An Accidental Messiah: A Novel (The Dry Bones Society Book 2)

by Dan Sofer

  “More than that,” Moshe said. He clasped his hands together for the big revelation. “What are our chances if we were to run independently in the upcoming elections?”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Independently?”

  “We’ve been double-crossed too many times to rely on politicians. We need our own clout to make a difference. And to do that we’ll need a killer campaign manager.”

  She laughed. “You weren’t kidding about the challenge bit.”

  “She’s not up to it,” Shmuel said.

  Moshe understood his resistance. Until now, Shmuel had led the Society’s public relations efforts, and he was not about to hand over their fate to a pretty face in a fancy blouse. He had not seen Sivan handle tough drivers on the dispatch CB radio. The delicate exterior hid a featherweight prize fighter. But Moshe didn’t have to defend her bona fides.

  “The hell I’m not,” she said. “I took a young start-up from zero customers to market domination.”

  “And which start-up was that?”

  Her cheeks flushed. “Ridez.”

  Blood drained from Moshe’s face. He had heard that name from Avi. “Some kid made an app for ordering taxis,” he had said, “and our drivers jumped ship.”

  “Wait a minute,” Rafi said. “Isn’t that the company that…” He had enough tact to trail off.

  “That put Karlin & Son out of business,” Moshe said. “Yes.”

  The room fell silent. Sivan had avenged her unfair firing by joining a rival company and blowing Karlin & Son out of the water. Was that why, at first, she had not returned Moshe’s calls after his return? Was that why, later, she had agreed to help him out?

  Moshe continued. “That proves her abilities.” Sivan gave him a repentant smile and her shoulders relaxed. “And this time,” he added, “I’d prefer to have her on our side. So what do you say—what are our chances?”

  Sivan inflated her lungs and stared at the wall. “There will be a lot of hurdles,” she said. “But you have a clear advantage.”

  “Which is?”

  “You’re an unknown. People here never vote for a candidate—they vote against the other guy who disappointed them last time, and they do this by choosing someone else.”

  Moshe smiled. She had a point.

  “And you’re already well positioned,” she continued. “A secular leader, a rabbi to draw in the religious vote, and Rafi for the Sephardic community. Savta Sarah takes care of both women and retirees. That means you will all need to appear high on the list.”

  Rafi said, “Sure.”

  “Of course,” Savta Sarah said.

  Rabbi Yosef squirmed but nodded his consent.

  “Great. And you’ll need to rebrand.”

  “Rebrand?” Shmuel said.

  She nodded. “You have to appeal to the general population, not just the resurrected. You’ll need to adjust your messaging.”

  Another good point. The Dry Bones Society had served them well, but the Society’s name did limit their target market.

  Sivan brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “And, as it happens, I have the perfect name for your new party.”

  She told them.

  “Wow,” said Rabbi Yosef.

  “I like it,” Moshe seconded.

  Savta Sarah grinned. “It’s sexy!”

  Even Shmuel couldn’t hide his excitement. “It hints at hope and a clean slate, but speaks to everyone.”

  “So,” Moshe said. “Does this mean you’ll take the job?”

  Sivan glowed with enthusiasm. “Hell, yeah.”

  CHAPTER 46

  Friday night, Yosef sat at the head of his Shabbat table, staring at his bowl of chicken soup. The good news strained to burst out of him.

  He had not managed to update Rocheleh before candle lighting. The planning session at the Dry Bones Society had stretched on for hours and he had returned home with minutes to spare before he had to head out to open the synagogue.

  One should not plan weekday matters on the Sabbath, the Sages taught. But this wasn’t really planning, was it?

  “I have some good news.”

  At the other end of the table, Rocheleh looked up from her soup. Uriel glanced at him, but Simcha, Ari, and Yehuda continued their contented slurping.

  “We’re going to run in the elections.”

  “Who will?”

  “The Dry Bones Society. Well, it’s no longer the Dry Bones Society. We’re rebranding. Moshe will announce the new name on Sunday.”

