Professor Silver parked his Cadillac in front of Masada’s house and stuffed her copy of The Evian Conference under his shirt, which he tucked back into his pants. He got in through the tarp that served as a front door and almost stumbled over a large paint container. “Hello? Masada?”
She appeared in the hallway, her face rosy, but before she said anything, the phone rang in the kitchen.
Masada picked it up and listened. She said, “You’re off base, Dick. Tara won’t jump the gun.” She listened more. “I need her resources.”
Standing by the door, Silver let the book drop to the floor, coughing to mask the noise, and kicked it under the refrigerator.
“Listen, Dick,” Masada said, “tell them to send me the next installment. I need to buy new windows.” She tapped her foot, listening. “No, the insurance won’t pay because I’m being investigated by the FBI for suspicion that I staged the explosion, okay?” She slammed the phone down.
“I can help you with some money,” Silver said.
“They’ll pay me. It’s all a game.” She pulled two water bottles from the fridge, handing one to him. “How are you holding up?”
He almost laughed. She was worried about him. Allah was falling off his throne in laughter. “No more dead cats, thank God.”
“Oh, before I forget. That Canadian, Sheen, when he was at your house, did he wear a green jacket or suit?”
“No. A brown suit.”
“Did you notice a green jacket in his suitcase?”
“Meidaleh,” he patted her cheek, “I’m not the type to peek in my guests’ luggage.”
“We didn’t find a record of Fred Sheen passing through the airport. He must have used a false identity.”
“I open my home to him, and he lies to me. Disgusting!”
“Also, SuperShuttle has no record of him, or of your address.”
Alarmed, Silver realized he had spiced up his lies with crumbs of false authenticity, exposing himself to easy refutation.
“He could have paid the driver off.” Masada tightened the straps of her knee brace. “But why did he stay with you? With so much money in the bag, he could have stayed at the Ritz.”
She had unraveled his story but gave no indication of suspecting him. Silver’s hands trembled, but he calmed himself with the thought that tonight this clever woman would meet Allah. “Don’t they ask for a credit card at a hotel?”
Masada’s hands passed through her hair, toying with the long strands. “There must be a link between you and these people. You and I need to sit and dig into every detail.”
“We’ll talk at temple, after services.” Professor Silver opened his arms. “Give a hug to an old man.”
Masada bent down to embrace him. He returned her embrace with a tight squeeze, knowing it was the last time. He detached from her with difficulty, his throat tight.
Raul pointed to a page in the prayer book. “That’s where we start, right?” Rabbi Josh nodded. He watched the members of his congregation. The men’s heads were covered with white yarmulkes, the woman bejeweled, filling the synagogue with the aroma of mixed perfumes. They sat in rows of padded chairs arranged in succeeding crescents that faced the dais and the Torah Ark. Many regulars brought guests, whose faces Rabbi Josh did not recognize. He was pleased with the swelling crowd. Word must have gotten around that Masada El-Tal would discuss the Torah portion. Mahoney’s shot to the head, the attempts on her life, and the consequent media storm had given her notoriety.
He tensed every time the door opened, expecting her tall figure to appear. He pinched the strings on the old guitar Linda had bought him for his birthday.
Raul held up the book, pointing to the Hebrew text. “Dad, is this a Yod or a Vav?”
Rabbi Josh bent to look closely at the letter. “It’s got a short leg, so-”
“It’s a Yod!”
“Correct.” The rabbi listened as Raul recited the Hebrew letters. Earlier they had discussed the importance of prayer in securing Shanty a good spot in dogs’ heaven.
Al Zonshine entered with Professor Silver, who held Al’s arm as they proceeded down the aisle to the first row of seats. The contrast between them was striking-Silver in his white shirt, red bowtie, and blue suspenders, and Al in a greenish polyester jacket over a grubby T-shirt. Rabbi Josh assumed they had run into each other in the lobby and wondered if the professor’s eyes were giving him trouble again.
