Verse

by Moses Roth

  2:46

  I guess we missed lunch.

  A man dressed in a white button-up shirt with a trimmed beard comes through one of the doors and we stand to greet him.

  “I’m Joseph Scheinman,” he says in an accent somewhere between Brooklyn and Israeli.

  I say, “Nice to meet you, Rabbi,” as we shake hands, and Cohen and I introduce ourselves.

  “Allow me to give you a tour of Kibbutz Chaim,” he says and leads us outside.

  He indicates the buildings that surround the cafeteria, “These are mostly residences, the school is over there and the volunteers stay over there. Do you know anything about kibbutzim, Manuel?”

  “A little.”

  “Everyone who lives here performs a job. In return, they get food and housing.”

  Cohen says, “A commune.”

  “Exactly.” He leads us to the farm, the refet he calls it, and he tells us all about how kibbutz life works.

  He leads us to a concrete field of pillars with rows of tubes running between them. “This is where we grow astaxanthin.” We walk down one of the rows. “It comes from krill and shrimp naturally. It’s what turns salmon pink. We originally started growing it to sell to salmon farms to dye their salmon naturally. But it’s become quite popular in Japan as an antioxidant, and much more valuable that way, so we sell it to a dietary supplement company there.”

  We reach the end of the row and Scheinman says, “That’s most of our kibbutz. So. To what do I owe the honor of your presence?”

  I say, “You’ve heard about our attempts to start a messianic movement here in Israel?”

  “Yes?”

  “We’re looking for support. Not financial, just verbal. Vocal.”

  “If you’ve come all the way to my kibbutz, you must have been turned down by every rabbi in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv.”

  “Just the ones willing to talk to us.”

  Scheinman leads us out of the farm and back to the residences. We weave through them until we come to a squat concrete structure. We follow him inside and down two dank flights of stairs, underground. It’s a series of musty rooms, with crates along the sides. Water drips and it smells like mildew. In the middle is a table with chairs around it.

  “This is a bomb shelter,” Scheinman says. “These days the kids come here to play poker, otherwise we don’t use it much. We used to hide here when Jordan would decide to launch rockets. But we’ll need it again. There will be war, inevitably.”

  He walks over to one of the crates and opens it. Inside are rifles. He pulls one out and holds it up. “This is what Mashiakh means.”

  I walk to him and hold out my hands. Scheinman hands me the gun and I look down at it. “I know that. I know that and I’m prepared.”

  He looks at Cohen, who nods at him, and then back at me. “You misunderstand my meaning, Manuel. I don’t want war. War is a tragedy. I fought the Intifada. Whatever you’re picturing war as, it’s not that. It’s not John Wayne and a bunch of heroes. Everybody pisses their pants. People die and get mutilated, their lives destroyed or ruined forever.”

  I set the rifle back down in the crate and look up at him.

  He looks at Cohen and says, “And you, Rabbi, shame on you for supporting this boy’s heroic fantasy. Shame on you.”

  Cohen says, “No, shame on you, Rabbi. You said it yourself, war is inevitable. How many wars has Israel fought in its short lifetime? In our lifetimes. We don’t want the war, we want to end the war.”

  “By bringing more war! How many men have tried to end war by starting wars? And how has that worked out for them? For all of us. You want the messiah? We live in Israel. We have democracy. For me, the messiah is already here.”

  Cohen says, “How can you say that? How can a man like you say that?”

  Scheinman says, “How can you say what you’re saying? Don’t you remember Amos? ‘Woe unto you that desire the Day of HaShem. To what end is it for you? The Day of HaShem is darkness and not light.’”

  Cohen looks at him and then nods, and then turns and heads back up the stairs.

  I look at Scheinman and he shakes his head at me.

  I turn and follow Cohen.

  We get in the car and head back north.

  I say, “Eighty-two nos.”

  Chapter 71

  We pull into a gas station and Cohen’s friend gets out and shuts the door behind himself.

  “This isn’t working,” I say.

  Cohen nods.

  I say, “What do we do?”

  He shakes his head.

  I say, “It’s just like starting over. I can’t believe I’m starting over again. It wasn’t even this difficult trying to build support in high school with non-religious people.”

  “I’m a rabbi, I know rabbis. Do you want to talk to seculars?”

  “Maybe talking isn’t the solution. All those years in high school didn’t really matter. In the end, me getting shot was a symbol to people. We need a symbol to make them follow us.”

  “What symbol?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe we’re looking at it all wrong. We don’t even need them to follow us yet. We just need them to want the war. Then when it starts, we can position ourselves as leaders. Right now they’re comfortable with the status quo.”

  “Nobody in Israel is comfortable.”

  “Well of course, but they’re like a man who’s bleeding to death and he’s just trying to tape it up, but actually he needs a doctor to cut inside even deeper to fix the real problem.”

  “So what do you suggest?”

  “I don’t know, we need to turn them against the enemy.”

  “Aren’t they against the enemy?”

