In His Image

by James Beauseigneur

  “In ancient times,” Christopher continued, “such diplomatic logjams were broken by an exchange of gifts. I would not be so naive as to believe that your assent could be bought in such a manner, and yet I recognize the precedent and so come bearing gifts.” Christopher, who was already standing, walked to the room’s entrance and opened the large double doors in a bit of grand display, which was certain to be excused when it was learned what he had brought.

  In the hallway outside, four unarmed Italian security guards stood watch around a wooden crate about the size of a small freezer that sat about three feet above the ground on a very sturdy-looking metal table with wheels. Christopher signaled to the one in charge, and the four men rolled the table and crate into the room and then left, closing the double doors behind them.

  The crate was built of cedar and was itself a work of art, more a display case than a simple crate. The four sides were hinged at the bottom to allow the sides to fold down to display the contents. At the top middle of each side was a locking mechanism that held the sides securely shut. From his pocket Christopher took a set of four keys. “I do not ask for anything in return,” he said, “for with the giving of this gift I gain as well. What I gain is hope. Hope that the level of trust between us may grow and that we may, through that trust, come to achieve those things that of necessity governments must accomplish in order to conduct themselves in a manner consistent with the rule of law.”

  Christopher’s appeal could be viewed in either of two ways: as an eloquent plea for something no reasonable person could refuse to grant, or as a bunch of flowery tripe. Either way, it gave Christopher a chance to state again what he was after. For if anything he had said thus far was tripe, it was that he was not asking anything in return for this gift. And if his last words were counted as tripe as well, it made no difference; what they were about to see was of such importance to the people of Israel that nothing the prime minister might possibly concede in a new treaty could compare to what they had gained here.

  Christopher took the keys and moved quickly to each of the four locks, opening each in the order directed in the letter that had been delivered to Alice Bernley and Robert Milner. As he opened the last lock, he moved back and it became clear just how special this crate really was. On a three-second delay after the opening of the fourth lock, eight pistons simultaneously slid through hydraulic cylinders, allowing the four sides of the crate to drop slowly open. The top was supported by the frame against which the four sides had been sealed. Except for Christopher, who was already standing, and Alice Bernley, who knew what was inside and so stood to get a better look, everyone else in the room was seated and it was not until the sides were about halfway open that anyone caught a glimpse of what was inside. As they did, their eyes grew wide, and all rose to their feet. For a moment no one spoke. Each just stood and stared in awe. And then there was a sound, almost a shriek from the back of the room. The younger of the high priest’s two Levite attendants raised his hands as if to shield himself and ran from the room screaming something in Hebrew.

  The reaction of the Levite made the prime minister catch himself. For a moment he had almost believed it to be real. Now he was sure he knew better. “It is a very nice reproduction, Mr. Ambassador,” the prime minister said to Christopher as he sat back down. He spoke very loudly, casting his voice in the direction of his foreign minister and the high priest with the intent of bringing them back to reality. “I’m sure one of our museums will be very glad to accept it. It must have cost someone a good deal of money.”

  The prime minister’s words had the effect he hoped for. The foreign minister, the high priest, and finally the high priest’s remaining attendant all came to realize this must be a reproduction. There was certainly no possibility it was the real Ark of the Covenant. It couldn’t be. The Ark had not been seen for thousands of years. Still, it seemed a singularly impressive reproduction. The craftsmanship and care that had gone into its creation were astonishing.

  “I assure you, Mr. Prime Minister, it is indeed the Ark of the Covenant.” The speaker was Alice Bernley. Her voice was very confident and her words matter-of-fact. It was the first time she had spoken since the introductions. She knew her presence at the meeting was inappropriate; she represented no government, she was simply an observer, and now she was no longer an unobtrusive one. She didn’t wait for an answer. She didn’t really care what the prime minister thought. Her only interest was in seeing the Ark and she moved closer to get a better look.

  “Alice is correct, Mr. Prime Minister,” Milner said.

