The Jerusalem inception

by Avraham Azrieli

  A few minutes later, the two shorn teenagers paid the barber and left, teasing each other. The barber showed Lemmy into the chair and swept the piles of hair to the corner of the shop. Lemmy removed his hat and looked at his reflection in the mirror. His blond hair covered his forehead, the spiraling payos came down to his shoulders. His heart raced.

  The barber propped the straw broom against the wall and tied a cape around Lemmy’s neck. “What will it be, son?”

  He tilted his head in the direction of the door. “Like them.

  The barber touched Lemmy’s payos. “These too?”

  Swallowing hard, Lemmy nodded.

  A pair of scissors appeared in the barber’s hand. A single snip, and the spiral chunk of hair, which had never been touched by scissors, dropped to his right shoulder, rolled down his chest, and rested in his lap.

  The left one followed.

  Lemmy shook the white cape, sending his payos from his lap to the floor. The deed was done. There was no way back.

  As the barber picked up the electric clippers, Lemmy noticed the blue number tattooed on his forearm. The clippers buzzed over his head, clumps of hair falling off.

  The barber removed the white cape. Lemmy glanced at the stranger in the mirror, got out of the chair, and pulled out his wallet.

  “Keep your money,” the barber said. “For good luck.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I also was a true believer, a God-fearing Jew, in Poland. I had payos-beautiful, long payos, just like yours.” His hand motioned at the floor. “Until the Nazis took us to the camps. My parents, my brothers, all of us.” His voice broke, and he took a deep breath. “We were the Chosen People-chosen all right, chosen to die like animals while our God, Adonai,” he spat the word in disgust, “did nothing to save us. But I’m still here-and no thanks to Him! He doesn’t have my faith anymore, and I’m glad to see He doesn’t have yours either!” The barber grabbed Lemmy’s hand and shook it vigorously. “Good luck, son!”

  S hmattas took one look at Lemmy and uttered a frightened whimper, followed by a long, unintelligible monologue in Romanian, accompanied by face twisting and hand wringing. He sifted through her stock and found khaki pants, a blue shirt, and a windbreaker with a fake fur collar. He changed behind a screen and offered Shmattas some money. She waved her hands at him and began another monologue in Romanian, interspersed with, “ Oy vey, Rabbitzen! ”

  He wanted to explain to Shmattas that the black coat and hat were not a Jewish tradition at all, merely an imitation of the Polish aristocracy of a few centuries ago, which Jews had adopted for no religious reason. But he knew she wouldn’t understand.

  Lemmy emerged a clean-cut, blue-eyed young man, with a bundle of black clothes under his right arm and a Mauser stuck in his belt under the windbreaker. His head felt cold, neither hair nor a hat to protect it. He strolled down King George Street, enjoying the sun. The secular women glanced at him differently now, some smiling openly. He smiled back.

  When the sun touched the rooftops in the west, he headed home. He knew his parents would be shocked, but they would have to let him live according to his principles. They had to understand and accept him in this new phase of his life as a modern Jew. After all, he was their only child. The threat of banishment was empty, Lemmy was certain. His father had preached: Our child is our creation. Once we give birth to a child, it’s ours, flesh and blood, for better or for worse. As to the rest of the sect, Lemmy did not care what they thought. He was done studying Talmud from morning to night, and his future did not include marrying Sorkeh, he was certain of that. Maybe she could marry Benjamin?

  H is mother opened the door. She gasped and stumbled backward until her back met the wall. Slowly her knees gave way, the whites of her eyes appeared, and she descended to the floor.

  “Mother!” Lemmy knelt beside her.

  The hinges creaked as the study door opened. Lemmy looked up at his father, who seemed calm, as if he had expected his son to come home with his payos chopped off.

  “Fetch water for your mother.”

  Lemmy ran to the kitchen and brought a glass of water. He held it to her lips while his father supported her head. Her eyes slowly came into focus.

  They held her up and walked her to her room, where she collapsed on the bed. Lemmy took her hand, but she pulled it away.

  “You are the same,” she whispered, “the two of you, the same.” She closed her eyes and rolled onto her side, facing the wall.

  Rabbi Gerster left the room and waited for Lemmy in the hallway. “Did Tanya tell you to do this?”

