This may be his only chance.
The hell with it.
He rushed from the room.
———
ALLE FINISHED HER PRAYERS.
She’d been escorted by an older woman the rabbi had brought to her. Clearly, Berlinger had wanted to speak to her father outside her presence. If she was going to have any chance of learning anything, she would have to give them some slack. Already she’d been able to read her grandfather’s complete message. But she’d pressed her father hard in front of Berlinger.
Maybe too hard.
And Jamaica.
That locale seemed important.
Why else include a fifty-plus-year-old road map?
The Old-New Synagogue was about to open for the day, the vestibule busy with attendants preparing themselves. She stood in the main hall, drawn to a set of seats that abutted the east wall, right of the tabernacle. One was adorned with a raised back, higher than the others, topped by a Star of David.
“The chief rabbi’s place,” the older woman told her.
But a chain barred anyone from sitting.
“It has long been reserved only for Rabbi Loew. No one else sits there. He was a man greatly respected and we honor him by preserving his seat.”
“How long has he been gone?”
“Four hundred years.”
“And no one has sat there?”
“Only during the war. The Nazis learned of our honor. So they all sat in the seat. As many as could be. Their way of providing an insult. Of course, that was before they started killing us.”
She did not know what to say.
“My parents died during the war,” the woman said. “Shot by Germans not far from here.”
She wondered if this woman was Berlinger’s way of sending her a message. She’d resented being shuttled away. Treated as a child.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said. “I’m going back to the ceremonial hall.”
“The rabbi asked us to stay here until he sent for us.”
“No, that’s not right. I’m sure he asked you to
She headed for the vestibule.
The older woman nipped her heels.
“Please, my dear, stay.”
She stopped and turned back, wondering at the urgency. So she decided to make clear, “This does not concern you.”
And she left.
———
ZACHARIAH WALKED WITH THE AMBASSADOR BACK TOWARD THE same iron gate where he’d entered, adjacent to the ceremonial hall. He noticed that the mayor was gone and that a group of visitors had finally entered the cemetery from the opposite end.
“They come here from all over the world,” the ambassador said. “This is as close to Israel as many of them will ever get.”
“But it is not Israel.”
“Few understand the pressures faced in the Holy Land,” she said. “Unless you live there every day and know the fear that comes from being surrounded by enemies, how could you? We fought that fear for thousands of years. Now the people may have finally succumbed to it. You and I know what a mistake that is.”
“My father tried to warn them decades ago. We gave away too much then, and received too little in return.”
“Jerusalem has been invaded more than any other city on earth. Egypt, Assyria, Babylon, Syria, Greece, Rome, Persia, Muslims, Crusaders, Turks, the British, Palestinians, and now, finally, the Jews. I don’t plan to give it back.”
“I shall parade the treasures to the mount without warning,” he said. “The more public the display, the better. To make that happen, I may need some of your help.”
He knew what would happen. Jews would see the return of their treasures as a sign. The menorah, the divine table, and the silver trumpets had returned. Thousands would come. In the past large crowds had been routinely turned away. But this was different. Muslims, too, would see a sign. The presence of the Jewish treasures would be taken as a challenge to their presence, something they had defended for centuries with violence and blood.
This time would be no different.
