Rabbi Gabrielle Ignites a Tempest

by Roger Herst

  Tim's second task was to familiarize himself with the nearby topography, organizing a plan to systematically search the area until sundown, then to begin again the next day with the morning's first light. After climbing a rocky hillside, he was alarmed to see a pair of black goats grazing amid spring grass. Their presence indicated a shepherd nearby who, Tim feared, was probably armed. Under the circumstances, it was necessary to guard his equipment and steer clear of any conflict.

  As the sun began to fall in the western sky, he took notes on the topographical features of the landscape, allowing his imagination to drift back to an ancient time and reconstruct yeshiva life in the wilderness. Fear of attracting the shepherd forced him to abandon the idea of a small fire. As darkness closed in, he was possessed by a premonition that he was not alone. Was it the curious shepherd protecting his flock, or hostile natives preparing to challenge an uninvited visitor? One ghost after another tormented him as he settled into his modest camp for the night.

  On a ledge above him, no more than twenty meters away, a large creature was silhouetted in the failing rays of sunlight. The first thought to capture Tim's thinking was that of the lions of Judah, powerful man-eating carnivores often mentioned with terror in the Old Testament. But this creature possessed no heavy skull or bushy mane. Only the sleek throat and lean, muscular body of a somewhat smaller cat. In the failing light, its pelt appeared black as a panther. For protection, Tim had brought nothing better than a collapsible shovel and, of lesser value, a utility knife. With his eyes fixed on the beast, his hands rummaged through side pockets of his backpack for the knife, planning to plunge its small blade into the cat's eyes, that is if his own were not scratched out first. During this standoff, the creature surrendered the element of surprise by issuing a throaty growl that echoed in the surrounding rocks. Tim thought to snarl back, but instead found himself uttering the Lord's Prayer, at first softly, then almost bellowing out the last verses. The animal's ears perked, as if trying to evaluate strange sounds from its prey.

  Minutes dragged by, initiating in Tim a new fear. Whatever meager defense he might muster would disappear with the failing light. He knew that leopards usually attacked in the darkness, stealthily darting from an unknown direction. In the last light of the sun, a cooling breeze ebbed, leaving in its wake an enveloping stillness.

  While listening for sounds, he imagined the large cat circling his campsite. From time to time, he thought he heard sounds of its paws overturning small stones. On two occasions, he aimed his flashlight where he heard something move, and once thought he saw the reflection of the big cat's eyes. Below his breath, he uttered a steady stream of petitions that made no logical sense.

  A quarter hour past midnight, the pervading stillness was punctuated by a gentle noise that sounded like the bleating of sheep. Was it possible that some of the shepherd's flock had wandered nearby? Tim was pondering that possibility when a shrill squeal suddenly shattered the desert peace. Though it was unlike anything he had heard before, he immediately recognized it as the death wail of a small animal in the jaws of a hungry leopard. The hapless creature howled for its life for nearly a minute, then fell silent. To his relief, the big cat had elected to satisfy its hunger with a more traditional prey. Unable to calm his nerves, Tim kept repeating to himself that there would be no more killing that night. But he wasn't sure.

  At sunrise, he rose from his sleeping bag with a blessing on his lips for having survived a sleepless night. His relief lulled him into a false sense of security, for he failed to notice Neif banu Niiri observing him from the opposite hillside. Nor did he notice the sun reflecting from a mirror the young shepherd employed to signal clansmen along their desert telegraph. He was equally unaware of how Neif's tribesmen relayed his message to the camp of Sheik Telfik banu al-Fahl.

  The Bedouin chief immediately convened a conference with the tribal elders, positioning Nazeem banu Aziz, father of the slain youth at Qumran, in the honored position to his right. At his knees was an American 30 caliber carbine found near the ventilation port of the cave at Qumran. The meeting soon produced a plan based on tribal tradition. Blood had been spilt at Qumran, upsetting the delicate balance of justice that governed Bedouin life. The opportunity had arrived to right this wrong.