  “No. She told me to make my own choices.”

  “I see.” There was no anger in his voice. “Is this your final decision?”

  “Yes.”

  “You feel you have no other choice?”

  “Correct.”

  “Then I have no choice either.” Rabbi Gerster gestured at Lemmy’s bare head. “Put on your yarmulke. We’re going to the synagogue.”

  “The synagogue? I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “Obey me, Jerusalem, this one last time.”

  As they were leaving the house, Lemmy saw The Zohar in his father’s right hand. Why was he taking the book of Kabbalah to the synagogue? Lemmy’s heart beat faster as thoughts raced through his mind. Was his father planning to cast a spell on him? No. That was a ludicrous idea! More likely, his father would use the book to somehow make the men accept Lemmy in his new form. And if they refused? He touched the bulge of the Mauser against the small of his back. The men in the synagogue would be shocked by his snipped payos, his Zionist outfit, his proverbial slap in the face of his father, their beloved rabbi. Would they scream? Wave fists? Throw rocks?

  His legs weakened, and his throat went dry. He had expected his choice to cause discomfort, maybe even a bit of acrimony with his parents, but he had not planned to follow his father, like the first Abraham, to an altar. And Abraham held up the slaughterer’s knife to slay his son.

  Entering the synagogue behind his father, Lemmy was blinded by the glow of the crystal chandelier, which burned with a thousand drops of light. He realized it had been turned on in honor of his scheduled engagement, in celebration of continuity, of the first step in the rabbinical succession at Neturay Karta.

  The two of them entered the hall and stood behind the rows of men, who swayed as they studied, unaware of Rabbi Gerster and his only son, who was no longer a faithful member of their community.

  “Good bye, Jerusalem.” His father started to turn away, but suddenly changed his mind, took Lemmy in his arms, and pressed him tightly.

  Lemmy’s hands hung listlessly at his side. He wanted to speak, but no voice came out. His father had not hugged him since he was a toddler.

  Rabbi Abraham Gerster let go, turned, and walked down the aisle. A thousand crystal tears rustled above him. Row after row, the men’s voices quieted. They noticed their rabbi’s slow pace and bowed head. They watched him climb onto the dais and kiss the blue curtain.

  The rabbi turned and faced his men. “Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai wrote this book eighteen hundred years ago.” He held it up.

  The men murmured, “ The Zohar! The Zohar! ”

  “This book lists the secret names of God.” Rabbi Gerster’s hand pointed up, toward the ceiling. “God’s names are divided into three groups: Names related to Adam, the source, the first father. Names related Eve, the first mother, who was created out of Adam’s rib. And names related to the son, who is like Malkhoot, the kingdom of continuity.”

  From the rear, Lemmy saw rows of heads in black yarmulkes or hats. The men focused on Rabbi Gerster. None of them looked back yet to see Lemmy’s missing payos, his pale face, and his right hand, which emerged from under the jacket, clenching a handgun.

  “A son represents continuity of faith. For every Jewish father and mother, a son is the focus of all sacred things, a cherished vessel to carry God’s Torah onward to the next generation.” Rabbi Gerster closed his eyes
and turned his face up in meditation.

  Lemmy’s heart beat hard. He wanted to flee, but his legs wouldn’t move. His fingers clung to the ivory handle of the Mauser.

  “God entered into a covenant with our patriarch Abraham.” Rabbi Gerster’s voice roamed through the synagogue. “ You shall be the Father of multitudes, and the land of Canaan shall be for you and your seed to possess forever. I shall be your God. ”

  Now Lemmy knew what was coming: Abraham sacrificing his son! A voice screamed inside his head: Run!

  Rabbi Gerster sighed. “Our sons are the essence of the eternal covenant.” He opened his hands in pleading. “But here I am, Abraham Gerster, your rabbi, standing before you today in shame!”

  Many asked loudly, “What? What? What?”

  Lemmy’s thumb pushed the safety latch of the Mauser.

  “Shame, dear God, so much shame!” The rabbi’s voice was broken. “I have failed to raise my own son to honor the covenant.” He pointed above the men’s heads to the back of the hall.

