Since the Völkisch movement claimed that all that was rural was good and whole, and all urban areas were evil and corrupt, those rural areas became associated with an imaginary Germano-Norse peasantry—and contrasted with the Jewish urban and nomadic living. So, farmers, good; city dwellers, bad.
Some, then, threw in some Bible for good measure: Hanna Arendt, in her book “Eichmann in Jerusalem. A report on the banality of evil” tells how, in 1961, Gideon Hausner, then Israel’s attorney general, mentioned Ezekiel 16:6, “And when I passed by thee, and saw thee polluted in thine own blood, I said unto thee: ‘In thy blood, live!’ ”—Which, she said, he ‘explained must be understood’ as “the imperative that has confronted this nation ever since its first appearance on the stage of history.” That almost suggested Eichmann was some sort of innocent executor of some preordained fate; or even worse: that anti-Semitism might have been necessary to blaze the trail of “the bloodstained road travelled by this people” to fulfill its destiny.
A few sessions later, Eichmann’s defense lawyer tried to use this, throwing in some Hegel’s “spirit of history” and such, to suggest Eichmann being just a man, a pawn of History, had done what History had made him do. And, of course, this is nothing new: Nazi apologists have tried to push Holocaust denialism by suggesting ‘Bolshevik soldiers’, anonymous men, ‘pawns of history’ obeying superior orders, took most Jews who ‘disappeared’ during Word War II to gulags or resettlement camps in Russia; and then, those Jews were roughed up and vanished from the world as—of course—‘pawns of history’ as well.”
“In short,” said Haim, “all this blood and soil business most often seems to be used to justify abject savagery, making it look preordained; or, even more grotesquely, in the end, beneficial—and the actors are, therefore, seen as innocent bystanders, mere cogs of an infernal machine nobody can stop. ‘It is their fate, as it is that of their victims,’ so to say.
In any case, following on this Völkisch trend and Heinrich I conquest of Slavic territories, it seemed ‘natural’ that Germans should invade Eastern Europe.
Tied into this, the Artaman League and the writings of Richard Darré guided the agricultural policies of Hitler, Himmler and von Schirac. “Asphalt culture” became an anti-Semitic codename for Jews, which as David said, had been banned from owning land in the German Empire for centuries.
By the way, have you seen your stickman in smaller, provincial town, cemeteries?”
“We haven’t checked much. There tend to be few and far between Jewish cemeteries in smaller towns,” admitted Tony.
“Of course!” shrugged Haim. “In any case, Christians had some trouble coming their way as well then. Himmler and Wiligut were also at war against Christians—to the point they wanted to replace Christmas with Yule, and celebrate the summer solstice in open amphitheaters, like the one volunteers built in the slopes of the Heiligerberg (‘Sacred Mountain’), in Heidelberg, in 1934. This new religion was designed to further weaken any faith not controlled by the III Reich—and to increase popular attachment to the land. In fact, on December 1931, Himmler created the ‘Race and Resettlement Bureau’, to prepare the colonization of Slavic lands and ‘breeding programs’ to recreate the ‘pure Aryan stock’.”
“So, there you have it,” added David, “there was the blood, and the soil, and the witchcraft, and the rejection of Christianity and Judaism; and the ‘reason why’ we Jews have no right to even be buried and rest in peace, according to these psychos. The only thing you need for this to be more obviously related to Himmler’s heirs would be that your little symbol, your matchstick man were painted in those places with blood….”
Hearing this, Tony, who had so far kept a poker face, and taken an occasional note here and there, became pale, swallowed hard, and then, with some effort, replied: “It…has…been painted with blood, every single time. A type of blood which is neither animal nor human blood…”
“What…?” shrieked David, letting his cup and plate fall to the floor. “What is it then? Plant blood…?”
Tapping his lips with two fingers, Tony blurted out: “Could you guys meet me in Paris in say, three days?”
