The Jerusalem Inception - By Avraham Azrieli Page 0,76
especially my mother. From this Tanya deduced that he had received no letters.
Late that night, after the chatter on the UN radio dwindled down to silence, Tanya turned on the automatic recording device and called a taxi.
When they reached Meah Shearim, she asked the driver to wait for her at the gate. Dressed in an overcoat and a knitted wool cap, she walked quickly through the alleys and climbed the stairs to the third-floor apartment.
Rabbi Abraham Gerster opened the door wearing black pants, a white, button-down shirt, and a black yarmulke.
“Shalom, Abraham.”
He glared at her. She feared he would slam the door in her face. But he beckoned her into his study.
“You got some nerve coming here.” He leaned on his desk. “How is my son?”
“He’s in basic training. Paratroopers corps.” A reading lamp by the cot shed light on an open book by his pillow, but otherwise the small room was dim. She could not decipher the expression on Abraham’s bearded face. “He’s doing well,” she added.
“I can’t say the same for us.”
She pulled off the wool cap and unbuttoned her coat. “I had to rescue him from this fundamentalist concentration camp.”
Abraham grimaced and stepped forward, coming at her with quickness she had not expected. She retreated, her back hitting the book shelves. He closed his arms around her, tightly, as if trying to smother her. But then he uttered a deep, painful sigh, and she gave in to his embrace, placing her arms around his waist, resting her head on his chest, which rose and sank with quick, halting breaths.
After a long time, they let go of each other. Abraham blew his nose into a handkerchief and sat on his cot. She sat next to him.
He took her hand and kissed it. “You did him a favor. He deserved better. I should have sent him away years ago, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”
“How could you? Parents can never let go, even under the best of circumstances.”
“Not only that. I was afraid for him. Still am.”
“Basic training will take six months,” she said. “He’ll be safe when the war comes—if it comes. Eshkol will do anything to avoid war.”
“It’s not war that I fear. This place is close to the border.” Abraham gestured at the walls. “He would be more likely to get hit by a Jordanian cannonball here than while serving in the IDF.”
“So?”
“It’s Elie. I’ve always worried that he would somehow ensnare Lemmy, turn him into another cog in his machine. That’s why I kept my son here.”
“You don’t need to worry about Elie.” Tanya squeezed his hand. “I made him swear that he won’t interfere with the boy. And I paid dearly for it.”
Abraham turned sharply. “You gave him the ledger?”
She nodded.
“God almighty!” He stood up, suddenly regaining the stature of Rabbi Abraham Gerster, leader of Neturay Karta. “Think of how he gave those grenades to Redhead Dan! Now, with this kind of money, there’s no limit to what he’ll do!”
“Elie won’t get the money.” Tanya stood, facing him. “Klaus chose his banker carefully—a schoolmate whose personal loyalty is to Klaus. The Swiss will find an excuse to deny Elie access to the account.”
“But he has the ledger!”
“It won’t be enough.” Tanya gestured at the open door. “How is your wife?”
“She barely eats, doesn’t go out, keeps crying. During the day, the women of the sect care for her, and the men pray.”
“Why hasn’t she written to Lemmy? I asked Elie to tell you.”
“I haven’t seen Elie since before the grenades debacle.”
“That’s odd.” Tanya reflected on Elie’s description of Abraham’s anger. Should she mention it? He didn’t seem hostile now, but raising it could reignite his anger. Her visit had one purpose, and Elie’s games were no longer important. “Maybe I misunderstood him,” she said. “Anyway, please tell your wife to write to Lemmy. It will be good for him and good for her. Address it to the IDF and write his name and military ID number on the envelope.” Tanya jotted down the number.
“I’ll do it first thing in the morning.” He caressed her hair. “You are kind and generous. In my heart, we are forever together, you and me—”
“Abraham!” Temimah Gerster stood at the door, wrapped in a sheet, her shaved scalp exposed.
He moved fast, catching her as she collapsed.
“You touched her,” Temimah cried.
“She brought us news from Jerusalem.” He lifted her in his arms, cradling her as a child.