  The air froze in Lemmy’s throat. His forefinger slid into the trigger slot.

  Hundreds of faces turned to him, bearded faces with bewildered eyes that looked at his blue shirt and khaki pants, at his shaven sideburns. He felt naked without his black coat and black hat. He was The Painted Bird, surrounded by its own kin, who were ready to lynch him. Fear screamed inside his head.

  He saw their disbelief giving way to rage. They tore up from their seats, hands clenching into fists, lips spitting words of revilement, a collective howl of damnation, which grew louder as they advanced at him. Behind them, his father stood high on the dais, eyes shut, face upturned, hands stretched to the sides, palms open upward.

  Lemmy’s hand rose, the Mauser appearing between him and the mosaic of red faces. The muzzle aimed at the black of their coats, their heaving chests.

  His finger applied pressure to the trigger while his hand rose higher, across their faces, above their heads, until the bump at the end of the barrel found his father’s chest at the opposite end of the synagogue. It lingered there, while the men were almost upon him.

  He raised his hand farther up and pressed the trigger.

  The recoil threw him back, the explosion tenfold louder than he had expected. He fell down and saw the ejected casing hit the floor nearby. But when he looked up, he froze in terror.

  The crystal chandelier, still burning bright, detached from the ceiling. The giant cluster of lights descended, gaining speed until it hit the center of the synagogue and exploded. The noise was terrifying, and the glistening crystal tears bounced up in the air and landed on the floor with ringing chimes, spreading throughout the center aisle and between the benches and under the hundreds of shoes of stunned men, who slipped and dropped to the floor with flailing arms.

  The brightness of the chandelier disappeared. Twilight engulfed the synagogue, and an eerie silence.

  “There’s no punishment,” Rabbi Gerster roared, “no punishment for the dead! Only the judgment of the Lord!” He brought his hands to his chest, gripped the lapel of his coat, and pulled his hands forcefully in opposite directions, ripping the black cloth apart. It made a loud tearing sound, like a hoarse cry of pain. His eyes closed, the rabbi pressed his fists to his chest, against the torn cloth. With a voice full of agony he recited the mourners’ prayer for the dead: “ Blessed be He, Master of the Universe, the true judge. ”

  “Amen,” the men chorused, rising from the floor. “Amen.” None of them looked at Lemmy anymore. For them, and for their rabbi, Jerusalem Gerster was dead.

  Chapter 26

  Lemmy spent a week with Tanya-reading, talking, and making passionate, tender love. When she sat for hours with the oversized headphones in the other room, he slept as if recovering from months of insomnia. For his eighteen birthday, she baked a chocolate cake and opened a bottle of wine, which they finished together. Now that he was officially an adult, she took him to a government office, where he obtained an Israeli ID card and received his military draft papers.

  They barely slept that night. In the morning, they showered together and took the bus to an open field in West Jerusalem, where the IDF had set up a processing center for mandatory draftees, most of them recent high-school graduates. Several rows of military trucks waited in the sun, and female soldiers in olive-green uniform and hoarse voices tried to keep order.

  Standing among hundreds of young recruits and their families, Tanya hugged him tightly. She smiled through her tears. “Keep safe, will you? And no more rebellions. Once in uniform, you must obey orders.”

  Lemmy made a mock salute. “Yes, Madam!”

  She waved as he climbed onto the back of the truck. “Don’t forget to write!”

  He blew her a kiss and mouthed, “I love you!”

  The trucks departed in a cloud of dust and engine fumes. The families, many with younger children, waved at the convoy until it made the turn onto the main road to Tel Aviv. Fathers put on brave faces while mothers wiped tears.

  Tanya walked to the main road, where she planned to catch a local bus back home. She noticed Elie’s car, parked farther up the road under a tree.

  Tanya got in. “You’re becoming too predictable for a spy.”

  “It’s all part of the plan.” His face seemed even gaunter than before, his dark eyes sunken beside the protruding bridge of his nose. He was wearing a brown wool cap, pulled down over his ears. He emitted a medicinal smell, which she assumed came from the ointment on his burns. She watched the families leave the field, some getting into their small cars, others walking, or waiting for the bus. “The army is the best thing for him.”

