with sudden rage. “He broke her heart! I hate him!”
Tanya waited while he informed his commanding officer and packed a small bag.
The car struggled up the Judean Mountains, its small engine screaming in a high pitch. The narrow road detoured around Arab villages. She steered through tight curves, avoided gaping potholes, and passed under precipitous boulders that seemed ready to drop. She stopped at the side of the road while long military convoys made their way to the Negev Desert. Army trucks towed tanks, heavy artillery, and armored personnel carriers. Civilian trucks with hastily brushed-on camouflage ferried troops, most of them reservists still in their street clothes.
Lemmy watched in silence. He pushed away any thoughts of his mother, of his life before the army. That boy in Neturay Karta had been someone else, not him.
It was dark when they entered Jerusalem. Tanya drove quickly through the narrow streets. Closer to the border, Lemmy saw Orthodox men dig trenches under the glare of electric lights. Women carried heavy shopping bags with food in anticipation of shortages. It was a far cry from the jubilant mood at this morning’s Independence Day Parade.
Chapter 37
As the sun was rising, Elie Weiss made his way through the narrow alleys of Meah Shearim to the small apartment where Rabbi Abraham Gerster had resided for almost two decades. He climbed the stairs and found the front door ajar, as was customary during the mourning period, letting out the voices of chanting men and the aroma of baking bread.
A mirror in the foyer was covered with black cloth, and men in black coats swayed while reciting prayers. Someone handed Elie a prayer book, and he stood by the wall, pretending to read from it. He took quick glances, registering the open doors to a dining room on the left, a hallway straight ahead, and a study on the right, all filled with men.
Rabbi Gerster was leading the service. Elie could not see him, but the tone of his voice said it all, and for a moment Elie was beset by regrets. He had not expected this to happen, had not wished it to happen, and should not be responsible. It had been Abraham’s mistake. He had insisted on marrying Temimah, arguing that a wife would be necessary for a leader in Neturay Karta. And he had compounded that mistake by satisfying his wife’s initial childbearing urges. Eighteen years ago, Abraham had dismissed Jerusalem’s birth as a token of happiness for his wife. Now she had paid back that token, plus interest, and Abraham would contend with grief and guilt and anger for the rest of his life. But from an operational point of view, Elie noted to himself, the woman’s departure eliminated a major risk of exposure, which her intimate presence in Abraham’s life had always threatened.
Everyone quieted down when the rabbi recited the Kaddish. He reached the last sentence of the mourners’ prayer: “He who brings Shalom to heaven …” The men joined him for the last words, “He shall bring Shalom upon us and upon all the people of Israel, and we say Amen.”
While the men removed the black straps of their tefillin and folded their prayer shawls, a few women in long sleeves and tight headdresses brought out bread and coffee. The men lined up to wash their hands, recited a blessing, and ate quickly.
Elie watched them file into the study, each man sitting for a few seconds next to Rabbi Gerster and reciting the traditional shiva farewell: “God shall comfort you among the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem, and you shall not know sorrow again.” As they departed, the men glanced at Elie, who stood in the foyer in his plain khakis and wool cap, clearly out of place in Neturay Karta. He made sure to keep his face down, pretending to recite Psalms. No one asked him anything—a house of mourning was open to all who wished to pay a shiva call.
When the apartment finally emptied, he entered the study.
Rabbi Gerster was sitting on a low cot without a mattress, as was the custom during the seven days of mourning. His blue eyes were half-closed, his face gray. He looked up. “You?”
It was a loaded question. This visit violated the strict rules of separation they had followed for two decades. But Elie had a reason to take this risk. “I had to bring you my condolences in person. It’s a tragedy. Absolutely terrible.”
“I told you. It was killing her.”
“If we could only turn