  Rocheleh returned to her soup, displaying little interest in the new branding. Over the past few months, she had softened and no longer raised her voice at him. She had made peace with their new status at the fringes of the ultra-Orthodox community. Their boys had not been expelled from school and the sky had not fallen. He suspected that the steady income from the Dry Bones Society, along with the brand new dishwasher, the company car, and the weekly cleaner, had played a large role in their new household tranquility. Their new means had allowed her to quit her teaching job in order to become a full-time housewife.

  “There’s more,” he added. “I’ll be number two on their list.”

  That got her attention. “Why you?”

  “For the religious vote. That’s what Sivan said. She’s our campaign manager. After Moshe, I’ll be the next in line to sit in Knesset.”

  Uriel perked up at that. “You’ll be in the government—like the Prime Minister?”

  Simcha said, “Aba—does that mean you’ll get your own card?”

  He extracted a wad of wrinkled soccer cards from his pocket and fanned them out. A bearded rabbi stared out from the surface of each laminated rectangle.

  Yosef had no idea how they selected the rabbis for their cards. “Maybe.”

  “Awesome!”

  “Please, Aba,” Ari said. “Can you get us some of your cards? Please! Please!”

  Yosef chuckled at the excited little faces, so proud of their father.

  “Settle down now,” Rocheleh said, then glanced at Moshe. “Don’t get their hopes up, Yosef.”

  She was right. Once again, gusts of optimism had carried him away. There were a lot of “ifs” in his glorious future, as well as a short and difficult campaign. Did he even belong among the country’s lawmakers? The thought made him tremble.

  He turned the family’s attention to the weekly Torah reading and the meal continued as usual.

  Later, after the boys breathed deeply in their beds and he had loaded the dishwasher, Rocheleh led him by the hand to their bedroom.

  In the dim glow of the shuttered night lamp, she pulled off her head covering and her hair fell to her shoulders. They sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped in his.

  “You have a good heart, Yossi,” she said. “You are an honorable man. Politics is no place for honorable men. They will eat you up for breakfast, without salt.”

  “But if the honorable men stay away, how will politics ever become honorable? How will we make the world a better place?” Moshe’s idealism had infected him. He thought of Rabbi Emden’s betrayal and threats. “The rabbinate is rotten,” he continued. “They only care about power and money; they have forgotten their moral duty. ‘In a place where there are no men,’ the Sages say, ‘be a man.’”

  “Shh…” She placed her finger on his lips, and argued no more.

  His own mind argued for her. Power corrupts. Had his comfortable new salary—a salary he had received thanks to messianic Christian donors, no less—whetted his appetite for more?

  Then she pushed him back onto the bed and all thoughts of money and power fled.

  CHAPTER 47

  Sunday morning, Samira stood before a dozen strangers in the circle of plastic chairs. Blood pumped noisily in her ears. The Absorption Center was unusually quiet. Most members of the Society had gone to witness the historic press conference in the call center down the corridor, leaving her to receive the new arrivals.

  “My name is Samira,” she said, her voice quavering.
She had never addressed a gathering of her peers before. In her old life, her husband had forbidden her to work outside the house, and she had grown accustomed to hiding behind walls and veils. In this new life, however, she had discovered an inner strength.

  “Rabbi Yosef asked me to fill in for him,” she continued. She had often assisted the rabbi with the sessions, translating his words into Arabic, but today, for the first time, she led the group. She managed a smile. In their faces, she saw fear and confusion. She knew those emotions only too well, and now she had the skills with which to guide them across that narrow bridge.

  “Whatever you experienced in your previous lives,” she said, in Hebrew and then Arabic, her voice finding confidence in the rabbi’s words, “wherever you’re from, you’ve left all of that behind. This is a fresh start. We are all the same now. We are family. Around this circle, every day, we tell our life stories and we listen. Share as little or as much as you like.”