  The prime minister laughed. “Mr. Milner, I don’t doubt your sincerity and I appreciate whatever effort you went to in order to procure this for us, but this simply cannot be the true Ark of the Covenant.”

  Christopher had let the conversation go on without him long enough. “Mr. Prime Minister, I am well aware of the significance of this day in your nation’s history. It is Tisha B’Av, a day of fasting, the day history records that both your first and second Temples were destroyed. It was no accident that I chose today for this meeting. I chose it to offer your people a sign and symbol of hope for the future—that on this day of all days there is hope for all the people of the earth, if only we will cooperate and work together. What you see here, Mr. Prime Minister,” Christopher concluded, pointing with his open hand to the Ark, “is the Ark of the Covenant. It is not a reproduction. It is not an imitation. It is real!”

  “Mr. Ambassador!” the prime minister said, raising his voice, “Do you take us for fools?”

  “We can prove it’s authentic,” Christopher answered emphatically, but without raising his voice.

  “How?” demanded the prime minister.

  “By the Ark’s contents.”

  Suddenly the prime minister fell silent. The suggestion surprised him. Of course. They could look inside. The validation process would be so simple. So simple, in fact, that maybe there was something to the Italian ambassador’s claim after all. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s look inside.” Almost as soon as he said it, the prime minister realized that if this were the real Ark, it wouldn’t be proper to do that.

  “Oh no, Mr. Prime Minister,” Christopher said. “That’s not exactly what I meant. The Ark must be handled with great care. It would not be wise for just anyone to open it. According to the Scriptures, many have died for mishandling the Ark.” 62

  “Well, then how shall we see inside?” he asked.

  “I would urge that only the high priest should open it.” The prime minister looked at the high priest, who nodded, indicating that at least in general, Christopher was right.

  “It does pose some problems,” the high priest began in response to the question on the prime minister’s face. He moved closer to the prime minister, Christopher, and Milner; leaving Bernley to examine the Ark unnoticed. It was all the same to her; she had no interest in what was being said. “If it truly is the Ark,” the high priest continued, “then it should be opened only in the Temple. And yet if it is not the Ark, then it would be an abomination to place it in the Holy of Holies to be opened, especially since we’re not sure what’s inside. Perhaps it could be brought inside the Temple but not—”

  Suddenly a brief but blood-curdling scream filled the room. Behind them Alice Bernley’s lifeless body crumpled and fell, her head hitting the carpeted floor with a muffled thud.

  “Alice!” Milner cried as he ran to her.

  “What happened?” shouted the prime minister.

  The remaining attendant of the high priest, who had seen what happened, looked as if he were in shock. “She … she touched the Ark,” he answered.

  The Italian ambassador to Israel, Paulo D’Agostino, who had stayed quiet until this point, ran to the door and shouted for someone to call a doctor.

  Robert Milner, finding no pulse, desperately began CPR. A state doctor assigned to the Knesset was there within seconds. He began emergency procedures even as Bernley was being put on a stretcher to be taken by ambulan
ce to the nearest hospital. It would be another twenty minutes before she was officially pronounced dead.

  As her body was taken from the room, followed by a weeping Robert Milner, High Priest Chaim Levin quoted from the Bible: “The Lord’s anger burned against Uzzah, and he struck him down because he had put his hand on the ark.” 63

  The prime minister looked back and forth from the high priest to the Ark and then to the others in the room. The Levite read madly through his Siddur, the traditional prayer book containing prayers for almost every imaginable occasion. He could find nothing for this moment. Christopher went to the Ark and carefully closed up the sides of the wooden crate to prevent anyone else from suffering Bernley’s fate.

  Finally, the prime minister spoke, “The high priest will examine your Ark, Mr. Goodman. And if it is, in fact, the Ark of the Lord, you shall have your treaty and the gratitude of the people of Israel.”

