The Jerusalem Inception - By Avraham Azrieli Page 0,37

Solution to judgment. But Arendt portrayed Eichmann as a man of average intelligence, mild temper, and clerical efficiency—a family man who happened to find himself at the top of a vast bureaucracy of mass extermination.

On the next Sabbath afternoon, he shared his frustration with Tanya.

“But it’s true,” she said. “What in retrospect seems like a monstrous enterprise was nothing but a day job for thousands of Germans. Their culture of obedience had conditioned these men to follow their leader’s orders and do a good day’s work—whether it was to manufacture trucks or to operate gas chambers.”

“That’s impossible! Any human being could tell the difference!” Lemmy clenched his fist. “Even a child knows that killing innocent people is evil!”

“But what if the people being killed aren’t human? What if they have been stigmatized for generations as evil, as pests, as the cause for all social and economical problems? What if eliminating them is your national duty, dictated by the state’s top authority?”

“A man has a mind to question authority.”

“Do the men of Neturay Karta question Rabbi Abraham Gerster’s authority?”

This argument shocked him, but before he could become angry, he noticed the hint of a smile on Tanya’s lips and understood she was trying to provoke him. “My father speaks for God. Do you believe in God?”

“That’s a trick question.” She took his hand. “Come, let’s have cake.”

They shared a lemon tart she had bought at a kosher bakery near Meah Shearim. It was January 1, 1967—her thirty-ninth birthday.

When he left, she gave him two thin volumes: Night and Dawn, both by author Elie Wiesel. He read them both that night, and was left agonizing over a quandary that went to the core of his faith: Why had God allowed the Nazis to do this? What was God’s purpose in causing so much suffering?

One afternoon, Rabbi Gerster posed a question from the podium: “Talmud says: Create a rabbi for yourself, and acquire a friend. I’ve always wondered: Why create a rabbi, but acquire a friend?”

Redhead Dan, sitting somewhere in the middle of the hall, raised his hand. “A friend could be acquired with gifts or favors. But a rabbi’s blessing isn’t for sale.”

“I disagree,” Cantor Toiterlich declared from the front row. “Talmud wouldn’t direct us to buy friends!”

Benjamin stood up. “Maybe acquire means that it’s mutual. But the relationship with one’s rabbi is created by one’s submission to a spiritual leader.”

“Well put, young man!” Rabbi Gerster took a contemplative stroll across the dais, the men’s eyes following him. “But as a rabbi, I’d rather have mutuality. So let me tell you a story.” He leaned on the lectern, looking around the hall. “A few years ago, a man named Aaron traveled a whole day from Haifa to talk to me. Temimah brought us tea, and I inquired of the sights he’d seen along the way, how the country was changing.”

Everyone knew of the vow he had taken not to leave Jerusalem until the Old City was freed from the Arabs.

Lemmy whispered in Benjamin’s ear, “Obedience to the rabbi—that’s the answer.”

Benjamin nodded, but it was clear he wasn’t listening. His eyes were locked on Rabbi Gerster, up on the dais. Everyone’s face wore the same delighted expression. Lemmy imagined himself up at the podium. Could he be like his father, captivate hundreds of brilliant, inquisitive Talmudic scholars? And even if he could, did he want to?

“Finally,” the rabbi continued, “Aaron told me his problem. He was a God-fearing Jew, who worked hard as a bookkeeper to raise five children with his righteous wife, Miriam. One Friday night, he got out of bed to use the bathroom, and noticed that his wife wasn’t breathing!”

The men groaned, their bodies leaning forward in suspense.

“Complete silence on Miriam’s side of the bed!” Rabbi Gerster turned to the ark and made like he was begging for relief of Aaron’s agony. “So, even though it was Sabbath, he turned on the lights and discovered that his wife wasn’t even in bed!”

An explosion of laughter rocked the hall.

“Aaron wasn’t laughing! He ran through the house in panic, opening every door, turning on the lights in every room, until he found her asleep on the couch. He woke her up, and she started yelling at him for turning on the lights during Sabbath!”

He waited for the laughter to calm down.

“The rest of that night, Aaron couldn’t sleep, because all the lights were on. The following night he still couldn’t sleep, because Miriam refused to return to their bedroom. His snoring interfered