by Dan Sofer
“There you go—that’s your proof, isn’t it?”
“Well, not anymore. He sold everything on eBay. I think he did it to please me.”
“I’ve got it! Problem solved.” For once, Sarit’s indefatigable optimism seemed like a lifeline, not an annoyance. Over the years she had dragged Noga to dance classes and charity evenings and other thinly disguised singles’ events. Noga had regretted all of them but now she hoped against all odds that her friend held the answer to her problems. “Here’s what you do,” she continued. “Go back to him. Let him think it over. In time, maybe he’ll come to see it your way. Or not. What do you care? Either way, you get the penthouse.”
“I don’t care about the penthouse and I don’t want to go back. He’s… changed. The old Elijah may have sounded insane but at least he cared about something besides himself.”
“He cares about you, doesn’t he?”
“I’m not so sure anymore.”
“So does that mean he’s available?” Noga swatted her with a stiff cushion. “Just asking. Anyway, after dating you, I don’t think I’d meet his high standards.”
Sarit got up and the couch creaked. “Take it easy, girl. Watch some TV. I’ll make hot chocolate and we’ll be miserable together. Like the good old days.”
Noga sneezed. The dusty couch was triggering her allergies. The good old days sucked.
What would Elijah the Prophet do now? According to Eli, he had possessed a holy intuition and a bag of miracles. She had neither. She needed to share her data with someone in a position of power. They’d know what to do next.
Then she’d have to find an apartment and a job. One mission impossible at a time. Sarit was right—she needed a rest. Tomorrow, she’d pick herself up; tonight she’d wallow in self-pity.
A kettle whined in the kitchenette. Noga slid the remote from the mug-stained coffee table and turned on the immense TV on the small wooden stand that looked ready to collapse.
A studio panel deliberated the elections polls. She had almost forgotten about the elections. Would she even bother to vote tomorrow? One of the new parties wasn’t doing so well. A chart showed their projections drop from twelve seats to zero, despite a televised apology.
An honest-looking man in a suit threw his arm over the shoulders of a bearded rabbi. “Restart is all about starting over,” the man said.
“Welcome to the club,” Noga said.
He gave the rabbi an admiring glance. “Rabbi Yosef has been sober for ten years and was unfairly dismissed from his job. The other allegations made against us are also unfounded.”
Sarit returned to the couch and handed over a mug of hot chocolate.
Noga asked, “Who’re they?”
Sarit performed her stunned fish impression. “Have you been living under a rock? That’s Moshe Karlin of Restart, formerly the Dry Bones Society.”
“The Dry Bones Society?”
“The non-profit that takes in those resurrected people. Pretty freaky, hey?”
“He’s running in the elections?”
“Yeah. Handsome guy, I know, but don’t bother—he’s taken. Pretty wife too. Maybe he’s your messiah?”
“You think he’s the Messiah?”
“Yeah, why not? Although with all the scandals, he probably won’t get any mandates.”
Then you can do that on your own, Eli had said. A plan formed in Noga’s mind and gave her new hope.
CHAPTER 60
“Oh my God,” Lia said. “This place is amazing!”
The green-eyed blonde took in Eli’s living room as the blinds opened and the night skyline of Jerusalem glittered through the French windows.
She had climbed onto his Sportster Iron 883 and clung to him as the bike shuddered down the bumpy Jerusalem streets. He had let her wear the helmet.
At the penthouse, he pulled two glasses from a cupboard and poured generous helpings of red wine and joined her at the window. The Old City glowed golden in the distance.
“Thanks.” She took a sip. “This is good. What is it?”
“Shiraz.”
She raised her glass. “Here’s to new experiences.” The glasses clinked and they swallowed more wine.
“You have this whole place to yourself?”
“Mm-hmm.”
The penthouse had a seductive charm. How had he never taken advantage of that before? Noga, the first girl to visit his bachelor pad, had gone there alone to investigate his prophetic claims while he had lain in a hospital bed. She had broken up with him all the same.
Lia’s large green eyes drank him in. “Don’t you get lonely up here?”
