“On page three, the form asked for past residences where you had lived for more than three months. What was your answer?
Masada looked at her old handwriting. “The first was Kibbutz Ben-Yair, where I grew up. The second was the Ramat David Base, where I was stationed as operations specialist during my mandatory service. The third was an apartment I rented near Arizona State University.”
“And the list is inclusive of all residences, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Now let’s move to the last question on page five.”
Masada looked at Chadwick, expecting him to object, but he avoided her eyes.
“You answered No to whether you’ve been convicted of any crime, correct?”
“Correct.”
“And the attestation of truthfulness on the last page is signed by you, correct?”
“Yes.”
The government lawyer followed with another bundle of papers.
“Do you recognize this document?”
“My application for permanent resident status. It’s my handwriting. I signed it. And,” Masada flipped through the pages, “I gave the same answers to the same questions.”
Professor Levy Silver entered the courtroom. He waved at Masada. The government’s lawyer half turned. Her bulging breasts perked up and ebbed with quick breaths. She turned back and handed the court reporter a single page, which made its way to the witness stand.
“Do you recognize this document?”
“Yes.”
“Did you serve the prescribed sentence?”
“Only eight months.”
“In jail?”
“A military camp for women. It had steel doors, barbed wire fences, and guard towers. I was released when the conviction was cancelled.”
“Do you have a copy of the alleged cancellation?”
“I didn’t get a copy. It was all top secret military stuff. They released me, some foundation gave me a scholarship to ASU, and I never looked back.”
The lawyer turned to the judge. She tugged down on her tight, black dress. “No further questions for this witness.” She glanced at Masada victoriously and paced back to her table, her short legs perched on high heels that did little to stretch the stocky figure nature had given her. Masada wondered if female envy was the source of her malice.
The judge looked at Chadwick. “Would you like to question the witness?”
He stood up. “We had no opportunity to review documents, so I’ll have to defer until the next hearing.”
“Miss McPherson?”
“In view of the witness’s clear admissions of fraud,” she said, “the government doesn’t feel there is a need for another hearing.”
Rabbi Josh walked down the middle aisle of the synagogue. He paused at the foot of the steps, averting his eyes from the stained wooden dais. For a moment it all came back-Zonshine’s profanities, the exploding gunshot, the screams of panic, the sight of Raul, his chest red, his eyes open, vacant.
The rabbi felt his knees buckle, the world spinning. He grabbed Lefkowitz’s arm to steady himself. They mounted the dais together.
“Will you carry it to Israel?” Lefkowitz’s voice trembled.
“The plane will carry it.” Rabbi Josh picked up the electric saw.
“Is it necessary?”
“The Torah orders that the deceased be buried whole. This is my son’s blood. It shall go with him to his grave.” He wiped the tears that blinded him. “And on the Day of Resurrection, my Raul will rise whole with all the righteous.”
Lefkowitz’s lips parted for a question, but Rabbi Josh turned on the saw. It whined as the steel teeth sunk into the wood. The dais reverberated and sprouted a wake of sawdust.
He proceeded in a circle surrounding the area soaked with Raul’s blood. Turning off the electric saw, he gave it to the florist. The round section popped out and stood on its side, exposing a shallow crawl space beneath the dais. He had already given money to Lefkowitz to arrange for repairing the wood and for replacing the two bloody flags he had removed earlier.
Rabbi Josh kneeled, hugged the wide piece, and rose slowly, pressing it to his chest. He carried it up the aisle. At the door, he turned for a last look at the prayer hall where the boy had spent every Sabbath of his short life. He whispered, “Shalom.”
Outside, he squinted at the bright sun. His back hurt from the load. He slid his right hand a notch lower on the rough edge, and a wood chip pierced his palm. He was grateful for the sharp pain that, for a moment, dulled the terrible ache in his heart.
Professor Silver maintained his composure, but just barely. He heard the courtroom door groan behind him and turned. The blonde TV reporter walked in and sat down beside him. They watched Masada return to her lawyer’s table.
The judge said, “As defense counsel isn’t ready, I’ll put this matter on the calendar for next month.”
“But Your Honor,” McPherson argued, “the evidence is irrefutable. The government hereby makes an impromptu motion under Section 1051 of the United States Aliens and Nationality Act to revoke Miss El-Tal’s citizenship and cancel her certificate of naturalization.”
Chadwick stood. “This is highly inappropriate!”
Elizabeth McPherson lifted a book. “Her naturalization was procured by willful misrepresentation and is therefore void.”
“Let me see this!”
She handed him the book and continued unperturbed. “Miss El-Tal admitted that she failed to disclose her conviction for manslaughter and the consequent eight months of jail residency. She verified both immigration applications under oath despite their falsehoods. Clearly, she committed willful fraud.”
“We object!” Chadwick remained standing.
Silver could not see Masada’s face from where he sat, but he could see her hand grasp her lawyer’s arm.
The judge said, “Your basis for objection?”
“My client was told by the Israeli authorities that her conviction was cancelled. It didn’t exist anymore.”
Judge Rashinski turned. “Miss McPherson?”
