support. “God expects us to cut him down before—”
“And even if his demise would cause their Knesset to drop the abortion legislation and instead pass a law that banned abortions altogether, it would still be a meaningless law, wouldn’t it?”
The cryptic question ignited a flurry of hushed exchanges as the men consulted their study companions.
The Zionists enacting the opposite law?
The Knesset banning abortions?
Meaningless?
Why?
“No!” Redhead Dan must have felt compelled to respond, as if the question had been directed at him. “It wouldn’t be meaningless! It would be God’s law!”
The rabbi’s voice remained calm. “Do you really think that a law passed by the secular Zionists would stop faithless women from promiscuity? Prevent unwanted pregnancies? Save innocent babies from the abortionist’s blade?” He caressed his beard. “Such a law would only send confused women to back alleys in search of help.”
The crowd muttered in agreement.
“All we can achieve by fighting the Zionist laws is to endanger the lives of mothers on top of the babies. You remember Solomon’s judgment, yes?”
Many of the men nodded.
“Laws inscribed by human hands are meaningless,” Rabbi Gerster said. “Without faith in God, women wouldn’t know any better. It’s a waste of time to fight against Zionist laws, an exercise in futility that won’t help them see the light.”
Redhead Dan yelled, “But they’re blind!”
“By studying Talmud, by setting an example of a righteous life, by praying to God for an end to sins, we can bring out the light of Judaism. I therefore decree that in this community we shall never again mention the laws of the Zionists.” Rabbi Gerster shut his eyes, his face turned up, his hands stretched out in a gesture of begging, and his sad baritone filling the hall: “This world is just a very narrow bridge.”
The men of Neturay Karta joined their rabbi’s singing, “Leading to Heaven; so don’t be afraid, no fear at all.”
Their voices grew stronger, their bodies swayed back and forth, and they joined in a forceful, repeated affirmation of faith, “This world is just a very narrow bridge.”
From the rear of the hall, Lemmy’s lips moved with the words, yet his voice was mute. His body swayed, yet his heart remained indifferent. He looked at Benjamin, whose eyelids were shut tightly, his hands pressed against his chest, his voice trembling, “So don’t be afraid, no fear at all.” Watching his devoutness, Lemmy knew the gap between them had widened. Tears filled his eyes, and for the second time that night, he left the synagogue unnoticed.
Chapter 23
At sunrise, the marksmen took their positions on the roofs near the prime minister’s residence and in discreet locations along the street. Major Buskilah had direct command. Elie went up to the third-story roof, which was set up for the press briefing with folding chairs, hot coffee, and maps of Jerusalem pinned onto plywood.
General Yitzhak Rabin leaned on the railing. “Got a cigarette, Weiss?”
Elie held out a pack of Lucky Strike for the chief of staff.
Rabin pulled a few cigarettes, put one between his lips, and pocketed the rest. “My wife wants me to quit,” he said with a lopsided grin. He drew deeply, holding the smoke for a long while before releasing it into the air in a long, straight thread. “Rumor has it that your Nekamah campaign has killed more Nazi officers than the Allied forces managed to kill.”
“An exaggeration. Many of them continue to live with impunity.” Elie lit a cigarette. The burns on his neck itched as hell, and he struggled to keep from scratching.
“They say that you caught an SS officer raping a Jewish girl, cut off his genitalia, and shoved it down his throat.”
“Not his throat.”
General Rabin chuckled. “An inspiring story nevertheless.”
“I like working with blades,” Elie said. “I find it nostalgic.”
Rabin’s cigarette stopped midway to his lips. “Nostalgic?”
“My father, rest in peace, was a kosher butcher.”
The young general laughed. But when he realized Elie had not been joking, he tried to control himself, his face turning red. “Sorry, Weiss, it just sounded funny.”
“I understand.” Elie hid his anger, thinking how this ignorant sabra knew nothing of Jewish life in old Europe. A shoykhet was the only person trained in the ritual slaughter of livestock. Without him, the community would have no kosher meat and starve through the harsh winters, losing children to simple infections. A shoykhet should have been more important than a rabbi, yet the Jews of his childhood had revered Abraham’s father, Rabbi Yakov Gerster, while Elie’s father, Nahman Weiss, was treated like the