The Masada Complex

“The info about the Arab who got a glass eye in Italy and a copy of the FBI file on the money trail from Ramallah. In return, you’ll publish a follow-up article, clarifying that you have no evidence Israel was involved, that Judah’s Fist is likely a front for an Arab plot, financed by the Saudis, like the 9/11 attacks.” Masada had always regretted failing to shove Srulie’s bone all the way through the Arab’s eye into his brain. Could she have a second chance at avenging her brother? “You want me to trade away my ethics? My self-respect? My reputation?”

“Don’t be so dramatic. All I’m asking is that save your homeland.”

The humor wasn’t lost on her, but she wouldn’t reward him, not even with a smirk. “My homeland is the United States.”

“That’s what German Jews said about Germany. Where would you go when America is plagued by the old virus of anti-Semitism? Where would you go when America kicks you out?”

“I’m an American citizen. No one can kick me out of here.”

“You’re a modern-day Josephus!”

Masada made the turn and drove up Echo Canyon. “Josephus didn’t cause the collapse of the Jewish kingdom. He reported its demise as he saw it, caused by the same obsession with Jewish messianic sovereignty. Josephus recorded history accurately. I admire him.”

“The wrong words can change history!”

The motorbike reappeared in her rearview mirror. She turned into her driveway and hit the button to open the garage door. “Shalom!”

“You’re making a tragic mistake.”

She took the young woman’s chin in her hand and forced it to face her. “Don’t waste your life on this freak.”

The agent got out of the car. A second later, the motorbike zoomed away.

Inside the garage, Masada turned off the engine and stepped out. Her pants were wet, and she couldn’t wait to change and go for a hike.

With the empty cup she scooped up pieces of ice from the floor. Carrying the bag and the Starbucks tray in her right hand, the paper bag and plastic cup in the left, she used her hip to close the Corvette door.

The garage was hot and a bit pungent. Approaching the door to the house, Masada paused, sniffing. The odor was faint, and she wondered if it was wafting in from the outside through the open garage door. She bent over to see if the Corvette was leaking gasoline but saw no stain underneath the car.

Both her hands occupied, Masada used two fingers on her right hand to turn the knob and nudged the door in with her left foot. But as her weight shifted completely onto the right leg, her bad knee buckled just as the door cracked open. She lost her balance and stumbled backward into the garage. She heard a scratch, as if someone lit a match, followed by a loud whoosh and a loud explosion. Through the crack between the closing door and the frame, a vertical sheet of flames burst out, giving Masada a glancing punch, hurling her to the floor. Her head hit the concrete, and the world went black.

Nothing melts a woman’s heart faster than a man’s tears. Professor Silver could see that Elizabeth was deeply moved. “You see,” he said, “I had planned the perfect hostage situation-no bloodshed, no unreasonable demands, only asking that my teenage son regains our family home. But there I was, Faddah murdered by the Israeli soldier who, not satiated with his blood, put a dagger in my eye. I had to throw my grenade, grab her rope, and jump.”

“Off the mountain?”

“Better the rocks than the Israelis. But Allah preserved me. It was a steel cable, swung me all the way to the other side, where the Romans built a ramp to raise their siege machines.” He showed her the palms of his hands. “It took the skin off my hands, terrible pain, and I could see nothing, hear nothing, think nothing. I felt ground under my feet and ran.”

“But surely they chased you?”

“The explosion kept them busy. I don’t know. I must have fainted in the desert. Days later I woke up in a Bedouin tent, cared for by those hardy desert nomads. If not for them, I’d be dead.”

“Allah was watching over you.”

“I’d rather Allah had watched over my son.” Silver sighed. “When I regained my strength, the Bedouins wrapped me in a carpet and delivered me under the Israelis’ nose to Gaza. My comrades smuggled me on a fishing boat to Sicily, and others drove me to Rome. There my destiny became clear to me, and I began a new life as a Jew named Flavian Silver.”

“Doesn’t faddah mean silver?”

“That’s one connection,” he said, raising a finger, “but the full name is in homage to the Roman General Flavius Silva, who put down the Jewish revolt and ended the last Jewish regime in Palestine two thousand years ago. He defeated the last Zealots at Mount Masada. He is my role model.”

“But how can you tolerate living as a Jew?”

“To beat the Jews we must learn to think like them. I studied their history, moved to Canada for a PhD, wrote articles and a book. I developed a plan to end America’s support of Israel by exposing the Jews as the backstabbing vermin they are.”

“My God,” Elizabeth whispered. “You were behind that bribe! I knew the Israelis aren’t that stupid! It’s brilliant!”

He bowed his head.

“And devious!” Her brown eyes examined him with both respect and apprehension.

“And my best helper is an ex-Israeli named Masada. Talk about symbolism!”

“Seems too good to be a coincidence.”

“Allah’s sense of humor, I tell you.” Silver looked upward in wonder. “My defeat on Mount Masada shall be redeemed through my victory using the journalist Masada. It’s divine justice!”

“Victory is still far off.”

“It’s like a chain reaction,” he explained. “One thing must lead to the next. Her expose ignited the process, and Mahoney’s suicide caused rage among his Senate colleagues. The Fair Aid Act will break the spell of the Israeli lobby in Washington and destroy the foundation of Israel’s political power in America-the Jews’ only international ally. In Phase Two, we will launch a campaign to brand Israel an apartheid state and impose appropriate sanctions.”

“Apartheid?” Elizabeth crinkled her face. “From a legal standpoint you’re incorrect. Apartheid is defined as political discrimination based on race. Israelis are from all races.”

“But only Jews are entitled to automatic citizenship, right?”

“Jews are not a race. They are people of many races who share a religion.”

“And keep everyone else out!”

“But every country in the world has limitations on immigration. I’m no friend of Israel, but even the one-and- a-half million Arabs living within the Green Line are regular Israeli citizens, with equal rights to the Jews. My father regretted leaving Acre and losing the right to become a full citizen of Israel. And I remember those Israeli soldiers- Caucasians, Africans, Asians, Slavs, even Druze and Bedouin soldiers. I think that’s why Americans love Israel-a fellow nation of immigrants.”

Professor Silver was shocked. “Whose side are you on? Have you forgotten what the Israelis have done to you and our people?”

“I’m saying, from a technical standpoint, apartheid is the wrong term.”

“Is Jimmy Carter wrong? You should read his book. A magnificent indictment of Israeli apartheid. He opened the floodgates for us, so we can drown the Jews.”

“Carter has no credibility. Polls show that Americans rate him as the worst president in history. And I’ve read his book. It’s about the occupation, not about any racism within-”

“Doesn’t Israel require immigrants to prove they’re Jews? Isn’t that racism?”

Elizabeth shrugged. “Saudi Arabia has similar laws. Iran too. Even the Anglican Church is part of the British government structure.”

“Don’t get technical! Apartheid is a catchy word-it’s a known term, familiar to all those naive bleeding-heart