“My colleague is trying to confuse the issues here. These forms asked clearly: Have you ever been convicted of any crime? Whether the sentence was cut short is a matter for comments or explanations at the bottom of each form. She lied. Also, she failed to disclose that she had resided in jail for eight months. Surely no one has the ability to erase that fact from existence.”
The silence in the courtroom lingered.
Masada’s lawyer sifted through papers on the table. “The events we’re talking about here, the jail and before that, the conviction, the trauma, are ancient history. One must recognize the state of mind of my client at that time.”
“The law gives no discretion here. The standard is clear. If the facts show misrepresentation, the court must revoke the citizenship.”
Silver hoped Elizabeth had a plan. What was the point of trying to revoke Masada’s citizenship? He needed her in jail today!
As if reading his mind, Elizabeth turned and looked at him. He wanted to communicate his frustration to her, but the blonde reporter looked up from her notes and saw them looking at each other.
Masada’s lawyer said, “The court must consider that she was a young immigrant, having lost her parents and little brother. She wanted to avoid the pain of recounting the events while filling out the immigration forms.”
“How original,” Elizabeth said, “to argue that your client lied on her immigration applications because it was too painful to tell the truth. I’m surprised she wrote down the true names of her deceased parents. Wasn’t that painful?”
Silver wanted to cheer her eloquence.
“Imagine,” she continued, “if felons may conceal their criminal past if such truthful disclosure would cause them emotional discomfort.”
“I agree,” the judge said. “Mr. Chadwick, your client has sixty days to respond to the government’s petition.”
Silver’s heart sank. This was the end of the road
. With Masada free, even if his green card arrived tomorrow, he was as good as dead going to Israel in direct violation of Rajid’s orders. This was the choice he had feared: death or blindness.
“We would agree to an extension,” Elizabeth said. “But considering the high likelihood of success in these proceeding, Miss El-Tal should be held in detention pending the revocation of her citizenship and deportation.”
Masada said loudly, “Deportation?”
“The court should note,” Chadwick argued, “that my client has been a productive, taxpaying U.S. citizen for decades. Her unfortunate error needs to be corrected, that’s all.”
“The law is clear.” Elizabeth had several open books in front of her, pages marked with yellow stickers. “Once fraud is established, the citizenship must be cancelled, and deportation follows automatically without the need to prove again the same facts. For example, in the Schellong case the Court of Appeals for the Seventh Circuit upheld a judgment of deportation, stating: The facts established in the denaturalization suit sufficiently demonstrate that Schellong willfully misrepresented material facts on both his visa application and his naturalization petition. Just like Miss El-Tal, Herr Schellong failed to disclose his prior residence in a military penitentiary,” she paused, “in his case, as an SS guard at Dachau.”
“Comparing me to a Nazi murderer?” Masada pounded a fist into her hand. They were standing on the sixth floor of the glass-and-steel federal court building. The judge had declared a ten-minute break, telling Chadwick to make sure his client understood the severity of her situation. Two U.S. marshals stood nearby, watching her.
“McPherson wasn’t comparing you to the Nazi,” Chadwick said. “She was citing a precedent for the legal interpretation of the language of the act. It happened to be a case involving a concentration camp guard who also lied on his applications.”
“I didn’t lie!”
Professor Silver took her hand. “Meidaleh, I’ll hire the best immigration lawyer in Phoenix. You’ll be out in a day.”
She stepped to the railing and looked down into the cavernous atrium below. “I’m not going to jail.”
“It’s not a jail, it’s a detention center.” Silver turned to Chadwick. “Give me the three top names in immigration law. I want the best. Money’s not an issue!”
Masada went over to a bench and sat down. The professor sat next to her, his face creased with worry.
Chadwick put down his briefcase. “McPherson is top notch. She got the facts lined up beautifully. We have to take the sixty days and agree to detention. Your new lawyer should get you out quickly.”
“Rubbish,” Tara said. “They’ll send you to Eloy, and you’ll be stuck there forever.”
“Why such pessimism?” Silver asked. “A good lawyer will obtain her release immediately.”
“I did a piece for Channel Six on Eloy. Tens of thousands of immigrants in cages. You think they’ll stop everything to roll out the red carpet for Masada El-Tal? You’ll be sucked into the system-a black hole.”
“Who are you to say?” Professor Silver raised his voice. “You’re a vulture, hunting for a story. Shame on you!”
Tara laughed. “Chill out, Lenin. We’re on the same side.”
Silver pushed himself between Masada and Tara. “Listen to your only friend. If your papa was alive today, he would say the same thing. Let me hire a lawyer who knows what he’s doing. You’ll be back here tomorrow for a new hearing and they’ll release you.”
“You’re dreaming,” Tara said. “Hearings are conducted by video from Eloy.”
“Let’s discuss this rationally.” Chadwick sat on the bench. “You must understand that I will not be your lawyer after today, so-”
“Why not?” Tara asked.
“Jab Corporation decided to terminate Masada’s publishing contracts, which creates a conflict of interests for me.”
“Great!” Tara pulled out a mobile phone. “Have you signed up with a new publisher?”
Masada shook her head.