  There was no point in waiting for the next full day of light. By moving during the mid-day they would be in the area of Ein Arugot by nightfall, then, as the sun rose the following morning, in a position to approach the stranger's camp.

  A few minutes past noon, Telfik banu al-Fahl was the last to join four tribesmen in a Land Rover. Soon after, his SUV was headed south along the Dead Sea on the same road Tim had used the previous day. They traveled with assurance that, when in radio range, Neif banu Niiri would call them on his new handheld walkie-talkie, indicating where to leave the tarmac. As it turned out, the young shepherd was waiting beside the road, not far from where Tim had parked his Volkswagen. They could have made camp nearby, but elected to move immediately into the mountains. Five kinsmen followed Neif banu-Niiri until the sun began to drop below the horizon and it was time to assemble tents for the evening.

  Crouched around a small fire and roasting the rear shank of a lamb that had been brought in the SUV and slaughtered for the evening meal, Telfik sat himself beside the father of the slain boy, settling his pack at his feet. They spoke about new children to replace heavy losses of youngsters who, in the harsh desert environment, failed to reach maturity. When Nazeem banu Aziz mentioned his own son, Telfik removed from his pack the Uzi Father Benoit had given him.

  "This was used by your son's killer at Qumran and given to me by a friend. It is yours, for the honor of your family. But you must promise to use it only once. After that, bury it somewhere for six years. The government must never learn that I gave it to you."

  Nazeem banu Aziz held the Uzi close to his stomach, his fingers clasped firmly around the metal stock. "This is a fine gift, cousin. I am appreciative."

  "You know how to operate it? It's not like an AK-47," said Telfik.

  Nazeem nodded affirmatively, concealing from his cousin that he had never held such a weapon before.

  "Here, let me show you," Telfik answered, perceiving the man's pride. "When the time comes you must know what to do."

  As the rising sun turned the Hills of Moab from black to red early the following morning, Neif banu-Niiri led his elders toward Tim's campsite. By the time they arrived, Tim was exploring high ground, trying to understand how a yeshiva might collect and store sufficient water for its students to survive. Telfik banu al-Fahl knew he would not move far from the water bottles he had left at his campsite. There was no reason to rush. Bedouin surrounded the camp, carefully selecting observation positions out of sight. When Tim eventually returned, he ate a small breakfast of dried figs and a granola bar, washed down with more tea. Telfik and Nazeem crawled to a promontory above the tent from where Telfik could best see the features of Tim's face, comparing them with the snapshot provided by Father Benoit. In the photo, Tim was clean-shaven, but now wore the thick beard of a Semite, making positive identification difficult. His presence where Father Benoit had predicted was strong proof that he was the same man as in the photograph. Still, Telfik had his doubts, which he withheld from Nazeem in order to give the bereaving father his moment of vengeance. But before giving him permission to bring the scales of justice into balance, the sheik decided to creep closer for a better look.

  Unaware of Bedouin warriors watching him, Tim had climbed to inspect several promising sites for the yeshiva, squatting often to observe the direction of the sun and to survey the topography for natural windbreaks. Nothing on the ground provided a clue as to what might have happened in the year 26 of the Common Era. Whatever Legionnaire Digius Silban had failed to destroy, the harsh desert winds had long since completed.

  After careful inspection of five locations, he selected one for thorough examination, then assembled the collapsible shovel he had used to defend himself against the leopard.
A formal excavation was out of the question, only a modest probe several centimeters beneath the topsoil. On his first attempt, the compacted earth resisted his shovel. But on the second, where he managed to cut through the crusty surface, green rock appeared in upturned soil and powdered in Tim's fingers. It reminded him of copper ash removed from a dig at Jericho, dating from Joshua's conquest of Canaan. Near this copper-hued pyretic ash were blackened stones. Tim scratched a sample with his fingernail to determine whether the color was superficial or embedded.

