The Jerusalem Inception - By Avraham Azrieli Page 0,54

him about the objects in the box?”

“No.”

“Then I must pass the word to the appropriate people.” Tanya kissed him. “You should go home now.”

Bira appeared, carrying a duffel bag and an Uzi machine gun. “Time to head back to Tel Aviv,” she said.

Tanya hugged her daughter. “You two can walk together.”

Lemmy took her duffel bag. It was heavier than he had expected.

For a while they pretended to be occupied by the scenery. He pressed his hat down as the wind grew stronger. On the left, across the border, a Jordanian soldier shouted a slur in Arabic.

Bira said, “Soon we’ll kick them out and reunite Jerusalem.”

She had an air of physical strength and confidence that befitted carrying an Uzi and kicking Jordanians.

“God will give it back to us,” Lemmy said, “like He gave it to King David. Then we’ll build a new temple.”

“How about a new university? Or factories? That’s what we need.”

“Not in Jerusalem,” Lemmy said. “Factories need water, materials, natural resources, but there’s nothing here except proximity to God. That’s the only reason every ruler in the history of the Middle East wanted to possess Jerusalem—Nebuchadnezzar the Babylonian, Cyrus of Persia, Alexander of Macedon, Antiochus the Syrian, and the Roman emperors Silvocuses, Pompey, Hadrian, and evil Titus.”

“Because it was the capital city of the Jewish kingdom.”

“And why was that? Because kings saw Jerusalem as proof that God was on their side. But God chose us, not them.” He pointed at the golden Dome of the Rock, shining in the sun’s midday rays.

“But they think God chose them.” Bira grabbed the duffel gab, stopping Lemmy. She searched inside, found a crumpled magazine, and showed him a page with black-and-white photos of pieces of clay and primitive utensils. “This was found in Beit Zait, a two-hour mule ride from here.” She pointed to one of the slivers of clay. “Star of David. And the piece was dated to King David’s era as described in the Book of Samuel. That proves our ownership.”

Lemmy examined the photo closely. “How can they date a piece of clay?”

“A chemical process. It’s pretty accurate, and it proves Jews were here long before the Arabs, who are temporary squatters on our land, just like the Greeks, Romans, Crusaders, Caliphates, Ottomans, and the British.” She folded the archeological magazine and stuffed it back in the duffel bag. “The Arabs can eat their headdresses until they choke. This piece of real estate is ours!”

A muezzin wailed from a tiny terrace atop a pointed minaret across the border. Bira pointed. “We lasted two thousand years in exile, including massacres, expulsions, forced conversions, and genocide. But now we’re back!”

“You’re nothing like Tanya.”

Bira’s intense expression broke into a grin. “I adore my mom, but the whole generation of Holocaust survivors is a little weird.” Bira drew circles on her temple.

Lemmy had meant the two were different physically, but he didn’t correct Bira, afraid she would notice the all-consuming lust that he felt for her mother.

They reached the corner of Shivtay Israel Street. Lemmy put down the duffel bag. He glanced at the gate to Meah Shearim. “You should keep going. Our people aren’t very tolerant of women in Zionist uniforms.”

Bira picked up the bag. “I read about your leader in the newspaper. He said that abortion is like murder.” She twisted her face. “There was a picture of him. He looks like some crazy prophet.”

“He’s my father.”

“Oops.”

He laughed.

“My big mouth. I always do that.” Bira pecked him on the cheek. “See you soon.”

He touched his face where she had kissed him and watched her walk away, her Uzi dangling from her shoulder. As she reached the next street corner, Bira looked back and waved. Lemmy waved back, and then she was gone.

Chapter 22

Tanya left a message for Elie Weiss with the SOD desk at the prime minister’s office to meet her at a small café on Ben Yehuda Street. He pulled two of his agents from a surveillance assignment nearby and placed them at a table near the door, where they played backgammon. He sat at a corner table with his back to the wall.

When Tanya entered, he took off his wool cap and stood. It was Friday afternoon, and only a dozen other customers were in the café. He watched her cross the room and his breath quickened. What she radiated went beyond beauty. Perhaps it was the contrast between her black hair and the white skin, or between her physical smallness and the fierce posture. Or maybe the feline fluidity