  “I made a few calls. He’ll be assigned to Paratroopers Command. Their boot camp lasts six months, so even if war breaks out, he’ll still be in training, safely away from battle.”

  She thought of Lemmy in uniform, so different from the Talmudic scholar he had been only a week earlier. He was free now to make new friends, gain confidence in himself, and become a normal Israeli. “Have you spoken to Abraham?”

  Elie uttered a strange chuckle, something between clearing his throat and blowing his nose. “He’s too furious to speak with anyone. Blames you for brainwashing his boy.”

  The thought of Abraham being angry with her gave Tanya mixed feelings-a satisfaction in prevailing over him to set Lemmy free and a lingering doubt as to whether she had done the right thing, tearing a boy from his family and community.

  “Better keep away from Abraham,” he added. “He’s got a temper, you know.”

  His tone made Tanya wonder whether Elie was telling the truth, or was he up to his usual manipulations. “Lemmy told me that his father was sad, that he hugged him before addressing the men, and tore his coat in mourning, as if his son had died. But you say he’s furious?”

  “Abraham isn’t furious with his son. He’s furious with you. But he’s a soldier in our fight for survival. A secret agent of his caliber doesn’t get distracted from his job by personal problems.”

  “He’s not a machine. Losing a son is a tragedy for any parent.”

  “Abraham’s job is to keep the ultra-Orthodox under control, not to babysit a troublesome teenager whose very existence was an error and whose behavior undermines Abraham’s authority. It’s better that what’s his name is gone from Meah Shearim.”

  “His name is Jerusalem.”

  “Right. Jerusalem.” Elie tapped the steering wheel. “Of course, to begin with, it would have been better if you had left the boy alone. Abraham’s standing in the sect would have been stronger with a devout son to follow him. But once you exposed the boy to secular culture and to carnal pleasures, it’s better he’s out of the sect. They’ll forget about him soon enough, except maybe his mother. Abraham is very concerned about her.”

  Tanya thought of the woman she had seen briefly that Sabbath morning months ago, when she had visited Abraham’s home.

  “He’s her only child,” Elie added as if Tanya didn’t know. “I would hav
e her committed to a mental institution, but Abraham thinks she’ll recover better within the sect.”

  “She’ll recover only when she’s reunited with her son. A mother is a mother, no matter what religious differences separate them.”

  “You don’t know Neturay Karta.”

  “I know motherhood. She can write to Lemmy and meet him when he’s on leave.”

  “I’ll suggest it to Abraham.” Elie turned on the engine. “Shall we conclude our business?”

  Tanya took a deep breath. She was about to hand over the ledger, breaking her promise to the first man she had loved, SS General Klaus von Koenig. But she wasn’t doing it for her own personal gain, or for wealth and influence. She was buying Lemmy’s freedom. And the money-even if Elie somehow managed to get it from the Swiss-would be used to defend Israel and protect those who had survived the Nazis’ camps. It was justice, yet the ledger belonged to Klaus, who had saved her life and turned her into a woman, who had taught her art and music, who had treated her with kindness and affection while the rest of the world was engulfed in cruelty and death. She had not been blind-Klaus was a cultured, polished technocrat, who had applied his education and energy to serve mass murderers. But with her he had shared only his warmth, humor, and strength, forming a peaceful cocoon in a stormy world, earning her heart in that all-consuming passion of a teenage girl’s first love. And that Klaus, the one she had known and loved, would have understood why she was trading his ledger for Lemmy’s freedom.

  “Here.” She held up the pocket-size booklet, bound in black leather, stamped with a red swastika. “But promise me that you won’t interfere with the boy. Ever.”

  “Abraham’s son?” Elie made a dismissive gesture. “What would I want with him?”

  “Swear!”

  He raised his hand. “I solemnly swear that I won’t interfere with Jerusalem Gerster.”

  She watched Elie’s thin fingers turn the pages. Each page listed precious stones and jewelry, categorized by size and quality, with meticulous notations of quantities and totals for each category. On the last page, hand-written in faded blue ink, it said: Deposit of above-listed goods is acknowledged this day, 1.1.1945 by the Hoffgeitz Bank of Zurich. Signed: Armande Hoffgeitz, President.