Al’s face was red, his head bowed like a charging bull. He had visible deteriorated since stalking Masada a few months earlier, followed by the separation from his wife. Rabbi Josh was planning to speak to Al after the service to offer him help, having heard a rumor that Al was living in his van. But seeing Al’s odd appearance, he became worried enough to step down from the dais and beckon Hilda, who was sitting on the left end of the hall. Reluctantly she came over and settled a couple of seats down from her estranged husband. “That’s close enough,” she said, shaking her head. Al didn’t seem to notice, his bulging eyes focused on the Ark of the Torah.
The long arm of the wall clock touched the top. 7:00 p.m.
Rabbi Josh stood and faced the congregation. “Welcome to our Friday night service.” He waited for the chattering to quiet down. “I am glad to see that no one was intimidated by what happened.” The graffiti had been painted over that morning, but he had worried people would stay away. “Let us pray for those who hate us. Let us pray that they allow God’s grace into their hearts. Let us pray that they forgo hate for love and charity.”
The congregation chorused, “Amen.”
“To those of you who are new to Temple Zion, we always begin with the Kabbalat Shabbat, Welcoming the Sabbath, followed by a discussion of this week’s chapter of Torah.” He paused, turning to his son.
Raul stood. “The Torah chapter is Shoftim. It means Judges.”
The announcement drew clapping, and he sat down.
“Thank you, young man.” Rabbi Josh opened a prayer book. “Please turn to page forty-three.” He pinched a string on his guitar, glancing at the door. When his eyes descended to the seated congregation, Al Zonshine gave him a dark, knowing look.
“Go forth, bride’s groom, receive your betrothed; Let us welcome her, the Sabbath.” The chant brought peace to Rabbi Josh’s heart. The congregation repeated each line, chanting after him. “In advance of the Sabbath we shall march, for she is the fountain of grace.”
Raul’s high-pitched voice sounded above the crowd, and Rabbi Josh reached over to caress Raul’s head but pulled his hand back, reluctant to make the boy self-conscious.
The door opened, and Masada entered. Their eyes met, but she averted her gaze quickly. He watched her select a prayer book from the rack and take a seat in the rear. She didn’t look up again.
“Dad?” Raul patted the open prayer book.
Rabbi Josh realized everyone was waiting for him. He resumed playing the guitar, chanting, “Observe and remember, his single command, we heard from the Heavenly Lord.”
Masada stole a glance at Rabbi Josh. He stood before the congregation with a prayer shawl draped on his wide shoulders, his white shirt embroidered with blue Stars of David, his ponytail resting on one shoulder. He played the guitar with tenderness that defied his big hands.
After the singing came the main service. By the time the Kaddish was recited by those who had lost a family member in the past year, Masada had recovered her resolve. Rabbi Josh was out of her life. She had no need for a relationship, and even casual intimacy would make her worry about him and Raul, distort her objectivity, and violate her intellectual freedom.
To make sure she would not succumb to her juvenile infatuation, Masada decided to alienate him irreparably, to demonstrate to him the unbridgeable gap between them.
She jumped as a hand tapped her shoulder.
“Scared you!” Raul laughed.
“You startled me,” she corrected, ruffling his carrot hair.
“Are you going to cry?”
“Are you go
ing to make me?”
“Come.” He took her hand. “You need to sit up there, next to Dad.”
Professor Silver saw Masada and jabbed his elbow at Al, who seemed paralyzed, breathing in shallow bursts, his bulging eyes staring at the prayer book without seeing it. The first part of the service was coming to conclusion with the recital of Kaddish. The prayer for the dead was a fitting backdrop for what was about to happen.
The rabbi’s son led Masada down the center aisle toward the dais. They climbed the three steps, and she sat beside the rabbi, a smirk betraying her arrogance, or discomfort. Silver couldn’t tell. What’s the difference? She’ll be dead in minutes.
Al filled his chest with air and moaned, drawing a few glances. Silver became alarmed. He had planned the killing sequence to the smallest detail and practiced with Al until the Jew was acting the whole thing without trying to use his puny brain. Silver knew he must make him shoot now, before Al lost his nerves completely. He elbowed him but got no response.