  As tiny black filings clung to his fingernail, he was inclined to believe that he might have discovered the results of Digius Silban's handiwork. Would carbon testing confirm a range of dates around 26 of the Common Era? He gathered a half-dozen sample stones and inserted them into a Ziploc bag. A similar ritual was performed with clumps of the green ash.

  At noon, he took refuge from the sun under his tarpaulin, his mind buoyed by images of the desert yeshiva, with students, teachers and their families camped nearby. Among them, he imagined, a young man, some said from the lineage of King David, modest and soft-spoken, attentive to the instruction. Did his fellow students sense that their classmate would embody their simple lessons in a way that would touch the hearts and minds of succeeding generations?

  As he struggled to understand the implications of his discovery, he was unaware that Bedouin warriors had tightened their circle around him. They observed him dispassionately until a hand signal from Telfik banu al-Fahl brought five Bedouin warriors to their feet. They rose so silently that Tim was still unaware of their presence.

  The desert chieftain captured Tim's attention by calling first in Arabic then in Hebrew. "Mumud banu-Nazeem is avenged! Allahu akbar!"

  The sight of Bedouin where he had not expected to see anyone called up the memory of bullets whizzing by him at the mouth of the Qumran cave. He was trying to place the name of Mumud banu-Nazeem when he witnessed the Bedouin men moving toward him, closing their circle. Tim turned and squinted into the sun, revealing a separation between his front teeth. Telfik, who had become familiar with the subject in Benoit's photograph, took special note of this dental separation. All doubt about the American's identity vanished.

  "Nazeem," he commanded, then stepping back, signaled for those behind Tim to move away, clearing the background for bullets that might stray from their target. "Allahu al-akbar."

  Nazeem banu Aziz stepped forward, directly facing Tim, and lifted the Uzi into full view.

  In the sunlight, Tim saw the gun aimed at him. It was scuffed, but not dented, identical to the weapon used by Father Benoit at Qumran. How this Bedouin had come to possess it was a mystery, but then, knowing that the priest had killed once before, perhaps it wasn't a mystery at all. Tim cried out "Help me, God!"

  The Uzi cracked with two bursts of fire, eleven shots in all. Seven hit the rocks around Tim, ricocheting wildly. One cut through his throat. Another severed his spine causing instantaneous death. After he was already dead, another bullet pounded his hip and the last grazed his pinky finger. He was squatting when the first bullets struck, driving him backward against an aluminum tent pole and collapsing the tarp above him.

  In matters of death, the Bedouin were meticulous. Years of tradition dictated their response. Tim's meager possessions now belonged to Nazeem's family. Nothing of his campsite was left behind. But according to ancient custom, his body was left untouched for his kinfolk to redeem. If they failed to retrieve it, his organs were rightfully bequeathed to jackals first and vultures later.

  Before leaving the wilderness site of Ein Arugot, Telfik's kinsmen searched for shell casings to link the Uzi with the American's death. No one was certain exactly how many bullets had been fired, but after scouring the ground around Nazeem banu Aziz, the searchers were confident that no bullet casings were left behind.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Zvi Zabronski called Itamar's office to report that Tim's body had been found by an army team investigating an abandoned Volkswagen in a region west of Ein Gedi. The major was prepared to tell Gabby himself, but Itamar volunteered to be the bearer of the unhappy news.

  He found Gabby at home, dressed in khaki slacks and a navy-blue University of Michigan T-shirt with yellow lettering. His instinct was to give her a hug before mentioning Tim, but he maintained a professional distance. Together, they moved into the kitchen where he refused the coffee she offered. A rare interval of silence followed in which her eyes questioned why he had come without first phoning.

  He waited until she had settled back against the kitchen counter, then, avoiding introductory platitudes about the mystery of life and death, announced that he had come as the messenger of unhappy tidings. Her dimples disappeared entirely from her cheeks and her complexion paled. He could see in the emptiness of her eyes that she had already accepted the inevitability of Tim's death. Shortly after delivering this notice, he wrapped his arms around her, letting her fold into herself to absorb the loss. Her body nestling against him was so pleasant, he forced himself to disengage.