  She broke the ice by telling her own story. Then, one by one, the men and women arose and shared theirs. When the last had spoken, she handed out song sheets for the Israeli anthem—“HaTikva”—and Rabbi Nachman of Breslov’s “All the World Is a Narrow Bridge.” She sang and they followed along on the printed sheets. Some used the Hebrew sheets, others the Arabic. Many preferred the transliteration in Latin letters. As the session concluded, she felt that she had crossed a long, narrow bridge of her own.

  Ahmed watched her from the corner as the new arrivals handed in their song sheets and dispersed to the refreshment tables. She drew near.

  “You did very well,” he said.

  Her cheeks warmed and she looked away. “Thank you.”

  “I have something for you.”

  In his hand he held a wooden creature with almond eyes, a rounded nose, and long ears.

  “It’s a rabbit,” he explained. “I made it for you in carpentry class. You said you had wanted a rabbit. I’m sorry it’s not better. I’m still learning.”

  A flutter arose in her belly along with the urge to hug her new friend. No one had ever made a gift especially for her. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “I love it.”

  After an awkward moment, they made their way to the refreshment table and he poured her a glass of orange juice. Ahmed made her feel special and understood. She could tell him anything, and over the last week she had. If all the suffering she had endured had led to Ahmed, perhaps her death had not been in vain?

  She sipped her drink, gripping the pile of sheets under her arm. “You are welcome to join us next time,” she said. Ahmed still avoided the group sessions.

  His smile faltered. “I don’t think I’m ready.”

  “That’s OK,” she said. She understood, having clung to the shadows for months, fearful of her family, fearful of her own reflection. The hurt of a traumatic first life took time to heal. “It’s not easy,” she said. “I know. I keep delaying my application for an identity card. I think I’ll be stuck here forever.”

  “That sounds good to me,” he said.

  “What—to be stuck here?”

  “With you, yes.”

  She glanced away again, smiling despite herself, and adjusted the hijab over her hair. The flutter returned. He had told her that he loved her. “Yes,” she said. “That would be good.”

  CHAPTER 48

  “I have to go,” Alex told the girl who called herself Irina. “I’ll be back later.” It was the first lie he had told her, and his last.

  They stood in the corridor of Clal Center outside the Dry Bones Society. Society members streamed around them toward the call center for the big announcement.

  He had struggled with his demons ever since their visit to the Doctor last week. Irina remembered nothing; she was off the hook. Alex had no cause to contact her again. That morning he made his decision and had stopped by only to see her one last time.

  “It’ll only take a minute.” Irina feigned anger. “Don’t be selfish.”

  He had been selfish but not in the way she thought. Every moment he lingered, he put her in danger, and if anything happened to her a second time, he would not be able to forgive himself.

  “I have to work,” he said. That much was true. He had neglected his street magic, pulling in only a third of his usual revenues for the Organization. Mandrake had said nothing yet, but eventually he would put two and two together, and then Irina would become a problem again.

  “I forgot,” she said. “Some of us have real lives. What is it that you do that’s so important anyhow?” Until now, the topic of his employment had never come up.

  “Cars,” he said.” Buying. Selling. Fixing.” Also true, technically. He did not want to lie to her again.

  “Your cars can wait, Mr. Mechanic. We’re making history today.” She gripped his hand and pulled. The touch of her fingers melted his last thread of resistance. She towed him into the office, and they joined the press of bodies in the call center.

  TV cameras were trained on the raised podium. Moshe Karlin stood at the microphone and shuffled cue cards. Behind him, a white sheet covered a rectangular object on an easel, like a painting awaiting auction.

  “There he is,” Irina said. The joy in her voice stabbed Alex inside. Moshe had taken her under his wing like a little sister, and she would be forever loyal. Alex could identify with that, but her reverence for the man made him jealous, another sign that he had taken this too far. He must leave now, for her sake.