The rabbi raised his book. “Page 309.”
Silver leaned over and hissed, “Soldier!” It was the trigger word he had instilled in Al during the basement rehearsals while pumping him with a great deal of hashish. Dozens of times Al had drawn the loaded pistol, which he had bought earlier at a pawn shop, stepped forward to the desk that represented the temple dais, declared, “So shall all Israel’s enemies perish!” and shot at the stuffed shirt that represented Masada’s chest. Al had wanted to follow the execution with another declaration before shooting himself: “I wish I had more than one life to give to Israel.” But Silver had convinced him that he must immediately put the gun to his mouth and pull the trigger. Show them you’re a real man, like Mahoney. Not that he cared if Al sounded like the idiot he was, but the shooting had to follow in quick succession, leaving no time for diversion. If Al survived and was arrested, he would talk. But if he died instantly, his ability to bring Silver down would die with him.
Al moaned again.
Hilda whispered loudly, “What’s wrong with you?”
Al blinked a few times, sat up sharply, and dropped his prayer book. It fell on the floor with a thud. Rabbi Josh looked, and others turned to see. Al picked up the book and kissed the cover. He kept his eyes down, pretending to read, his head the color of eggplant.
Silver cursed quietly.
On the dais, the rabbi said, “I always try to find something in the Torah chapter that connects with the person who volunteered to present this week’s chapter. Sometimes it’s easy, and sometimes I have to be creative.”
The audience laughed, and Lefkowitz boasted, “There were no flowers in my chapter.”
“True,” Rabbi Josh said, “but we found a verse praising the fertility of the Promised Land, which relates to flowers.”
The recollection generated laughs.
Silver leaned over and whispered directly into Al’s ear, “Soldier!”
No response.
The rabbi lifted the book. “This chapter sets down the law for an orderly society in the Promised Land, including a justice system, with fair laws and honest judges to rule over the Jewish people in the Land of Israel. It begins: You shall not take a bribe, for the bribe would blind wise men and twist the righteous.”
Silver’s eye stung. Masada’s chapter commenced with a bribe? Was this a warning from their God?
“Keep reading.” Masada lifted her copy. “And when the Lord your God gives you the land, you shall kill all the males by sword; the women and children and livestock you shall take as loot.” She looked at the audience. “Are we still required to do so?”
“This was written,” Rabbi Josh said, “in the context of biblical times, with tribal wars and no diplomacy for resolving conflicts.”
“Question is,” she said, “does the Torah still require us to eliminate the gentile inhabitants of the Promised Land today-the modern Palestinians? Are we supposed to conquer the land, kill the men, and enslave the women, children, and livestock?”
The rabbi looked around, but no one answered. Silver cheered Masada silently, grateful that Al had not shot her yet.
“I’m surprised,” Rabbi Josh said, “that an educated woman like you would perpetuate the Palestinian myth. Mark Twain chronicled his visit to the Holy Land in Innocents Abroad. You should read it. He found a barren land with a few scattered villages inhabited by Muslims, Jews, and Christians. The sacred cities of Jerusalem, Tiberius, Acre, and Hebron were dilapidated and ruined. Twain was there before the economic boom created by modern Zionism in the late nineteenth century. Today’s Palestinians are descendants of families that came from other parts of the Middle East because of the prosperity created by European Jews in the early twentieth century. There had never been a Palestinian nation or a Palestinian state in history, so there was no one to conquer and kill.”
Masada turned a page. “And what about the order to sacrifice animals on altars? Blind obedience to the priests? Corporal punishment?” She surveyed the congregation. “Are we still supposed to maim a sinner?”
“The sinner,” Al suddenly yelled, “is the traitor who snitched on her own people.” He jumped up, waving a fist. “You should be taken outside to be stoned. You!”
Like everyone else, Masada was shocked by Al Zonshine’s shouting. She expected him to leap onto the dais, but he stood there, fumbling in the pocket of his old-fashioned jacket.
Hilda got up and spoke to her husband. He grunted and sat down, glaring at Masada. Hilda returned to her seat, rolling her eyes. Professor Silver, sitting next to Al, seemed nervous. When their eyes met, Masada winked at him. He shrugged.