Eli considered the question. Loneliness had never been an issue and yet he had rushed to fill the vacuum Noga had left. “I suppose I do.”
“You don’t have to be lonely anymore.” She kicked off her sandals and dropped ten centimeters in height. Slipping her hand in his, she led him away from the window, and a knot tied in his stomach.
At the couch, she took the wine from his hand and placed both their glasses on the coffee table.
“You must be good at what you do.”
Was he? Eli Katz had failed at leading a normal life, and Elijah had failed at bringing the Redemption, and neither of them had prevented Noga from walking out.
Lia’s eyes twinkled in the glow of the LED lighting of the kitchen. “Success is very exciting.”
She pulled a pin from the plaits above her head and blond hair spilled over her neck and shoulders.
The knot in his stomach tightened. What if Noga walked in right now? There would be no turning back. Would he ever see her again?
Lia’s sweet perfume filled his head as she leaned in, her eyes closed, her lips parting.
“Wait,” he said. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
CHAPTER 61
Yosef rushed home Tuesday morning straight after prayers. Today was the most important day of his life but he couldn’t tell a soul. Not yet.
In his bedroom, he found his wedding suit in the closet and removed the plastic cover of the dry cleaners. A messiah is born into every generation and can reveal himself at any moment, and so Yosef had kept the suit at the ready for years. Two months ago, he had adjusted the trousers ahead of his fateful meeting with the Great Council of Torah Sages. Instead of greeting the Messiah, however, he and Moshe had fled the Great Synagogue of Kiryat Belz, an angry ultra-Orthodox mob at their heels.
Today would be different and that certainty warmed his bones. Gavri the grocer had shared with him the word on the street. While Yosef had wasted time cold-calling potential messiahs across the city, the true Messiah had whispered his arrival date to the city folk. Instead of attempting to force the End of Days, Yosef should have waited patiently and kept his finger on the spiritual pulse of the Nation of Israel, for, if not prophets, they were the children of prophets, and their holy intuition did not err.
Deciding to skip breakfast—who could think of food on this historic morning?—he combed his hair, grabbed his black fedora, and headed for the front door.
“It’s just an election,” said a voice as he marched through the living room. Rocheleh sat at the kitchen counter with her coffee and newspaper, her hair covering wrapping her head. She eyed his clothes. “There’s no need to get all dressed up.”
He had not shared Gavri’s tidings with his wife. She would not hold the messianic promises of the local grocer in high esteem.
Yosef gave her a sheepish grin. “They might need me for a press conference later.” That was true enough. Why annoy her with optimistic theories when he could delight her later with joyous facts?
She shrugged her shoulders and returned to her newspaper.
Yosef clicked the remote on his keychain to unlock the brand new Hyundai i35 on the sidewalk. The company car—the first issued by the Dry Bones Society—had replaced his broken down old Subaru, and the engine started every morning without protest.
He turned right onto Yehuda Street, cut through the German Co
lony, and parked outside Horev Primary School. He was third in line when the voting station opened.
“Save us from the zombie menace,” said a young man at the gate. “Vote Upward.” Like his friends, the young activist wore a yellow T-shirt with a black nuclear hazard sign.
Yosef just smiled and pulled his hat over his eyes. He bounced on the balls of his feet like a man in dire need of the bathroom. When his turn came, he left his blue identity book at the table of observers and dashed behind the voting booth. He placed a white paper scrap with a large Hebrew letter Hey for Hat-chel, or Restart, in his envelope, which he dropped through the slot of the voting bin.
Having fulfilled his civic duty, he got back in his car and made for the Old City, painfully aware that now he was officially shirking his professional duties. He had not told Moshe about the Messiah either. Moshe had enough on his mind on Election Day, and his absence at the Dry Bones Society would not change their inevitable defeat at the polls. And if the Messiah didn’t show, Yosef would have added one more disappointment to an already depressing day.