Tara stepped aside, her phone at her ear. A moment later she returned. “It’s all arranged. Channel Six will pay your expenses, including travel, per diem, informers, and so on. You give us exclusivity. But you can’t investigate from jail. Go to Canada, we’ll set you up with a sister station, and the two of us will work together through Internet and phone. When we expose who really bribed Mahoney, you’ll win another Pulitzer Prize and recover everything you’ve lost.”
Rabbi Josh carried the round section of the dais into his house. The wood was heavy with dry blood. He kneeled and placed the piece on the living room floor, leaning it against the wall.
The phone rang. Marti Lefkowitz wanted him to know that Senator Mitchum was making an announcement about Israel. Rabbi Josh turned on the wall-mounted TV in the exercise alcove off his bedroom and got on the elliptical machine, resting his elbows on the display panel.
Senator Mitchum stood against a background of rocky, desert hills with saguaro cacti and sparse bushes. He fixed the angle of his Stetson and smiled broadly. “I am determined to continue the work of my mentor, the late Senator Mahoney, to bring federal dollars to the great state of Arizona, generating development while preserving this beautiful piece of God’s earth.”
There was meek applause in the background.
Rabbi Josh started pedaling the machine. “Go on, beat up on Israel.”
“As soon as I took over chairmanship,” Mitchum announced, his teeth sparkling with whiteness that defied his advanced age, “of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, I vowed to investigate the plot against America until the guilty pay for what they did.”
“Say it!” Rabbi Josh wiped the sweat off his brow, pumping his legs faster. “The Jews!”
“The committee submitted the Fair Aid Act to the full Senate, so that no foreign nation would ever again dare corrupting our legislative process!”
“Miss El-Tal,” Judge Rashinski said, “the privilege to become a naturalized U.S. citizen depends on moral character and a clean record. Our laws require revocation when fraud is proven.”
Masada stood up. “I had no intention to defraud.”
“You’ll have an opportunity to respond to the motion by bringing your own evidence as to motive. Unfortunately, with the factual admissions you made on the record today, the likelihood of success tips strongly toward the government’s motion to revoke your citizenship. Therefore, this court cannot release you, lest our tax dollars be spent on a game of hide-and-seek.”
“What if I leave the country now?”
“We object,” McPherson said. “The government insists that she remains in custody pending deportation.”
Masada’s knee threatened to buckle, but she turned to the government lawyer and asked, “Who sent you after me? Washington? The Israelis? I have rights. I’m still an American citizen!”
“I am an angry man,” Senator Mitchum said, still smiling, “because a foreign government claiming to be our ally sent its agents with dirty money to buy favorable legislation in Washington.” He raised a fist and punched the air half-heartedly. “When its scheme imploded, that foreign government engaged in additional mayhem and violence in this peaceful valley, risking the lives of innocent Arizonans. That government must atone for its crimes.”
“That government,” Rabbi Josh said, picking up speed, “has a name!”
“Therefore, my first action as the new committee chairman was to propose the Fair Aid Act to suspend military aid and cooperation while we investigate inappropriate clandestine activities by a foreign country.”
“Here we go!” Rabbi Josh wiped the sweat from his face. “Say it. The bad Jews!”
Senator Mitchum shook a finger. “We will hold the guilty responsible!”
“Punish the Jews!” Rabbi Josh pedaled faster.
“A vote on the Fair Aid Act will take place on Wednesday, a week from tomorrow.” Mitchum must have tired of smiling, his face turning slack. “It will suspend all defense appropriations
and sales of weapons to Israel.”
“That’s it.” Rabbi Josh panted. “Let Israel die!”
Masada looked up at the judge. “For the record, I contest the facts and the legal reasoning. However, in order to avoid incarceration, I request permission to leave the country voluntarily until my rights are restored.”
Judge Rashinski swiveled in his chair. “Your reasons for objection, Miss McPherson?”
Masada watched the lawyer’s face contort, as if the sweetness of victory had somehow turned sour. “We believe the process requires that Miss El-Tal is available for additional questioning and hearings. If she’s out of the country, what guarantee to we have that she would even respond to the motion?”
“She wants to win it, I believe.” The judge pounded his desk. “Miss El-Tal shall remain in custody in the holding cells in this federal building until arrangements are made for an official escort out of the country, but no later than ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“Your Honor,” McPherson protested, “the government needs more time!”
The judge smirked. “Unless an immigration official accompanies her onto a flight by ten tomorrow, she will be released on her own recognizance and make her own travel arrangements. So ordered.”
Thursday, August 14
Professor Silver had spent the night on the basement sofa, awake and despondent, drained of energy and hope. Elizabeth had failed him on both counts-Masada was going to be released in the morning, and he had no green card. He was doomed to blindness.
The irony didn’t escape him. For years he had labored to realize his vision of ruining Israel, and now, when his brilliance had finally brought the Zionist enemy to its knees, his own demise was imminent.
Blind!
From his perch on the sofa, through a thin cloud of smoke, the dark blotch showed against the opposite wall. He moved his gaze to the left and the blotch moved with it. Last week it was smaller, next week it would be larger, and soon his hands would grope for the walls on his way to the bathroom.
The Masada Complex Page 22