The Masada Complex

“The mufti started a mosque in Hamburg,” Ness continued. “The same mosque where, sixty years later, eleven young Arabs prepared to fly planes into the World Trade Center.” The colonel’s finger drew a line in the air. “There is a thread connecting anti-Semitism, Fascism, Jihadism, and mass murder of innocent people. Our operation succeeded in exposing-”

“You call this a success?”

“Abu Faddah was sincere in his work-a brilliant professor, if you ask me. His ideas, his architectural designs and technical improvements, spiced up the whole picture. Tara will show all of it on TV. Hundreds of millions of viewers will see it.”

“They’ll see a fraud!”

“Why?” Colonel Ness seemed offended. “These were his ideas, and he executed his own plan, every part of it!”

“But you helped him, gave him the money to do it.”

“As far as he knew, it all came from Ramallah, courtesy of a senior Palestinian agent named Rajid.”

In the cockpit, the agent patted his own shoulder.

“But you facilitated it!”

“So? Banks lend money to people to buy cars. Are fatal car crashes the banks’ fault? Come on, Rabbi, use your Talmudic logic!”

Shaking his head, Rabbi Josh said, “None of this would have happened if not for you.”

“Don’t fool yourself. The Arabs would do it in a heartbeat. The Syrians, the Iranians, the imams in a thousand mosques, they all aspire to exterminate the Jewish people because they’re jealous of our success and progress. Look at your friend Levy Silver, previously known as Abu Faddah. He is the ultimate proof that our struggle is righteous. Have you ever heard of any other Holocaust scholar channeling his creative energy into designing another genocide? This will force the world to recognize the existential threat posed by Islamic fundamentalism to western civilization.”

“It’s immoral!” Rabbi Josh aimed the gun at Ness. “You tricked America-our friend!”

“Morality and politics are unrelated. You heard Tara.” The colonel motioned at the open door. “Suddenly everybody in Washington is scrambling to help Israel.”

“God will never condone such deceit!”

“How do you know what God will or will not condone?”

“I do!”

“Maybe your God will be upset, because your God is the Diaspora God, the meek God of exile and bent knees, the God of turning the other cheek.” Colonel Ness pounded his chest. “My God is the Israeli God, the God of standing tall, of self-respect, of sovereignty on our ancient land. My God is the God of fighting back! Of victory by all necessary means! Of never, never, never giving up!”

Rabbi Josh looked at the gun in his hand. “And Masada?”

Colonel Ness pursed his lips. “She was the perfect choice, an anticorruption crusader, an impeacher of two Arizona governors, winner of a Pulitzer Prize, and above all, a critic of Israel.”

“You destroyed her.”

Ness’s assistant whistled. “Can we go already?”

The colonel opened his arms. “We took every precaution to ensure her safety. It breaks my heart. But Israel prevailed. Our national survival is the only thing that really matters.”

“No!” Rabbi Josh aimed the gun. “The Almighty will not allow such manipulations, such blood spilling for no good reason.” He moved backward, toward the door. “Masada was right all along. It was you, toying with our lives. She was right, and she died thinking she was wrong. But I’m going to fix that. Masada deserves to have the truth come out!”

The young woman got up and approached Rabbi Josh. He aimed the gun at her. She closed the distance between them, snatched the gun, and tossed it to the colonel.

Ness pointed the gun at Rabbi Josh. “Sit down.”

“Why? You’ll kill me too?”

The colonel blew air through his lips. For the first time he looked angry. “This whole affair was supposed to resolve itself in Arizona without a drop of blood. But the senator blew his head off, Masada was deaf to our hints, and the professor pursued his own agenda-going blind scared him to death.”

“But you gave him this gun,” Rabbi Josh pointed, “to use on Masada this morning, to kill her!”

Colonel Ness glared at him. “I love Masada. You think I’d risk her life?”

“I think you’re a psychopath.”

“And I think we’ve had enough.” The colonel’s arm rose, aiming the silencer straight at Rabbi Josh’s chest. He pressed the trigger, and the gun coughed like a champagne bottle.

The rabbi clasped his chest, searching for the bullet hole.

Colonel Ness’s assistant laughed.

The colonel aimed the gun at her and pressed the trigger again.

She beat her chest and yelped.

Colonel Ness put the gun to his head and shot himself. “Dummies,” he said, “they’re all dummies.”

Rabbi Josh smoothed his shirt. “My Raul died by a real bullet, shot by a man working for your twisted agent. Was that part of your plan, to get a little boy killed?”

“Of course not. It was a tragic case of collateral damage.” The colonel’s eyes remained level with the rabbi’s. “I understand your pain. Your heart is broken. And it will remain broken. I know this, because I also lost a beautiful boy for Israel. And I’ll sacrifice ten more sons if Israel needs them.”

“You’re sacrificing much more: The truth!”

Colonel Ness pointed to the open door. “They won’t believe you, but you can try if it makes you feel righteous. Go ahead, betray your people. Help the enemies of Israel.”

Rabbi Josh looked at them-the young woman on the bench, the agent in the cockpit, the colonel in his wheelchair. “You,” he said, “are the enemies of Israel.”

He followed the road along the shore of the Dead Sea. The day’s heat was rising. He walked slowly, carrying his sneakers under his arm. The colonel’s helicopter took off behind him and headed south, out of earshot. Moments later, the medical helicopter ascended from the desert floor and flew north, leaving a wake of white dust. The rabbi closed his eyes, remembered her last smile, and whispered, “Shalom, Masada.”

He kept walking, the asphalt warm under his feet. He knew Colonel Ness was right. They won’t believe you.

A lizard crossed the road in front of his toes, paused to look up at him, and disappeared under a rock. Ahead, the red roofs of Kibbutz Ben-Yair grew nearer.

Engine noise sounded from behind.

He stopped and turned.

A green tractor was gaining on him. It pulled a trailer piled with cardboard boxes marked: Ben- Yair Tomatoes. The driver was a young woman. She slowed down, coming to a full stop.

“Boker tov!”

“Good morning,” Rabbi Josh replied.

“I’m heading to the kibbutz.” She took off her cap, letting loose a cascade of dark, red-tinged hair. “Want a ride?”

He nodded.

She patted the fender over the huge wheel of the tractor.

“Hop on!”