The Masada Complex

inside job. There was no evidence of break in. There is evidence, however, that after the shooting in the synagogue you declined an invitation to stay the night with friends. As your legal counsel, I strongly recommend that you do not dismiss the risk of a criminal indictment.”

“You must be joking.”

“Also,” the lawyer continued, “please refrain from discussing with anyone facts or allegations related in any way to the incident or the previous incident that resulted in manslaughter-the one in Israel.”

“This is right out of Kafka,” Masada said.

“We face grave legal risks, not only to you, but also to Jab Corporation and its respective publishing enterprises.”

“Since when does the victim go on trial?”

“Victim status is a subjective thing. You’re a beautiful, successful, famous, and-pardon me for saying-self- righteous writer, while an elderly veteran, whose history of mental illness was known to you, is fighting for his life. I suggest you pray for Mr. Zonshine’s full recovery, or we’ll be defending a wrongful death claim, as well.”

When the sun went down and the Sabbath was over, Rabbi Josh forced himself out of Raul’s bed and drove to Temple Zion. He called the funeral home about transportation of the body. Finding a phone number on the Internet, he reached the burial society in Jerusalem, where it was already Sunday morning. The Israelis had a well-oiled process for accommodating dead Diaspora Jews. He paid for three plots, so that Linda’s remains could follow later. Going onto the Continental Airlines web site, he bought a one-way ticket for himself on a flight to Israel via New York. By e-mail he informed his colleagues around town of his imminent aliyah and asked them to fill in for him at Temple Zion until the congregation hired a new rabbi. Next he began to draft a letter to the members of his congregation.

The office door opened and Professor Silver entered, mulling his black beret in his hands. “Oy vey, Rabbi,” he sniffled, “my heart is broken.”

Rabbi Josh nodded. “The Lord gives, the Lord takes, may His name be blessed.”

“Amen.” Silver put on his beret. “This brings back memories of my son, his memory be blessed. Oy, oy, oy!”

“Your son?” The rabbi felt tears emerging from his eyes. “Levy, I didn’t even know you had a son.”

“I never speak of him. Too painful.” Silver straightened his hunched posture. “But I made a decision. My place is in Israel. I decided to make aliyah immediately.”

Rabbi Josh knew he should feel joy at this news, but he felt nothing. “You can join me. I’m flying on Thursday morning. Continental Airlines.”

The professor sniffled. “I heard they’re adding flights because so many Jews suddenly want to move to Israel.”

“What about your affairs here?”

“I put myself in God’s hand. America is like Germany in the thirties. The goyim just needed an excuse, and their fists already rise to hit us. You said it in your sermon: Zionism is Judaism.”

Rabbi Josh felt grateful to this frail man, who was following the last sermon his rabbi would ever deliver. He hugged him. “The Lord’s blessing shall accompany you on your travels and acclimation in the Promised Land.”

“Rabbi, what about the funeral?”

“In Jerusalem.” Rabbi Josh felt a stirring inside. God had taken a step, albeit small, to comfort him by sending this good friend to accompany him on the painful journey. He went with Silver to the door. “My son didn’t die for nothing, now that two Jews are making aliyah because of it.”

Silver pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. “Blessed be His name.”

“Amen,” Rabbi Josh opened the door.

“There’s a small thing, the Israeli immigration office requires a letter of reference.”

“I’ve done it before. I have a form on my computer. I only need your parents’ names and place of birth.”

“Jacob and Leah Silver. Both born in Rome.”

“The city of Rome,” the rabbi said, “had Jewish inhabitants before it had the Vatican.”

“I cherish lovely childhood memories.” Silver smiled.

Closing the door behind the professor, Rabbi Josh imagined him as a young boy, walking the streets of Rome, holding his father’s hand, looking up to his father with love and admiration, just like Raul.

The rabbi pressed his forehead against the door and broke down crying.

Sunday, August 10

“Why do they have to shackle him like an animal?” Hilda tugged on the handcuffs that bound Al to the bed rails. “They’re lucky he’s unconscious. He would have broken the bed. When I came this morning, it was so tight his hands turned blue.”

“How terrible!” Silver was pleased to find Al out of the ICU, in a private room away from the nurses’ station.

“It’s unnecessary,” Hilda whined. “He’s back on his psych medication.”

“He is?” Alarmed, the professor examined Al’s peaceful face under the head bandage.

“I called the chief nurse and gave it to her. This would never be allowed in my days.”

“The old days are gone, dear.” Silver patted Hilda’s arm. “Has he been awake at all?”

“They said he was joking with them earlier. I don’t believe it.”

“I’ll keep a tight watch, then.” He handed her the straw hat. “Get some rest, dear.”

“Rest? I should be so lucky!” She put on the hat and glanced at the mirror by the bathroom door. “I’m going to see the lawyer.”

“On a Sunday?” He held the door for her. “What’s the urgency?”

“To sign the lawsuit. I want it filed first thing Monday morning. That woman will pay for what she’s done to my Alfred.” Hilda kissed Al’s forehead. “My poor baby.”

“I’ll take good care of him,” Silver assured her.

“You better watch the nurses. They’re no good.” Stepping into the hallway, she raised her voice. “I told them not to put him in the last room. It takes them an hour to get here!”

As soon as the door closed, Al opened his eyes. “Doesn’t shut up, that woman.”

“Look who’s up!” Silver hooked his thumbs in his suspenders. “How are we feeling this morning?”

“Splitting headache.” Al shifted about in the bed. “Going out of my mind, Levy. Did I really shoot a gun in the synagogue?”

“Aha.”

“Did I really force Masada?” He made a strange noise through his nose, a meek version of his snorting.

“It surely seemed like it.” Silver laughed.

“Tell me it’s just a nightmare. Tell me I didn’t do these things!”

“Your troubles are almost over, my dear friend.” Silver pulled on rubber gloves.

“They’re pumping all kind of shit into me.” Al moved his head from side to side, twisting his face. A tube entered the side of his neck, just above the collar bone, feeding a drip into his bloodstream. “The key is in the drawer there.” He pointed his chin at a cabinet under the window. “Take those handcuffs off, will you?”

“Don’t worry. They’ll come off soon.” Silver pulled a wide strip of tape and stuck it on Al’s mouth.

Al moaned. “Wherr yeh doin?”

“Silence is a sign of wisdom.” Silver took out a large syringe and ripped the plastic wrapper. “You’ll get lots of practice soon.”

Staring at the syringe, Al groaned and fought to release his arms, shaking the bed rails.

“Calm down, soldier. You’ll give yourself a heart attack.” Silver pulled on the piston to fill the syringe with air. “It won’t hurt, not too much.”

Al’s body jerked from side to side, the handcuffs clinking against the bedrails. His eyes were wide, his groans