  The Dry Bones chief was harmless enough. He had given Alex suspicious glances at first but accepted him as Irina’s friend. Karlin was an honest man. Honest men were easy to handle. You always knew what they would do next. Mandrake didn’t share that predictability, and that was why he always came out on top. If the Boss ever moved against the Society, Karlin wouldn’t last long.

  Which was another reason for Alex to leave. The less he knew, the better. His involvement could only cause harm.

  Karlin spoke into the microphone. “Friends,” he said. “Recent events have taught us that to survive in this new world we cannot rely on others, however good their intentions.” A murmur of bitter agreement rose from the crowd.

  “To change society for the better—for the better of all citizens, not just the resurrected—we must make a stand for our values. Stand tall, stand proud.”

  A man cheered at the back. “Yeah!” The mood turned from bitterness to inspired activism.

  “And so,” Karlin continued, “I am glad to present to you today the new face of our organization.”

  He turned to an attractive young woman with salon hair and a designer business suit. She pulled at a string and the white sheet fell from the easel. A poster displayed a single short word. The bold blue letters leaned forward as though racing ahead into the future. The word was “Restart.”

  Hands clapped. Some whistled their approval. Irina glanced at Alex and nodded her head. “It’s great, don’t you think?”

  He had to agree. The name was modern, punchy, and a big improvement on the Dry Bones Society.

  “Our country needs a restart,” Karlin declared, and cheers broke out again. “To clear out the corruption and decay of the past. To build a better tomorrow for our children and grandchildren—for all of us.”

  Irina cheered as well. While she stared ahead, her hand found Alex’s. Emotion rippled through his body like a shock wave. Her touch pushed him back in time to a moment of happiness, the moment he thought he had lost forever. How could he walk away now?

  Karlin waited for the excitement to settle. “To achieve this,” he said, “I am happy to announce that Restart will run in the coming elections.”

  The crowd went wild. Irina jumped on the spot and then hugged Alex. A gasp escaped his mouth and he smiled like a fool. She beamed up at him, mistaking his joy for hers. He couldn’t turn his back on her again. And now, he wouldn’t have to.

  He excused himself and made for the bathroom. Checking that the stalls were empty, he dialed a number on his phone. Moshe Karlin had giv
en him the pretext he had needed to stay close to her a little longer.

  “Check the news,” he said, when his boss answered. “Karlin might be of use to us after all.”

  CHAPTER 49

  “This is heaven,” Noga said, and Eli was inclined to agree.

  They stretched out on rented recliners, while gentle waves lapped at the shore of white sand. The Mediterranean sun warmed his skin and dried his swimming trunks. Only a dozen other vacationers had discovered the hidden cove, and they frolicked in the refreshing waters.

  That morning their cruise liner had docked at Santorini. Whitewashed cottages and blue domes gleamed on the cliffs high above the caldera, the flooded mouth of the volcano that had sculpted the Greek Island. When they disembarked, a chartered motorboat was waiting to whisk them away to the secluded beach.

  “‘Heaven is a place on earth,’” he said, quoting the ’80s song and making Noga laugh.

  He lifted his head from the recliner and gazed at the girl beside him. Sunlight glinted in the drops of seawater on her goosefleshed skin. Her one-piece bathing suit rose and fell to the rhythm of her breathing. A gentle sea breeze caressed the locks of hair below her wicker sunhat and carried the holiday scent of coconut oil.

  He basked in the awe of her beauty, pure and natural, like the sea and the sand and the sky. But that beauty ran deeper than a pretty face and slender body. He had come to rely on her honesty and razor-sharp wit. She spoke her mind even if he didn’t like what she had to say, not out of spite but because she cared.

  Sure, she enjoyed the luxury and pampering as much as the next girl, but he was more to her than a bank account. After all, when she had first fallen for him he had been a crazed and friendless invalid. No, Noga truly cared.

  And so do I. The hairs on his arms prickled at the realization. For the first time in his real life, he cared about someone.

  The large, dark lenses of her sunglasses turned to him and she smiled, bemused. “What?” He had been staring at her, a foolish grin on his face.