Chapter 11
As the weeks passed, Lemmy’s buttocks healed, and another winter descended on Jerusalem. He visited Tanya every Saturday afternoon, exchanging books and browsing the newspapers. She served him tea in a glass cup, and they discussed the news or the book he had just read. He was often tempted to ask how she knew his father but sensed that the subject was taboo. She gave him the works of major writers, such as Tolstoy, Edgar Allen Poe, and Jack London, which were available in the Hebrew translation. Some novels, such as Gone with the Wind, Madame Bovary, Tom Sawyer, A Tale of Two Cities, and Martin Eden, led to discussions in which Tanya described European history and the American civil war with knowledge that hinted of extensive study and travel. And certain books aroused feelings inside Lemmy that he had never experienced before, especially when it came to the relationship between men and women, so different from the rigid division that was strictly applied in Neturay Karta. He began to read books in German, using a dictionary to bridge the gap between the spoken Yiddish he was fluent in, and the more proper German grammar and vocabulary of literature. He read some of the books more than once, gaining better understanding of the characters, subjects, and meaning. The stories of S.Y. Agnon, for example, were populated with religious Jews like himself, yet described their innermost feelings and passions in a way that Lemmy found irresistible.
With time, his life divided into two separate tracks. His days as a Talmudic scholar started shortly after dawn, with a quick rinsing of his face and off to the synagogue for morning service. Breakfast was bread, jam, and milk in the foyer of the synagogue, followed by studying Talmud with Benjamin. Lunch was followed by Rabbi Gerster’s daily lecture and independent study until sunset and the evening prayers. Lemmy and Benjamin usually stayed in the synagogue for another hour to settle their arguments.
Dinner at home was the conclusion of a day of studying. While Temimah served them soup and a dish of meat and potatoes or fish with vegetables, his father always asked the same question: “What do you know tonight that you didn’t know this morning?”
This question led to a discussion of the pages of Talmud that Lemmy had studied with Benjamin. Invariably, Rabbi Gerster shed new light on the subject, revealing hidden threads and subtle concepts that had escaped Lemmy.
Each scholarly day ended when his father recited the final prayer after the meal and retired to his study. Lemmy always helped his mother clear the dinner table before wishing her good night.
He read Tanya’s books every night, including books she borrowed for him at the public library. His nights filled with excitement as his eyes raced across printed pages filled with strange characters, foreign societies, and human conflicts. When his eyes burned, he’d go to the bathroom, splash cold water on his face, and return to reading. The forbidden books transported him to locations far beyond the walls of Meah Shearim, and the excitement lingered even when his eyelids refused to stay open and he fell asleep for a couple of hours before another day started.
Lemmy learned to juggle his daily studies and nightly escapades. The days were filled with the intellectual intensity of cracking Talmudic riddles with Benjamin among the companionship of a synagogue filled with cigarette smoke and familiar faces. The nights were spent in literary forays outside Neturay Karta. He erected a virtual wall between the life he shared with Talmud, family and friends, and the solitary adventures of his nights. He knew that a crack in the wall could precipitate a deluge of acrimony-his father’s wrath, his mother’s tears, Benjamin’s hurtful betrayal. But the books’ allure was too great.
Chapter 12
On a frosty morning in late December, Tanya switched the eavesdropping equipment to automatic recording and left her home for the long walk to the bus station in West Jerusalem. Across the border, in the Armenian Quarter of the Old City, church bells tolled to summon the faithful to Christmas mass.
The bus took almost three hours to reach Tel Aviv, often stopping to wait for the army to scout the road ahead for Arab terrorists. Getting off the bus at the central station, Tanya walked west toward the Mediterranean coast.
The first Jewish city in modern times, Tel Aviv, which meant Spring Hill, was nothing like Jerusalem. Its inhabitants were secular Israelis. Women wore outfits that revealed the contours of their bodies, and men were muscular and sun-beaten in a healthy, exuberant way that contrasted with the pale Jews of Jerusalem. The sea air was fresh, and the sun shone as if summer hadn’t yet departed.
She changed into a bathing suit in the public showers at the beach and walked across the strip of soft sand to the water. The sea was almost flat, only shallow waves lapping at her feet. She took a deep breath and ran into the chilly water of the Mediterranean.
By early afternoon, the unseasonably mild weather had drawn hundreds of bathers, who rose and fell with the waves, squealing in a blend of Hebrew, English, German, and Arabic. A lifeguard with bronze skin and a hairy chest rowed his white fiberglass board toward Tanya and offered to take her for a ride. She declined, and he continued on his patrol.
After drying herself, she spread a towel on the sand and lay down in the sun.
Bira and Eytan met her for dinner at an outdoor cafe near the beach. He was a dark Israeli with a sunny smile, and seemed unconcerned when the two women lapsed into German, reminiscing how Tanya had taught Bira to ride a bicycle in a Munich park until they both fell into a shallow reflecting pool.
Tanya spent the night in the tiny apartment Bira shared with five other soldiers. They chatted late into the night, and Tanya went to bed content that her daughter had acclimated to life in Israel. Bira had grown up in a succession of European cities, their frequent relocations dictated by Mossad needs. But the disadvantage of a rootless childhood was balanced out by a multilingual fluency that served Bira well in her IDF research duties, while she easily made new friends among her fellow troops.
W ell before sunrise, Tanya walked the short distance to the Kirya, the fenced-off IDF headquarters in the center of Tel Aviv. She passed through several checkpoints, and took a long elevator ride down to the Pit-the underground command center.
The meeting convened in a large room with solid concrete walls and mechanical ventilation. Prime Minster Levi Eshkol sat at one end of a long table, his thick eyeglasses on his forehead, his eyes buried in a document. The IDF chief of staff, General Yitzhak Rabin, sat at the other end, puffing on a cigarette. The rest of the seats around the table were taken by IDF generals and the civilian chiefs of Shin Bet and Mossad, all much younger than Eshkol. Plastic chairs lined the walls, occupied by aides and advisors.
On the opposite side of the room Tanya noticed Elie Weiss, diminutive and brooding. His wool cap covered his ears. He beckoned Tanya to an adjoining seat, but she sat near the door.
General Rabin approached a large wall map, the cigarette dangling from his lips. “ Boker Tov,” he said.
A few voices replied, “Good morning.”
“What morning?” the prime minister asked, looking up from his papers. “It’s still the middle of the night!”
Rabin smiled. At forty-five, he was a handsome man with reddish-brown hair and a healthy tan. “As I see it, our goal is to avoid war. But our duty is to prepare for one.”
Several generals nodded. They seemed accustomed to Rabin’s slow, deliberate manner of speech.
“The tension on the borders,” Rabin continued, “is growing. In the north, Syrian bombardments rain down from the Golan Heights. In the east, PLO terrorists infiltrate from Jordan and kill civilians. In the south, Egypt is building up its forces in Sinai. In the west, terrorists attack us from Gaza. The daily casualties on every front erode our citizens’ morale.”
“It’s a chronic disease,” the prime minister said, “like bronchitis, or cataract.”
Everyone laughed, knowing that he was suffering from both.
“It’s becoming a fatal disease,” Rabin said. “The Arabs smell blood. They’re finally strong enough to overrun Israel.”
“The world won’t allow it,” the prime minister argued. “The UN will confront the Arab leaders. I sent Abba Eban to urge General Bull.”
“Our intelligence reports,” Rabin continued, “indicate that Egypt might block the Straits of Tiran.”