But this morning the Messiah was going to show. He had to. The exiles were returning to the Land and the Resurrection was progressing in full force. All that remained was to rebuild the Temple and bring peace to the land—easy tasks when compared with raising the dead.
Cyndi Lauper sang “She Bop” on the car’s speakers. Moshe had given him the disc of her greatest hits to replace Yosef’s stretched old cassette, seeing that the new car only had a CD player. The jumpy pop song filled the sunny Jerusalem air with the thrill of adventure and discovery, although, to be honest, Yosef had no idea what the song was about.
He crossed the short bridge over the Hinnom Valley and climbed toward Mount Zion. In the jam-packed visitors’ lot, he parked between two tour buses, then ran for the gates of the Old City. He passed beneath the tall arch of Zion Gate, the imposing walls around the arrow slits pockmarked with bullet holes, and jogged down the inner road that led from the Armenian Quarter.
The alleys and cobbled squares of the Jewish Quarter grew thick with tourists, seminary students, and locals. Quite a turnout for Election Day. The throng reminded Yosef of the surging crowds that formed during Passover, Shavuot, and Sukkot, the three pilgrim festivals when Jews flocked to Jerusalem from all over the world. The rumor of the Messiah had reached many more ears than he had imagined.
When he reached the stairway that descended toward the Western Wall Plaza, the pedestrian traffic came to a standstill. A quarter hour later, he had only reached the bend of the staircase.
The golden Dome of the Rock rose behind the Wailing Wall. The long massive slabs of weathered stone were all that remained of Herod’s immense Temple complex.
In the Western Wall Plaza below, a tightly packed mass of people—men and women, black-hatted and bareheaded—covered every inch of floor tile from view. Yosef had never seen the plaza so full or so quiet.
The throng of waiting Jews extended down the steps to a security inspection booth. Men with backpacks. Women with strollers. Yosef descended one step as the line inched forward and the Western Wall Plaza dropped out of view behind the barrier wall of the staircase.
Yosef glanced at his wristwatch and panic shot through him. This would take time. Far too much time. A mere hundred meters away, the Messiah was about to announce his arrival, but Yosef was stuck behind a wall, waiting in line!
CHAPTER 62
Moshe grinned at Galit over the breakfast table. “Time to conquer the world,” he said.
He felt surprisingly optimistic. The PR sessions had gone well yesterday and should calm voter concerns about the moral integrity of the Restart list. Voters weren’t stupid. They could smell trumped-up and politically motivated charges a mile away. And Restart only needed a few seats in Knesset to be a viable coalition partner.
Galit, on the other hand, did not share his optimism. Avi’s televised accusations had hit her hard, making her toss and turn in bed. That morning, she had hardly tasted her toast and eggs.
She gave Moshe an imploring glance through puffy eyelids. “Don’t go out today, Moshe,” she said. “Please.”
He laughed. “If we don’t go out and vote, how is Restart going to win any seats? Besides, the team needs me at the office to boost morale. After yesterday’s drama, the media will be watching our every move and who knows what last-minute fires we’ll have to put out.”
“I have a bad feeling about this, Moshe. Let’s stay home. You heard their hatred on TV. People could get violent.”
Violent? What had gotten into her? He got up, walked over, and hugged her. “It’s an election, not a civil war. What’s the worst that can happen–we don’t get into Knesset?”
She stared into his eyes. “What if Avi makes up more accusations?”
“Then I’ll respond right away. He’s done his worst. He’s out of ammunition now.”
Galit did not seem convinced.
The doorbell rang. “That must be Noa,” Galit said and went to open the front door. They had arranged for the teenager down the street to stay home with Talya for Election Day. Galit let her in and explained when to wake Talya, what to feed her for breakfast, and how to keep her occupied. Good luck to her with that. Their daughter packed enough energy to power a small city for a week.
Moshe freshened up in the bathroom, put on a new collared shirt, and knotted his tie. He sketched out a congratulatory speech in his head, but would pencil in the number of seats later. The official vote count would be available only late that evening.
He prepared a consolation message for his followers as well, just to be on the safe side.
Galit slipped into a green dress. “How do I look?”
