The Masada Complex

liberals in the universities and churches. Political warfare is won by simple, catchy, incessant propaganda, and by forming alliances while sticking a wedge between your opponent and her allies. Without a U.S. veto, the U.N. will impose sanctions on Israel, just like South Africa, cut it off-no exports, no imports, no credit, no energy supplies, no flight privileges, no shipping, no military cooperation. They will have to allow the return of all the Palestinian refugees to Haifa and Jaffa, to the Galilee and Jerusalem. See the irony? They refused Faddah’s return to our home, now they’ll get hundreds of thousands of us. And when Israel is forced to give us the vote, the Arab majority will rule.”

“Fantasies,” Elizabeth said. “Pure fantasies. The Israelis will never allow a non-Jewish majority.”

“You think the Afrikaners ever expected to give blacks the vote? You should read my new book. The international sanctions that brought down apartheid South Africa will bring down Israel without a single explosive belt.”

“You wrote a book about it?” She was impressed.

He nodded modestly. “We will yell it from every podium in the world. Apartheid! I have already set the wheels in motion by sending an anonymous letter to three hundred university professors, inviting them to participate in an annual Israel Apartheid Week.”

“And?”

“Forty universities will hold it next March!”

“Really?”

“Just like South Africa,” he waved his finger, “Israel will kneel under an international boycott. It will be easier, in fact, because most of the world already hates Jews to begin with, even if they deny it. And once Israel caves in, every descendent of Palestinian refugees will become an Israeli citizen and get a vote. It’s a shoo-in.”

“But even then, you’ll still have millions of Jews in Israel.”

“Learn your history. After the Nazis won a democratic election in Germany, they burned down the Reichstag, blamed the Jews, and imposed so-called security measures. They cleansed the government, business, and academia of Jews. We’ll do the same in Israel.”

“In the end, the Nazis didn’t do so well,” she said.

“I assure you that we won’t attack Russia.” He chuckled and glanced at his watch, wondering if Masada’s house had already exploded. It was time to focus Elizabeth’s attention on the carrot he was dangling. “Just imagine: Hero of Palestine! The parade through Camp Kalandria. Your father at your side. And when Israel is transformed into Palestine, you’ll be minister of justice, or chief of the Supreme Court. Think of the possibilities!”

“Big dreams,” she said, but ambition sparkled in her eyes.

“Imagine coming home with honors-a parade, a band, dignitaries lined up to shake your hand.”

Elizabeth smiled. “My father won’t believe his eyes.”

When Professor Silver got home after the meeting at Elizabeth’s office, Al was waiting for him. “Mission accomplished!” Al held up a fist. “You can say Kaddish for the traitor.”

Overwhelmed with mixed emotions, Silver recited, “Blessed be He, judge of the truth.”

“Amen,” Al said.

“Go downstairs,” Silver ordered, “and wait in the basement until I return.” Unable to resist the urge to see with his own eyes, he got back in the Cadillac and drove over to her house.

Masada’s street was blocked off by police. He walked the rest of the way. The air smelled of smoke. He counted two fire engines, a TV van, three more police cars, and a Ford sedan with a forest of antennas on the roof. An ambulance waited at the curb by the house, which had lost all its windows.

Joining a small group of spectators, Silver wondered whether her body had already been removed. It could still be inside, police taking photos, marking the floor. He hoped she hadn’t suffered, that the initial explosion had knocked her out instantly.

He closed his eyes to have a break from the blotch in the middle of his vision. With Masada out of the way and Elizabeth working on his green card, he only needed to get rid of Al, and the road to Hadassah Hospital would be open.

A murmur in the small crowd made him open his eyes.

Two firemen in yellow coveralls helped Masada out of the ambulance.

“Shittan!” Silver’s utterance drew glances from several people. He cringed, realizing they mistook his Arabic reference to Satan for the English word for excrement. He retreated from the group. “Allah’s mercy,” he whispered, “she is indestructible!”

Masada seemed dazed, her blouse torn, her beige pants stained.

You can say Kaddish for her. Silver clenched his fists. Allah’s curses on you, idiot!

“Levy!” She beckoned him.

He followed her around the side of the house to the backyard and sat on a bench facing Camelback Mountain. He glanced over his shoulder into the living room, where police officers milled about. The walls were blackened, and glass shards covered everything. His voice quivered when he said, “This is terrible!”

“What brought you to the neighborhood?”

He had not planned on having a conversation with her. “A dead cat,” he lied. “I opened my door to get the mail and found the carcass on the doormat.”

“Unnatural cause of death, I presume?”

“Is it natural for a cat to lose its head before visiting an old Jew?” Silver sighed. “I came to tell you about my dead cat, and I find you like this!”

“Professional hazards.”

“It’s my fault,” he said. “Why did I give you the video? I should have remembered Rabbi Hillel’s rule: Silence is a sign of wisdom.”

“Rabbi Hillel did a lot of talking for someone preaching silence.” Masada sat at the edge of the bench. “I think I know why they secretly filmed the meeting.”

“Yes?” He had feared she would figure things out before she was eliminated.

“To hold over the senator’s head should he try to cross them. But in the excitement after the meeting, Sheen packed the video camera, but forgot the memory stick in your car.” She banged her fist against her knee brace, making a popping sound. “The insurance policy ended up causing a disaster.”

“And now they’re coming after me.”

Masada stretched her long legs, leaning back, her eyes shut under the bright sun. “Not likely.”

“Not likely?” His hurtful tone was sincere. Didn’t she care about him? “I’m a retired Yid who wants to enjoy his last chapter-a bit of travel, good friends, maybe publish another book. I’d like a few more years. Tell me, meidaleh, is that too much to ask?”

“They won’t hurt you.”

He pointed to the house. “They tried to kill you!”

“To scare me. If the Israelis wanted me dead, I’d be dead.”

She was right, of course. The reason she was alive was Al Zonshine’s incompetence.

Masada smiled, and the dimples by her mouth deepened. She examined him so intently that he turned his face away, fearing she would notice the glass eye despite the thick glasses.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ve never lost a source.”

Before he could inquire further, the TV reporter appeared in the patio doors.

“I’ll be a few minutes.” Masada went into the house.

Professor Silver waited a moment and followed. The policemen were gone. He heard the voices in the study.

“Nice decor,” the reporter said. “Gothic.”

“Don’t joke,” Masada said. “We’re working together now. You better shut off your gas main.”

“You should feel very special. I think this is the first assassination attempt in Arizona since Geronimo.”