some real times, didn’t we? I used to stay up nights planning how to get back at you.”

  “And was this part of your plan, to make me fall in love with you, so I would have to be nice to you?”

  “Of course. Right from the beginning. Between my irresistible charm and brilliant strategy, you didn’t stand a chance.”

  She stuck out her tongue at him. “It’s hard to believe now, but do you know what first attracted me to you?”

  “No, what?”

  “Your deep sense of humility!”

  She squealed as he poked her in the ribs, and started to roll away from him, but he pulled her back.

  “Don’t go, I’ll be nice.” She lay back and closed her eyes.

  “Brad?” she said after a moment.

  “What?”

  “If things work out, what are your parents going to say?”

  “About us?”

  “Yes, about you marrying an Israeli.” She paused, her face sober. “About marrying a Jewish girl.”

  “You mean what did they say?”

  Her eyes flew open, and she sat up straight. “You’ve told them?”

  He nodded. “More or less.”

  “Brad, when?”

  His gray eyes were teasing. “Oh, here and there.”

  Miri looked at him and grabbed his arm. “Brad! Tell me!”

  “Well, I wrote them about you two or three weeks ago and sent them a picture.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Where did you get a picture of me?”

  “Promise you won’t get mad?”

  “Where did you get it?”

  “That first morning you took me on tour. Remember when we were on the Mount of Olives, and you were pointing out the significant sites as I took pictures? Well, I used the wide-angle lens on one shot and included you in a picture of the Dome of the Rock.”

  “Well, aren’t you sneaky!”

  “Sneaky and humble, that’s me.”

  “So?”

  “So what?”

  She punched him solidly in the stomach. “Brad Kennison, you tell me what you said, and what they said.”

  “In the letter or when I talked to them on the phone?”

  “Brad!” Miri wailed, coming to her knees and starting to pound on him. “You called them?”

  He grabbed her fists and pulled her down next to him. “Okay, okay. I’ll tell you.”

  “I can’t believe this. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I almost did, then decided it violated our agreement, that it would be putting pressure on you.”

  “Well,” she said, not sure whether to forgive him or not. “So tell me. When did you talk to them?”

  “Last Sunday night. My mother’s birthday is September thirtieth. So I called her. By then they had received the second letter I wrote them. That was the day after our little experience in the Galilee. I told them about my feelings for you, about how you are trying to find out if the Church is true, the works.”

  Brad turned to look at her. “So when I called, they were all primed.”

  “And?”

  “Well, they had several questions,” he replied, pushing away the temptation to smooth over some of their concerns. “The fact that you are Jewish is their biggest worry.”

  “Oh.” Miri’s shoulders sagged slightly, and she looked away quickly.

  “Hey!” he said, gently taking her face in his hands and turning her to him. “That is Jewish as in religion, not Jewish as in race. They have grave concerns about my marrying a Jewish girl, but they have no real concerns about my marrying a Mormon Jewish girl.”

  Her eyes brightened. “Really?”

  He nodded. “Really. Their biggest question is what I’ll do if you decide not to join the Church. They would be devastated if I married outside of the temple.”

  Miri dropped her gaze and studied her hands. “Just as my parents will be devastated if I do join the Church.”

  Brad sighed. “I know. It seems as though we are not destined to have things work out very easily no matter what happens.”

  Miri was silent for almost a full minute. When she spoke her voice was very soft. “What other concerns did they have?”

  “Well,” Brad said, “they were mostly concerned about me. Whether I finally got my head screwed on straight.”

  Miri laughed softly at that. “I think your head is very nicely placed.”

  “Thank you. It is all your fault, you know.”

  “What is?”

  “That I got my head screwed on straight.”

  She looked puzzled and pleased at the same moment. “Why?”

  He took her hand and squeezed it gently. “I came to Israel looking for something. I was filled with this terrible discontent, as if I was smothering in a sea of comfort and security. I was frustrated, bitter, irritable, and dissatisfied. Yet I didn’t know why. I was in a computer science program at the University of Utah and suddenly realized I wanted to do more with my life than that—as though there was something I had to do, was supposed to do. But I didn’t know what.”

  He shook his head. “It was awful. And I was acting like a spoiled kid. My parents should have booted me out of the house. Dad thought it was because of Viet Nam. That’s why he encouraged me to come to Israel. To get away and rest.”

  “I am so happy he did.”

  Brad nodded. “Ah, so am I. I not only found you, but I found the answer to my other problems, too.”

  She looked up in surprise. “What problems?”

  “Well,” he said, “at first I started to study and read about Israel and the Jews so I could answer your questions intelligently. But suddenly I found myself fascinated, totally engrossed. I loved learning about this land, about its destiny. And I knew I had to be part of that destiny, to help others to feel it and see it as I did.”

  Brad’s voice rose in excitement, and he released her hand so he could emphasize his words with his gestures. “The destiny of the Latter-day Saints and the destiny of the Jews and Arabs are just now starting to unfold. More and more they will become intertwined and interdependent.”

  He turned to her, his eyes shining with excitement. “And then to find you, someone who feels so deeply about this too. It’s more than I could ever have hoped for, to find what I want to do with my life, and someone who can and will share in that goal with me.”

  Miri smiled at his enthusiasm.

  “When I told dad all of that, he was satisfied. He knew this wasn’t some whim, that you are not just some passing interest.”

  “I’m glad,” she said, snuggling up against him. “I’m glad I am not just some passing interest. And I’m glad he knows I’m not.”

  “I don’t know exactly what I’ll end up doing,” he went on. “I’ll p
robably teach college. I figure that I will major in history or maybe in Middle Eastern studies. The U of U has an excellent program.”

  Miri’s head came up sharply. “The U of U?”

  “Yes. The University of Utah. I figure it will probably take four or five years to get whatever degrees we need to do what we want. But I’ll find a job. I want you to be able to be with the children. I want you to teach them about their Jewish heritage, about Israel…”

  He stopped when he saw the look on her face, then felt his heart sink. “Miri, what’s wrong? Don’t you want children?”

  “Only yours,” she said with a forlorn smile.

  “What’s the matter then?” And finally the light dawned, or so he thought. “Miri, it’s going to work out. I know you’re going to get your answers. I know it!”

  “And if I do, then what?”

  “You are baptized. We get married. We start our life together.”

  “Where Brad? Where do we make our life together?”

  “In America, in…” His voice trailed off as he saw her eyes drop.

  “You would take me away from my people and my land?” She paused. “I think you know that I feel almost as strongly about Israel as you do about Mormonism. Couldn’t you go to the Hebrew University? If you feel that your destiny is intertwined with Israel’s, then why not stay here and raise our family?” She was pleading, beseeching him for understanding. “Couldn’t you do much more good here?”

  Brad was silent for a long time, considering that. Finally he put his arms around her and pulled her close. “I have considered that,” he said slowly. “I even went up to the Hebrew University and checked out all their programs. I would have to become completely fluent in Hebrew before I could really get what I want.”

  “I speak excellent Hebrew,” Miri said, “I could help you.”

  “I know, but…” He stopped, seeking the words to express himself. “But somehow I feel that what I must do is with my own people at first. The Latter-day Saints need to understand our relationship with Israel, both present and future. We have to build Zion in America so Judah will have one ally when the Battle of Armageddon comes. Maybe later the Lord will have a purpose for us here as well.”