“Delicious. Maybe we should stay home today.”
Finally, he had succeeded in making her smile. Today would end well, he could feel it.
He fished his car keys from the drawer in the hall but when they stepped outside, a large black Mercedes idled on the curb.
The driver wore a dark suit and sunglasses and held the back door open. He would have passed for one of Gurion’s secret service agents, except for the ponytail.
“Good morning, sir,” Irina’s tattooed friend said.
“Morning, Alex. What’s the deal?”
“The VIP service,” the Russian said and grinned. “For our upcoming Member of Knesset.”
CHAPTER 63
“And then,” Eli said with the manic enthusiasm of a man who had stayed awake all night, “she said that I don’t care about anyone. She got in the elevator and left.”
Lia, the blond bombshell, hid a yawn behind her hand. She had been very understanding. They had not kissed. They had not even cuddled. Instead, he had told her his story, and once he had gotten going he had not been able to stop. He had never experienced such an outpouring of emotion. A lifetime—a very long lifetime—of repressed guilt and failure had extinguished the fire in his soul, but these cathartic flashes had made the old coals glow again.
Her eyes became sleepy slits as she rested her head on the couch. “But you do care,” she said. They had been through this before a number of times throughout the night, but each time the insight burned brighter. “You care about her.”
“You’re right!” he cried. “I do!” The realization shed light on his entire life, the way the morning sun rose over Jerusalem in the French windows of his living room and bathed the couch in warm beams. He laughed with abandon, an ecstatic lover or a madman. Or both. “Now everything makes sense!”
For the first time in centuries, he truly understood God’s plan. His accident, and meeting Noga. Elijah the Prophet had neglected his mission because of a serious, if understandable, personal flaw, and the Boss, in His infinite wisdom, had set him straight.
Lia stifled another yawn. “She’s a lucky girl.”
Did she believe his story? Was she just humoring an insane and possibly dangerous stranger? With the dead walking on every street corner, anything was possible. Either way, she
had listened with empathy and put her finger on the heart of the matter.
Her eyelids closed, then opened. “You should tell her.”
“You’re right!” Adrenaline pumped through his arteries. “I’ll call her right away.”
Lia sat up on the couch and massaged the back of her neck. “And I should probably go home and get some sleep.”
“Yes, of course. Thank you. Thank you so much. I’ll call a cab.”
He saw her to the elevator door and folded a two-hundred-shekel note into her hand for the ride home.
“See you around, Big Tipper.”
“You can count on it.”
When the elevator doors closed, Eli found his phone and dialed Noga’s number. He would start with an apology. This was all his fault. She was right, he had made a terrible mistake, and he wanted her back—no, he needed her back. He’d make everything right again. There was no time to waste. They had a lot of work to do.
Then a sound made him swear under his breath. In the bedroom, Noga’s phone rang.
CHAPTER 64
Sweat trickled down Yosef’s neck as he waited in line under the late morning sun. He stood halfway down the staircase to the Western Wall Plaza and could see the metal detector and bag scanner at the security gate. Any moment now, he feared, he’d hear the cheer of the crowd as the Messiah delivered his good tidings, while Yosef squirmed with frustration on the wrong side of the barrier wall.
The anticipation in the air made him tipsy and created an instant camaraderie among his fellow pilgrims. Yosef’s cheeks hurt from smiling. He helped a mother in a long, white headscarf lower her pram, step by step. A bearded man with a large white kippah grinned at him and nodded his head like a bobblehead dog on a car dashboard. After two thousand years of waiting, endless wandering and persecution, the moment of the Redemption had edged within sight. He only hoped he wouldn’t miss the historic event by seconds.
Who was this mysterious messiah? Was he resurrected—had he passed right under Yosef’s nose at the Dry Bones Society? The traditional texts had remained silent on this point. One thing was sure: seeing that the Resurrection had not reached the Roman period yet, this redeemer would disappoint Reverend Adams. But enough guesswork! The age of speculation had drawn to a close and the bright new reality would settle all questions.