  “I don’t think so. You think they care about how corrupt the government is or how it’s oppressing all those people? The prime minister’s approval ratings are high.”

  “The prime minister is a good man. Who are they oppressing? You mean the Arabs? They made their bed.”

  I say, “Wait? What? Who did you think I meant by the enemy?”

  He shrugs.

  “Seriously? Who? Palestinians? All Arabs? All Muslims?”

  He shrugs again.

  “They aren’t our enemies, Cohen. That’s racism.”

  “Don’t call me a racist. They’re the anti-Semites. They’re the ones who want to push us off the map.”

  “All of them.”

  “Not all of them, just our enemies. I’m not a racist.”

  “You want to turn Israel against the Muslims? Could they be any more against them?”

  “Yes, they’re like you. Like your bleeding man, bleeding hearts actually. You said you’d bring the war, who did you think it would be with?”

  “I thought we were here to start a revolution. To put our own government in power. What do you think we’re here to do?”

  He says, “After the war, the people will realize they need Mashiakh. No revolution will be necessary.”

  “What war? War with the Arabs.”

  He shrugs.

  “Stop looking coy and say what you mean.”

  “Yes. War with the Muslims.”

  Cohen’s friend opens the door and gets back in. He starts the car and pulls onto the highway.

  I say, “Why didn’t we have this conversation months ago? Before getting on the airplane.”

  Cohen shakes his head.

  We drive the rest of the way in silence.

  Chapter 72

  I get back to the apartment and say hi to Erwin, at his computer playing Counter-Strike.

  “How are you?” he says.

  I shake my head.

  “What’s wrong?” He shoots someone.

  I shake my head again.

  “Come on.”

  He explodes from a grenade.

  He turns to me, but I go to my room, sit at my desk, and open my computer.

  There’s an email from Faye waiting for me. All it says is

  Maya Cheng

  8 lbs

  and ther
e’s a photo of my daughter, swaddled with a little pink beanie, in a hospital nursery.

  I lean back in my chair.

  I rub my mouth.

  I close the computer.

  I stand up and go back to Erwin’s room. “You want to get out of here?” I say.

  “Where to?”

  “I don’t know.”

  We leave and walk through the Old City.

  I say, “What are we even doing here?”

  “You tell me.”

  “I just don’t know what to do. We’ve been failing for months and I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

  Up ahead is the Wailing Wall and I stop.

  He says, “You want to pray?”

  “No.” I look at the ramp next to it, leading up to the top of the Temple Mount, above the Wall, with the two mosques. Next to the ramp is the Palestinian guard station at the bottom. “Let’s go up.”

  We walk up the ramp and into the security station.

  One of the guards nods at us and says, “Do you have any Bibles, any candles, anything?”

  I shake my head as I put my keys, wallet and phone in the tray. I walk through the metal detector. I put my things back in my pocket and Erwin comes through and we leave the station and head up the ramp.

  I say, “Technically we’re not supposed to go up here.”

  “Why not?”

  “The Wailing Wall is the oldest part of the Temple Mount, but the top is the holiest. It’s where the original Jewish Temple was and only the priests were aloud to visit the Holiest of Holies.”

  “Do you want to not go?”

  “Screw it,” I say.

  We get up top and there’s a nice breeze. Nearby is the Al Aqsa Mosque and the Dome of the Rock is up ahead with its gleaming gold dome.

  A man approaches, “You need guide?”

  I wave him off and lead Erwin toward the Dome of the Rock. I say, “That’s where the Temple was, where the Dome of the Rock, that mosque, is.”

  “They built the mosque on top of the Temple?”

  “The Temple had already been destroyed by the Romans, hundreds of years before. It’s the oldest mosque in the world.”

  We get to the doorway, with the guard. “Are you Muslim?” he says.

  “Naam,” I say. “Salaam alaykum,” and I put my hand out to shake.

  He shakes it and we go in.

  It’s octagonal, with a giant ornate dome, and it’s really stunning.

  There’s an inner section and an outer section, both covered with Arabic script.

  I walk into the center and look around.

  Now what?

  God, please tell me what to do.

  I’ll just be waiting here.

  I sigh.

  What did I expect?

  I look at Erwin.

  He comes over and says, “Why did you want to come here?”

  I say, “This is where they kept the Ark of the Covenant, the box holding the Ten Commandments.”

  “Okay?”

  “The first Jews believed that God lived here. They believed you could speak to him and hear him in this spot. I just thought that maybe…”

  “Maybe you could come here and God would tell you what to do.”

  “It sounds stupid.”

  “No it doesn’t.”

  I look around. It is beautiful.

  We go outside and it’s getting darker.

  We walk to the western edge of the Mount and look out at the sinking sun.

  He says, “You told that guy we were Muslims.”

  I shrug. “So he’d let us in. I’m the messiah for all religions, aren’t I? So I am a Muslim.”

  “Okay, but I’m not.”