“Our Torah,” Rabbi Josh said, as if nothing had happened, “gave humanity the gift of ethics. Torah sets right from wrong. This is the beginning of human civilization’s law and order, ethical morality as a religious aspiration, which originated from the Promised Land.” He held the book up and quoted, “When you come to the land that God gave you, you shall inherit her and settle-”
“But we already fulfilled this edict,” Masada interrupted him, “when Joshua conquered Canaan, and the twelve tribes of Israel settled on the land. Unfortunately we lost it two thousand years ago. It’s over, so to speak.”
“Settling in Israel is a continuous duty,” Rabbi Josh argued, “a divine privilege extended to each and every one of us. We’re very lucky to be living at a time that an independent Jewish state exists on our land after two millennia.”
“And what if you catch a Jew worshiping another God?” Masada quoted: “You shall take that man who has done that evil deed to the gates of town and cast stones at him until he is dead.”
The congregation was silent.
Rabbi Josh smiled. “I think we all agree that such harshness is unnecessary, now that idols are no longer worshiped, even by gentiles.”
Masada didn’t look at him. “And the man who shall maliciously sin, ignoring the priest, he shall die and you shall exterminate the sin from Israel.” She paused, glancing at the rows of congregants. “Cooking during the Sabbath? Punishable by stoning. Driving to the synagogue on Saturday morning? Eating bacon for breakfast? Marrying a non-Jew? Death! Each of us would be sent to the gallows under this chapter of the Torah.”
“Absolutely not true,” Rabbi Josh protested. “The early Jews worshipped a single, invisible God while they were surrounded by idol-worshipers and many temptations to stray, which required harsh punishments as deterrence.”
She turned to face him. “But it says here-”
“Not to be taken literally.”
“Outdated?”
“From a practical standpoint, yes.”
“And the part about the man who killed another in anger and ran away?” She quoted. “And the elders shall take him from his refuge and hand him to the dead man’s family, and he shall die. Do not have mercy on him.” She looked up. “Also outdated?”
Rabbi Josh nodded. “The Torah was given to us thousands of years ago. You can’t expect it to remain contemporary.”
“We should ignore it?”
“It’s meant to inspire us to do justice.”
“An eye for an eye?”
“A symbolic statement.”
“A tooth for a tooth?”
“Obviously.”
“A hand for a hand? A foot for a foot?”
Rabbi Josh lifted his hands in the air. “God doesn’t expect us to follow each edict in practice forever. It’s an ancient text-”
“Outdated, expired, and invalid, not to be acted upon in modern times, correct?”
“The Torah isn’t written in black and white. We, as Jews, can interpret it in ways that fit the times we live in.”
“Pick and chose what’s outdated and what’s not?” Masada lifted the book. “What about settling in the Promised Land? Is Zionism an anachronism, like stoning idol worshipers, poking out eyes, and chopping off feet?”
“There’s a big difference.” Rabbi Josh controlled his voice with difficulty. “Criminal justice has evolved with civilization. But our bond with the Promised Land, the return to Zion, making aliyah, that’s the foundation of our faith and national identity. Judaism stands on three legs: The Torah, the People, and the Land of Israel.” He pointed at her. “What you say means that Judaism itself is an anachronism.”
Masada shook her finger slowly, drawing everyone’s attention. “Zionism and Judaism are not synonyms. Judaism gave humanity the Ten Commandments, which still serve as the moral foundation of civilized society. But Zionism, settling in the Promised Land, isn’t even mentioned in the Ten Commandments, is it?”
“But the longing to Zion,” the rabbi said, his voice trembling, “united us in the Diaspora for two thousand years. It’s the core of our Jewish being, the homeland awaiting us as a people.”
“Beware what you wish for.”
“How can you say that? The State of Israel is the most beautiful thing that happened to Jews since the Holy Temple was destroyed by the Romans. The Diaspora was an agony, centuries filled with suffering-”
The Masada Complex Page 16