  It wasn't as if Itamar and Zvi Zabronski hadn't repeatedly warned her. She chided herself for not having approached Tim in the Mea She'arim bakery, even if it meant his capture. To let him leave had been a split-second decision in which she had little chance to consider the long-term consequences. Her all-or-nothing choice was wrong, and in a morbid moment of black humor, she repeated to herself, "dead wrong."

  "Where did they find him?" she asked Itamar in a muted voice.

  "This isn't pleasant," he answered.

  "These days, I don't expect to hear pleasant things."

  "In the Negev, west of Ein Gedi. A military helicopter spotted an abandoned Volkswagen glittering in the sun and landed to investigate. From the vehicle, there were tracks. The crew flew northwest until it saw vultures circling. They found the remains of Tim's body and brought them to Jerusalem for an autopsy."

  "What Volkswagen? You know Tim's Hyundai was picked up at the border."

  "The police are tracing the registration now."

  "Did he die of exposure?" she asked.

  "That wouldn't have been as cruel. From what Zabronski told me, he was shot."

  "Oh no! Mafia?"

  "Zabronski doesn't think so. He said he's been expecting blood to be shed somewhere in the desert."

  "Oh, no," she repeated, pressing her knuckles against her cheeks.

  "Tim was killed with 9 mm bullets from an Uzi, the same type of weapon Zabronski claimed had killed the Bedouin teenager Mumud banu-Nazeem. Blood vengeance runs deep in Bedouin culture."

  Gabby thought about this for a long while before saying, "Somebody else could have murdered Tim and made it look like a vengeance killing."

  "Homicides are usually more complicated than they appear. Murderers disguise their crimes."

  "So why is Major Zabronski convinced that Tim's death is a crime of vengeance?"

  "Because ballistic tests show that Mumud banu-Nazeem and Tim were shot by the same gun. The odd thing about Bedouin justice is that once a victim's death is avenged, the tribe harbors no further grievance. Against Tim or his family or anybody else. In a convoluted manner of speaking, it's a very simplistic, but pragmatic approach to human justice."

  Gabby vented her frustration by elevating her voice. "But Tim never shot that Bedouin boy."

  "Apparently the clan thinks he did."

  "So will the police arrest tribal members?"

  "If there's evidence, which at this moment doesn't exist."

  "Can't they search the Bedouin camp for the Uzi?"

  "Sure they can, but they won't find a smoking gun. Do killers bring home their murder weapons? There's a good chance the Bedouin wrapped it in mutton grease and buried it somewhere in the desert. A dozen years from now, when this killing is long forgotten, they'll dig the weapon up. Bedouin have elephant memories."

  "Sounds like the police aren't trying."

  "They are, but this kind of killing is more complex than you imagine. I must warn you, G
abrielle, about something that may be difficult to appreciate. The government doesn't deal with Bedouin the way it deals with other Israeli citizens, whether they be Jews or Arabs. Desert nomads govern themselves according to an age-old tribal law. Every time we attempt to intercede, it leads to undesired consequences. So these days, the government is more practical. And that translates into noninterference in tribal affairs."

  "In cases of murder?" she said, her voice sounding incredulous.

  "We're talking about tribal justice. Remember that at this moment, we don't know who's responsible for the death of Mumud banu-Nazeem. The tribe has just sent us a message saying, 'We gave you guys time to find who killed one of our sons. You haven't succeeded, so we took matters into our own hands.' They're a proud people who don't enjoy being governed by Jews."

  "I can't believe what I'm hearing," Gabby said, studying Itamar's face to see how much of what he was saying he actually believed.

  "What has the government got to gain by pursuing this? Answer that question and you'll understand what it will actually do."

  Gabby dug her toe into linoleum tiles on the kitchen floor. She turned away and clasped her hands against her skull as if trying to contain a migraine inside. When she finally lowered her hands, she said, "Yeah. I get the picture. An eminent scholar is murdered and the authorities react with political expediency."