  24

  The Elect

  New York, New York

  OVER DINNER IN DECKER’S APARTMENT Christopher brought Decker up to date on his trip to Israel and the events surrounding the death of Alice Bernley. Robert Milner had stayed behind in Israel to take care of the arrangements for Alice’s body. Christopher explained that though there were still a few fine points to be ironed out, he was hopeful the treaty with Israel would be signed in mid-September and would go into effect by the end of the month to coincide with Rosh Hashana, the Jewish New Year. Afterward Decker gave Christopher a detailed rundown of the efforts to choose a new secretary-general. The two candidates, Kruszkegin from Northern Asia and Clark of North America, had each tried to add to their support but without any success.

  It was a very strange dance to watch. Since whoever was ultimately chosen would need the approval of every other member, neither man wanted to risk stepping on the other’s toes as they climbed over the other, hoping to get to the top. Two days had passed with no change among the Security Council members. Then Ambassador Lee of China, who had thus far abstained, decided she could not support either candidate despite her personal friendship with Kruszkegin. Acting quickly, the members who had originally nominated the ambassador from the Pacific Basin and then had substituted Kruszkegin to secure the votes of East and West Africa, again made a switch.

  Their new candidate was the Frenchman Albert Faure. Faure held the votes of those who had previously supported Kruszkegin and had added China, which considered the European the least objectionable candidate. India, which had originally supported Jackson Clark of the U.S., when faced with a choice between the American and the European, had decided to abstain. So as far as anyone could tell, the vote was now six to three in favor of Faure.

  Decker waited until after they ate before getting to the part about Faure. There was no reason to ruin Christopher’s appetite.

  Just then the phone rang. Decker answered and heard a familiar voice. It was Jackie Hansen from Christopher’s office at the UN. After her father’s death Christopher had hired Jackie as his chief administrative assistant. The reason for the call was an unexpected request for an appointment early the next morning. Normally, Christopher got in at about 7:30, but he had planned to go in late the next day so he could catch up on some lost sleep. The circumstances of the request made him put his other plans on hold. Two of the top generals from the World Peace Organization, Lieutenant General Robert McCoid, commanding general of the United Nations Military Observer Group in India and Pakistan (UNMOGIP), and Major General Alexander Duggan, recently assigned to WPO military headquarters in Brussels, Belgium, had arrived in New York without any advance notice and had asked to meet with Christopher as early as possible. Such a request was quite unusual and for that very reason Christopher quickly agreed to meet them in his office at 6:45 the next morning.

  The two men were hardly noticed the next morning when they arrived to meet with Christopher, which was the way they wanted it. Jackie Hansen had arrived early to give the office the illusion of activity at the early hour; the rest of the staff would not arrive for at least an hour, and it didn’t seem right to have the generals greeted by an empty office. Christopher and Jackie were both in the reception area when their visitors arrived.

  As a rule generals can be very serious people but these two had something particularly sobering on their minds. They would have preferred to get right to the heart of the matter, but an issue of this magnitude had to be approached with great care.

  ’En Kerem, Israel

  Scott Rosen sat alone at his kitchen table eating his dinner. Outside, as the evening drew near, he could hear the voice of a neighbor calling her children in from their play. For a moment he thought back to his own childhood and the times he had spent playing with the children in his neighborhood. Often his grandfather, who had lived with them, would come out and throw a softball with him, or they would take a walk together through a nearby park and talk about what Scott was learning in Hebrew school or about the weather. Sometimes his grandfather would talk about his wife. Scott had never known his grandmother and he could listen for hours to his grandfather talk about her.

  The steam from Scott’s chicken soup—his mother’s recipe— rose before him and brought him back to the present, but as he looked around he became aware he was not where he thought he was. This was his parents’ house—the one they had owned in the United States when he was a boy. Before him the table was set for five. Near his father’s place sat a large brass plate with sprigs of parsley, a small dollop of horseradish, a larger dollop of an apple mixture called charoseth, the shank bone of a lamb, and a roasted egg. Next to it was another plate stacked with matzah. The table was obviously set for pesach—the Passover. Four of the five places were set for Scott, his parents, and his grandfather. The extra place, in accordance with tradition, was set for the prophet Elijah, should he choose to return from heaven and grace their table with his presence.

