edge of the rock. A final shot popped, and the bullet hit the ground where his shoe had rested a second before.
This last one sounded like it came from the north, an area under Israeli control, but Lemmy knew that was impossible. He heard a distant siren from the UN observers’ station to the south.
Bent over in fear, the men ran downhill, except for their rabbi, who paced calmly, indifferent to the shrieking bullets. Lemmy chased his father’s hat, catching it halfway down the hill, and brought it back. Rabbi Gerster examined the hat and poked a finger through the bullet hole. The bearded men congregated around their leader, watching in awe. Redhead Dan yelled, “A miracle! A miracle!”
The sun’s last rays touched the roofs. Sabbath was about to begin, time to return to Meah Shearim, the enclosed neighborhood where the insular sect of Neturay Karta lived in strict observance of the Torah, insulated from the sinful ways of the surrounding Zionist society.
“It was a close call.” Rabbi Gerster put an arm on his son’s shoulders. “Blessed be He, Master of the Universe.”
“Amen,” Lemmy said.
They walked down the steep path, worn from eighteen years of weekly visits. The men glanced at the rabbi, their anxiety mixed with elation at having witnessed a miracle. They were devoted to him, a holy man who had emerged from the ashes of the Holocaust alone, not yet twenty years old. Lemmy had heard the stories from others, how his father had come to Neturay Karta to seek refuge among the faithful. His payos had barely started to regrow, the scars on his chest still fresh. But he was the scion of the famous Gerster rabbinical line, and the sect’s elders took him in. They matched him with a wife, Temimah, another survivor of the war. In 1948, when the Jordanians had exiled the Jews from the Old City, Abraham Gerster took a vow not to travel away from Jerusalem until Temple Mount was restored to Jewish sovereignty. And when a son was born to him, he named him Jerusalem, though everyone called the boy Lemmy, as if his given name was too holy to be used lightly. With the passing years, Abraham Gerster had gained a vast knowledge of Talmud and a reputation for calm wisdom, becoming the leader of Neturay Karta.
As they reached Shivtay Israel Street, Lemmy saw a woman standing by the roadside. She was petite and slender, her dark hair collected in a bun. A sleeveless dress exposed her shoulders, and her plain sandals revealed tanned ankles.
Lemmy was shocked. Zionist women never ventured near Neturay Karta with their hair and limbs so immodestly exposed.
The men murmured contemptuously and pulled down the brims of their hats to hide the sinful sight.
The woman stepped forward and blocked Rabbi Gerster’s way. She stared up at him with piercing green eyes. And before anyone managed to interfere, she reached up and touched his beard.
This unimaginable violation-a woman’s impure hand touching the rabbi! — unleashed Redhead Dan, who charged forward like a bull, ramming her. Her heel caught the curb, and she fell backward and banged her head on the sidewalk.
The men closed in, cursing in Yiddish, fists clenched. Redhead Dan shouted, “ Shanda! Shanda!” He plucked off his shoe and lifted it over the woman’s head.
Without thinking Lemmy hurled himself at Redhead Dan and knocked him to the ground.
“Stop!” Rabbi Gerster raised his hand. “ Enough! ”
The men stepped back.
She sat up. A thin stream of blood dripped from her forehead, down her cheek, and onto her plain dress.
The rabbi kneeled by her side. He said nothing, but his face was pale. The woman pushed a lock of hair away from her face. He offered her a white handkerchief. She took it, pressed it to her bruised forehead, and began to laugh.
She laughed!
Lemmy realized she must be mad. Why else would she laugh?
She continued to laugh, yet tears flowed from her eyes.
The men watched their rabbi to see how he would react to her madness.
“Please visit us tomorrow.” He gestured at the gate. “Over there.”
She nodded.
He stood and walked away. His men hurried after him. Lemmy offered a hand to Redhead Dan, who refused it with an angry grunt and sprang to his feet unaided.
Just before entering the neighborhood gate, Lemmy glanced back. The woman was still sitting on the ground. She waved at him with his father’s handkerchief, stained with her blood.
E lie Weiss crouched on the rooftop of a deserted house near the border. The gray beggar’s cloak kept him warm, but the hood made his bald scalp itch. He unscrewed the sniper scope from the rifle and gazed through it as a monocular, watching Abraham and his bearded men disappear through the gate into Meah Shearim. Elie shifted his focus to Tanya. She pulled herself up and walked away. Unlike Abraham, the years had left no mark on her. She had remained delicate and childlike, a porcelain doll. But her appearance no longer matched her inner substance. The pregnant, teenage orphan had turned into a confident Mossad agent. It had been a stroke of luck when he had noticed her name, after all these years, on a secret list of decorated agents. He knew not to approach her directly, but had found a way to pass the information to her about the rabbi of Neturay Karta, whose name matched her dead lover. Yet throwing the two lovers back together was a gamble. It could set off a conflagration of passions that would derail his plans. But Elie had weighed the chances and bet on the idealistic innocence Abraham and Tanya shared, which would keep them from rushing into each other’s arms at the expense of their respective missions. And having watched Abraham’s son leap to Tanya’s defense so impulsively, Elie suspected the youth might prove to be the key to effectively manipulating both his father and Tanya.
The UN siren, which his shots had awakened, died down. The armistice observers would assume it had been another bored Jordanian soldier and do nothing about it, as was their custom. He used the rifle scope to watch the UN Mideast Command at the old Government House across the border. Other than the guards kicking a ball in the courtyard, there was no activity. On the hill behind the UN compound, a rotary radar antenna turned lazily, curved as a giant sail, full with wind. It monitored the airspace constantly, enforcing the ban on aircraft operations in the region.
Elie put down the scope and sat on the tar roof to wait. He leaned back against the low wall surrounding the rooftop and pulled a cigarette from a pack of Lucky Strike. He smoked slowly, drawing deep, savoring the flavor of toasted burley. He didn’t mind waiting. Darkness wasn’t far off.
Chapter 4
On Sabbath morning, Lemmy accompanied his father to the synagogue, a large hall where prayers and studying took place daily from early morning to late night. It was filled to capacity. Cantor Toiterlich recited the morning prayers, and the men repeated after him. Children ran around, and the women in the upstairs mezzanine whispered gossip behind the lace partition. Abundant light came from the tall windows. The crossbeam ceiling, high above, carried an enormous crystal chandelier that glowed from Friday afternoon until Saturday night.
Midway through the service, the Torah scroll was carried to the dais for reading. The cantor called Rabbi Abraham Gerster up to the dais. The rabbi covered his head with the prayer shawl and recited the Hagomel — the prayer of gratitude for having survived mortal danger. When he finished, the men yelled, “Amen!” They had witnessed God reach down yesterday to spoil the sniper’s aim and deflect the deadly projectiles from the rabbi.
When the reading ended, Cantor Toiterlich chanted a prayer for the rabbi’s health and longevity. He followed with a special prayer for the rabbi’s wife, Temimah, that God may cure her infertility and grace her with more sons, who would grow up to study Torah. With the rabbi and his wife approaching forty, the congregants murmured, “May His will be so!”
As soon as morning prayers ended, the women hurried to their small apartments to set up for the Sabbath lunch. The children ran between the wooden benches, their colorful clothes lively against the black attire of their fathers. The men stepped outside, squinting at the bright sun, and strolled down the alleys in groups, discussing
