The Jerusalem Inception - By Avraham Azrieli Page 0,15
No one had ever intimidated Rabbi Gerster, certainly not a woman.
He prodded Lemmy out the door. “Go, accompany her!”
Lemmy hesitated.
“Go on, son!”
Glancing back into the apartment, Lemmy noticed his mother watching from the kitchen door. Temimah Gerster’s face was inscrutable, her mouth slightly open. Her hand held the doorpost, the knuckles bleached.
He caught up with Tanya, and they left Meah Shearim through the gate on Shivtay Israel Street. She turned north, walking fast, saying nothing. On the right, high rolls of rusted barbed wire marked the strip of no-man’s land along the border with Jordan. They passed by Mandelbaum Gate—the only crossing between the two parts of Jerusalem. In addition to Israeli and Jordanian posts, it was guarded by the UN Truce Supervision Force, composed of Norwegian and Indian soldiers in blue caps. Tanya stayed close to the buildings, whose walls were pockmarked with shrapnel and bullet holes, left untended since 1948. Lemmy wondered if she knew about the Jordanian sniper’s attempt on his father’s life the day before.
He stole a quick glance at Tanya, who seemed oblivious to his presence. It was hard to guess her age. Thirty? Forty?
They reached a scarred, one-story house made of uncut stone. The east section was reduced to rubble, and two formerly internal doorways were sealed with bare bricks. Rusty metal shutters covered all the windows, shedding off dry flakes of turquoise paint. A wall of sandbags shielded the front door. The border was a stone-throw away, and he wondered why Tanya lived in such a perilous location.
She unlocked the door. “What’s your name?”
“Lemmy,” he said. “It’s short for Jerusalem.”
“How inspiring.” Her sudden smile revealed a perfect set of white teeth. “Do you have any siblings?”
“None.”
She went inside, leaving the door open, and reappeared with a book. “Here. A reward for your gallantry.”
He looked at the cover. The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand. “Thanks, but I don’t read such books.”
“Why?”
“A good Jew devotes all his time to studying Talmud.”
“Does Talmud forbid reading Ayn Rand?”
“Not specifically, but—”
“Aren’t we supposed to be a guiding light for the Gentiles?”
He nodded.
“How could Jerusalem Gerster be a guiding light to the Goyim if he’s not allowed to become acquainted with their way of life?”
Embarrassed to keep staring at her, Lemmy examined the photo on the back of the book. “Is she a Gentile?”
“Ayn Rand?” Tanya laughed. “Actually, I think she’s Jewish.”
“Oh. Then I can read it.”
“Bring the book back when you’re done. I’d like to hear your impressions.”
Lemmy stuffed The Fountainhead in the pocket of his black coat and headed back to Meah Shearim.
Elie Weiss sat in his gray Citroën Deux Chevaux, parked up the street from Tanya’s house. He drew on his cigarette, watching Abraham’s son. The black-garbed youth walked fast, his payos angled back in the wind like a girl’s braids. Elie held up a black-and-white photograph that showed Jerusalem Gerster, his hand raised in emphasis of a Talmudic argument, while his study companion buried his face in his hands in mock desperation.
The second photo in Elie’s hand was smaller, its edges fraying, yellow with age. He had taken this photo during the war with a camera that had previously hung from the neck of a Nazi officer. Abraham had twisted the leather strap tighter and tighter until the German’s tongue grew out of his mouth like a baby eggplant and his black boots stopped twitching. In the photo, Abraham was already wearing the boots, which had fit him perfectly.
Elie held the two photos together, the face of young Abraham in 1945 next to the face of his son in last week’s photo, which Elie had taken from a rooftop near Meah Shearim. The resemblance was astonishing, which meant Tanya was now very confused.
He dropped the photos on the passenger seat, drew once more from his Lucky Strike, and tossed it out the window. A gust of wind blew smoke back in his face, and his eyes moistened. He closed the window and latched it in place. Pressing the lever into first gear, he made a U-turn and drove away, leaving behind a wake of blue engine fumes.
Chapter 6
Lemmy had memorized the landmarks along the way, which he now followed in reverse order. He thought of Tanya’s sculpted face, one moment serious, the next smiling. The Fountainhead, in his coat pocket, banged against his thigh with every step. Should he read it? Should he know more about the Goyim, as Tanya had argued? Father had once said that Talmud contained all the knowledge a man needed. But