“In Paris…? What for…? I still have my mountains of paper to go through. Rebekah would kill me if I bail out like that on her. There are also the members of our synagogue, which I can’t leave hanging out to dry like that. I…can…make arrangements, but it would take a bit longer…”
“…And I have to plan a visit to Catatumbo…”
“Both of you! Trust me, this can’t wait. The tickets will be here tomorrow. Be in Paris, in three days. Be there, or be squared. Say goodbye to Becky and thank her from me. Now, I have to go.”
And saying that, ignoring protestations, questions and pleas, Tony suddenly showed himself out, and was gone.
5—David At Home
As he was driving back to his place, followed within sneezing distance by his two sleepy bodyguards, Tony kept hearing in his mind words he had read in one of Haim’s books: “All this blood and soil business seems just a cope-out to make it look preordained; or something even more grotesque, a ruse to make it, in the end, look beneficial—the actors, therefore, being nothing more than innocent bystanders, Hegelian cogs of an infernal History machine that nobody can stop.” If that infernal machine that nobody but God could stop was set in motion only now, there had to be an event, perhaps an astrological conjunction of some sort, behind the appearance of these ‘whirlwinds’ and the stickmen pointing to Auschwitz—a switch of some sort, that, once flicked, made this happen precisely in 2019, and not at any of the intervening years since at least 1945, or 1929.
Tony’s bosses in the Vatican might want to follow that lead. True, currently, Nazi astrologers would be a bit harder to come by than in the 1920s or 30s, but he knew exactly how and where to start looking for them. On the other hand, if this had something to do with a purely Jewish historical landmark, just looking for the disciples of nostalgic Nazi occultists wouldn’t do. In that case, he’d have to cast a much wider net.
When he reached his apartment and bid good night to his bodyguards, he was hoping to drop like a stone on his bed, yet suspected this would be another sleepless night. The bottle of scotch and the sleeping pills beckoned, but Lajos death was still fresh in his mind. Sleeplessness or nightmares were, seemingly, his very own ‘preordained’ lot in life.
A couple of hours earlier on, when everyone else had just left, Haim and Becky had tried, in vain, to bring some normalcy back into their home: their children wanted to play, Haim to pray, Becky to pay attention to the slippery slope down which Tony’s proposal might take the entire family. “All this talking about people being carried by History like Moses’ reed cradle taken by the Nile scares me, Haim. We all might end up in a sea of trouble,” she began.
“I agree, dear,” Haim acknowledged, fixing one of their son’s robots remote. “But if these are signs something terrible is happening or about to happen, and we might be able to stop it, shouldn’t I at least look into it? We always had this sinking feeling our people in the Shoah wouldn’t have died in such large numbers if our own leadership had not betrayed them. You have said countless times…why did those volunteers in Theresienstadt, who chose to go to Auschwitz despite being warned, think those who warned were insane? In the past, when we closed our eyes hoping trouble would pass, we ended up in very dark places. No longer. No, dear. I will not dodge this chance to help Tony.”
“All right, then,” almost sighed Rebekah. “If you want to pursue this, I will take care of the house, the children, our friends who will ask lots of questions. Find someone to take your place at the Temple for a while. On the subject, if this wasn’t happening before, why is it happening now? Maybe those beasts, the ones who think they just do what History demands of them, think they have seen some…sign?”
“Probably. There has to be something that ‘makes them do this’, some mystical thing,” concurred Haim. “Something in the stars, maybe?”
> Even earlier on, about an hour after leaving Haim’s home, David was finally back home. He noticed Deborah was, as often lately, cold, distant—perhaps a bit more than usual even. Guessing why, he said nothing, kissed her, smiled, and sat calmly at the dinner table.
It was she who, after putting the dinner plate in front of him a bit more noisily than usual, began the conversation. “I know your career is your life; but I, too, have a career, and I’m not married to it. Guess I shouldn’t say anything, but I saw your crazy diagrams for a submarine expedition. You know you are claustrophobic, David. Daniel was teaching us about breathing exercises so I asked him…”
“Ah! Now it’s Daniel, not my trainer. Guess both your career and I now have been replaced,” said David stabbing a piece of chicken so hard he almost broke the plate.