  Scott gave his head a quick shake and when that failed to have any effect on his circumstances, he tried rubbing his eyes. “Scott, come in here and help your mother,” said a woman’s voice from the kitchen. It was his mother, Ilana Rosen. As he heard the voice, it was as though the memory of his adult life had been but a dream. He tried to recall what he had been thinking, but the memory was fading too fast. All he could latch onto were a few, small, disassociated parts. He remembered that in the dream of his future there was something about his grandfather dying and him going to Israel, about his parents coming to live in Israel and him telling the authorities that they … But the rest of that memory was gone … about his parents dying … about a war with Russia … and … Scott brushed the thoughts away as the meaningless vestiges of a daydream and ran in to help his mother in the kitchen.

  “Your father and grandfather will be home soon,” Scott’s mother said when he came into the kitchen. “We need to hurry with the preparations for Passover.” Outside the sun was setting, marking the beginning of the Passover Shabbat, or Sabbath. Ilana Rosen worked at the cork in the bottle of red wine. “Here,” she said as she handed the bottle to Scott, “see what you can do with it.” Scott gripped the bottle firmly and gave it a tug. The already-loosened cork came out easily. “Wonderful!” Ilana said as she clapped her hands. “Now take it to the table but be careful not to spill any when you fill the glasses.”

  Scott poured the wine into the glasses for his parents and grandfather, gave himself half a glass, and then very carefully poured Elijah’s cup. This was a very special wine glass, made of hand-cut leaded crystal—though this had always seemed strange to Scott because the glass was clear and he could see no lead in it. Still, it was a very special glass, taken out only for the Passover. For just an instant Scott seemed to have a memory of having broken this glass as he took it from the cupboard when he was fifteen. But that was silly; Scott was only eleven.

  Behind him, Scott heard the front door open and turned to see his father and grandfather. Scott stopped what he was doing, ran over to his grandfather, and hugged him with all his might. How w
onderful, he thought, to hug his grandfather again. As this thought occurred to him he remembered a part of his daydream: His grandfather had died, a thought that made him shudder. But that was all a dream. Still, he took tremendous pleasure in feeling his grandfather’s arms around him again.

  Soon the Passover meal, or Seder, began and progressed through each step as directed by the Haggadah, which serves as a sort of a Passover guide book with descriptions, recitations, and the words to songs sung at points during the meal. First was the brechat haner, or kindling of candles. Then came the kiddush, the first cup, which is the cup of blessing; the urchatz, which is the first of two ceremonial washings of hands; and the karpas, when parsley is dipped in saltwater to represent the tears Israel shed while slaves in Egypt and the saltwater of the Red Sea. Next was the yachutz, when the father takes the middle of three matzahs from a white cloth pouch called the echad (meaning unity, or one), breaks the matzah in half, places one half back in the echad and the other half in a separate linen covering. Later, as directed by the Haggadah, the father hides the broken piece of matzah, called the Afikomen (a Greek word meaning “I have come”) somewhere at the table. The youngest member of the family then must search until he finds it. When he does, he takes the Afikomen to his father to be redeemed for a gift or money. This had always been Scott’s favorite part of the Seder. But he would have to wait until later in the dinner for that.

  After the breaking of the middle piece of matzah came the maggid, the retelling of the story of Moses and the Passover, and then the ma-nishtanah, or four questions. Scott, as the youngest member of the family, would in his best Hebrew recite four questions about the Passover, each of which was answered in turn by his father. Then came the recitation of the ten plagues that had befallen the Egyptians. This part had always been funny to Scott because the Haggadah directs that, as each plague is named, those at the table are to stick a finger in their wine and sprinkle a drop on their plate.