  “All you have to do to become one is surrender to God and say, ‘La ilaha ila Allah, Muhammad rasulu Allah.’ There is no God but God and Muhammad is his prophet.”

  “Your Arabic is coming along.”

  “Not really. My Hebrew is going super slow too.”

  He shrugs.

  I say, “Should we have come here? I mean to Jerusalem. Maybe our moms were right. We should have gone to college.”

  He laughs, “What?”

  “If I can’t figure out what to do and, this is why I was angry earlier, it turns out Cohen and I don’t even want the same things, so why are we here?”

  “What did you argue about?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Okay well, are you here because Cohen believes in you or because you believe in you?”

  “Me. No, because God believes in me.”

  “Then it doesn’t matter what Cohen says.”

  “But he’s the whole reason I came.”

  “So what? We’re here.”

  “You’re right. But I’m done trying to convince a bunch of rabbis.”

  That is—

  I laugh.

  He says, “What?”

  I say, “College. Why not? I’m trying to learn about Judaism and Islam and learning Hebrew and Arabic and politics and business and everything I need to know. Why not college? They have an English language program at the university in Tel Aviv. Why not go to college and find out how to win a revolution? Or if they can’t teach me that, at least I’ll be doing something useful while I wait for some inspiration or something to happen. I thought this was all gonna go quick, but we’re here for the long haul.”

  “Okay.”

  I say, “What about you? I can pay your tuition.”

  He looks out at the sun.

  It’s so close to the horizon now.

  He says, “I’ve actually been thinking about something else actually. The army. The IDF.”

  “Really.”

  “You’re the king, right? And Cohen’s your priest. But who am I? What will my role be? A king doesn’t need a best friend.”

  “Sure he does.”

  “Yeah, but why not your general? You’ll need someone to be a soldier. To know the military. Why not me?”

  “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

  He shrugs. “Yeah.”

  “Okay then.”

  He takes out his Camels and lighter and lights one and takes a drag.

  I say, “Can I have one of those?”

  He offers one. I take it and he lights it.

  I inhale and cough and he laughs.

  Chapter 73

  I grab

  Memories, Dreams, Reflections

  off the library shelf and my phone rings.

  Iris Alman

  I walk back through the stacks as I answer it, “Hello?”

  “Hi, Manuel.” It’s good to hear her voice. “Are you busy?”

  I set the book on the table in between the guys and say, “I gotta take this,” to them and walk into the empty Reference section.

  “No, just study group for Psych.”

  “Oh, well if you want to call me back later…”

  “No, I want to talk to you.” I take a seat on a step stool, facing the

  Encyclopedia Hebraica

  and say, “What’s up?” My voice is a little high.

  “Do you remember a couple years ago, you asked me to make that bot?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, there’s bad news and worse news. Which do you want first?”

  “The worse news.”

  “Oh. Well, even if it did work, we wouldn’t have the processing power.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, I shouldn’t have given you a choice, the worse news doesn’t really make sense without hearing the bad news first.”

  I laugh, “Okay?”

  “Well, the bad news is I don’t know how to make the program work. A learning, evolving bot? It’s just too much.”

  “Okay, that’s what you said before, right?”

  “Yeah. It is. I mean, no one’s ever done anything like that before. And I just wanted to tell you I don’t think I can either.”

  “All right.”

  “And, well, you remember the worse news.”
r />   “You don’t have enough processing power? What does that mean?”

  “I did make some progress on it. But it’s become pretty apparent that even if it did work, which it doesn’t, it wouldn’t matter. A program like that, the amount of information to be processed before being uploaded, it’s just, my computer can’t run it. It’s… the amount of cycles required, my computer would crash, or if I turned off the cap, it would overheat and melt my CPU.”

  “Okay, so you need a new computer?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How much would that cost?”

  “Hundreds of millions of dollars.”

  “Oh. Computers cost that much?”

  “Supercomputers do.”

  “I don’t have that.”

  “No shit. Only governments and major corporations have them.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway, right?”

  “I guess not. Barring any major breakthroughs, no. So, what do you want me to do?”

  “Don’t worry about it. When I asked for it, I was just throwing out an idea. I don’t know anything about this stuff. Just keep maintaining the website. I’ll keep paying you for that.”

  “Manuel…”

  “And please don’t try to argue.”

  She sighs, “Okay, I won’t. How’s it going over there?”

  “Good, good. Terrible.”

  She laughs. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. It’s been years and nothing’s happening. Less than even high school. Why am I even here, Iris?”

  “You tell me.”

  “I just thought I was destined for something more. I am supposed to be doing something more. But I can’t figure out what that is. I’m just over here living life.”

  “Just like the rest of us.”

  “Yeah. And just like anybody else, nobody’s really paying any attention to me.”

  “You’ll figure it out.”

  “I don’t know if I will.”

  “Well, you’ll figure something out.”

  “Yeah, I hope so.”

  We say goodbye and she hangs up and I put my phone back in my pocket. I stand up and walk back to my study group.