“Daniel is my trainer, no my lover. All the same, I spend more time with him at the gym, before or after work, that I spend with you, before or after each expedition…”
“I’m sorry, Deb. You know I’m not doing this just to be a weather nerd. Soon Earth might stop being human-friendly. Unless someone does something, the weather will become a show of horrors…”
“The winds, I know. I understand that. I understand you worry about the world we will be leaving to our kids. But our kids not only need a breathable atmosphere: they also need a father. With your claustrophobia, your submarine infiltration of Venezuela will take you to the Olam Haba before your time. If you insist, at least, leave your papers in order before you go…” she mumbled, laconically, as she ate the last sweet potato sliver.
“The papers are in order, but I don’t intend to die yet. Tell that to ‘Daniel’, just in case…” he snarked.
“That is all you have to say…?” she replied, indignant.
“Well, I was planning to tell you about my day. We’re going to Paris in three days, so…”
“Oh, sorry… I had a hard day as well. My boss is a bitch. She can’t tell her flatulent ass from a flight simulator; but since she’s the big boss’ wife, she thinks everyone at the office is her servant. When she decides she’s essential, she constantly ‘gives feedback’ nobody wants, on matters she doesn’t understand, in ways nobody with a spine could tolerate. So most of my colleagues have become amoebas; and Cory and I are the two only idiots who ignore her and try to work hard to get things done, instead of spending hours listening to her imbecile blabbering. So, now it’s our asses that are on the line. I didn’t know about Paris. So….”
“Not to worry. I’m exhausted. I’m going to shower and then will go to bed.”
“I’ll finish a couple of things I need ready for tomorrow morning and then will go to bed,” Deborah said, in a much more congenial tone.
Then she ran to tell her mother that finally David was going to take her to Paris, and ask if she would be able to take care of the kids for a few days. After some bartering she succeeded, worked a bit on the computer, showered, first in water and soap, then in David’s favorite perfume, and finally went to bed.
Once there, naked, she lay beside him and scratched him behind the ear, a gesture she had scrupulously avoided for months. He immediately turned around, an ear-to-ear smile on his face, and started kissing her passionately.
At about three AM the bed was an absolute mess but they were too exhausted to even notice. When Deborah came back from washing up, David was snoring, so sound asleep he didn’t even notice the minor quake SoCal was experiencing that night. “Some things never change, sweetheart?” she whispered into David ear. She might as well have screamed and yet not being heard. Shaking her head, she chuckled, rested her head back on the pillow, sighed a long sigh and finally went to sleep, feeling a bit like an animated inflatable doll.
An hour or so later, David was dreaming about his grandmother, the one who survived because she had an identical twin sister. Mengele had spared them precisely to use them into some horrid experiments. He was remembering savta Esther telling him how Mengele, among other things, was constantly drawing blood from them, the reason why they called him “Todesblutegel”—the “leech of death”, instead of “Todesengel”, the “angel of death”, as the others did. After more swerving and moaning, David suddenly woke up, startled, screaming, startling Deborah as he jumped off the bed and left the bedroom. In disbelief, Deb shook her head, sighed, turned around, and went back to sleep.
Dragging his boxers, hooked by his left foot all the way, David went to the library, sat naked on a sofa, and started reading Deborah’s father’s diaries, line by line, once again.
In them, he found the part where his late father-in-law mentioned people stealing stones from tombs to do witchcraft, and notes on Eastern European traditions. Among them, legends saying vampires were very real, and that, to destroy them, one had to either stick a pointed wooden stake through their hearts, or decapitate them, and, in either case, bury them with a stone in their mouth.
Feverishly reading until he fell half-asleep, David eventually managed to go back to bed, still dragging his boxers, only to dream about vampires and Templars, and even Himmler, who now too, had morphed into a lecherous vampire. Tossing and tuning and moaning and mumbling again, David’s screams eventually woke Deborah. She finally shook him out of his nightmare, and started laughing, seeing his boxers still hanging from his foot stretched out of the bed. By then, dawn was well underway. “Tough night, sweetie, huh?” she asked, red eyed and yawning.
“Yes, baby. I was dreaming of monsters, and vampires, and witches…” he said scratching each arm with the opposite hand.
“Talking about witches, I don’t know how my boss’ wife will take it when I tell her I need time off for us to go to Paris…especially on such short notice…” Deborah wondered.
“Oh, no, dear. You misunderstood me. I’m going to Paris with Haim, because of some work on a strange swirling wind that happens around Jewish cemeteries, then vanishes, and might somehow be related with the Shoah and concentration camps…”
“Say what? I asked my mother to come take care of the kids because Amy is in New York, dealing with family problems! I told her we were finally going to Paris! And now I have to tell her that you are going, with your rabbi, to hunt down vanishing swirls of pasul air? Listen, darling dear, when you come back, there might be something else that would be gone. And that won’t be a ‘swirl’, it’ll be an F5 tornado!”
And saying that, she went to sob under the shower, exited through the other door of the ensuite, quickly dressed, woke up the children, kept silent during breakfast, drove the children to school, came back to pick something she had forgotten, and was gone without another word or even a perfunctory kiss.
Now David would have to make hasty arrangements at work and such, being left with very little if any time to talk things through with Deborah. But now, to make matters even worse, Haim—who usually would have been the perfect mediator—would create a bigger mess, were he to intervene. All the same, rather dejected, David called him to ask if, instead of him, Becky could try to be the ersatz mediator while Haim and he were in Paris.
Haim said Becky probably would be delighted, but reminded him Tony probably would like to keep their discussions private, and this ‘mediation’ risked making some matters a bit too public. “Come on, Haim. Am I crazy or aren’t we all in this together? If you want my help, you’d better convince Tony to be fine with Becky explaining things to Deb so she can save my marriage. Otherwise, I’d have to stay and try my luck in Venezuela without Tony’s help.”
“All right. Will do. I’ve just got an email from Tony. The tickets will be here this morning. Sort things out at work and get ready. I’ll ask Becky to call Deb before lunch. Bye for now,” he said, slinging his cell phone on the sofa and throwing his hands to his head. He too had mounds of things to sort out. Cantors or members of the congregation could lead services, and he at least knew full well which ones not to approach to do that. To take his place during his absence—which Tony said would be brief, less than a week, most likely—h
e’d talk to the right people, ask Becky to keep and eye on them, regardless, and ask his friend, a rabbi from a nearby synagogue, for some help. That out of the way, Haim called architects, and builders, and what not, and notified everyone that an event of force majeure required him to delay a whole host of projects ‘for a few days’.
He also wanted to read some more, based on a remark Deborah had thrown at David: that all those people, assassinated, who had ended in gas chambers or soap factories, had gone to the Olam Ha-Ba before their time. Why would present-day Himmler’s copycats now want to insult the memory of those who died so cruelly, without proper burial, by using them to perform some sick witchcraft, some ‘Blut und Boden’, blood and soil, ritual? What purpose could this non-human blood, spilled in places where the dead were properly buried in hollowed ground, possibly serve? Was it a way to disturb those souls who now rested in peace, to force them to clash with those tortured, mutilated, and murdered in extermination camps? What sort of sick monstrosity could this be? Had the world gone more insane than cynics and end-of-dayers gave it credit for? Were these days of darkness a prelude for something even darker soon to come?
True, Abraham, Moses and Miriam said death was the end. But Numbers: 30, 33 speaks about “the Pit”, Sheol, “the Land of Forgetfulness”, a dark place where the dead live in darkness, cut off from G-d and from the living, not judged, in limbo. Ecclesiastes and Job tell that, whether rich or poor, good or evil, slave or free, the dead go to Sheol. If those souls are in limbo, but can be spoken to, somehow, and have forgotten who they once were, could they then be manipulated? That was one thing.
He had to think. So he sat for a moment.
After the second destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem, the Hellenistic ideas of separate, eternal soul, and physical, perishable body, began entering Judaism. When people questioned why the G-d of Israel would allow the destruction of His Temple and the enslavement of His people by the Roman idolaters, Rabbi Ya’akov had said this world is like an antechamber to Olam Ha-Ba, a place where the righteous might suffer, only to be rewarded even more in the World to Come.
Quest for the Ark Page 5