Masada pulled up a chair, sat next to Priest and watched his fingers dance on the keyboard, aligning photos of white vans.
“The meeting took place inside a white Ford van.”
Instead of solutions, she was running into more questions. Sheen had borrowed Silver’s Cadillac, but met Senator Mahoney in a Ford van. “Was it Mahoney’s van?”
“I checked DMV records,” Priest said. “Mahoney didn’t own a car.” He skipped to the end of the clip and focused on the handshake. He enlarged Sheen’s hand, which seemed pudgy and hairy. He marked off a square from the green sleeve by the wrist and dragged it to the other half of the parted screen. He brought up a mesh of tiny blocks in different colors, scrolled down to shades of green, and dragged the cutoff from the sleeve to a glistening green square for a perfect match. Florida lime.
“I’m confused,” Masada said. “My source said Sheen left his house Saturday morning in a black Cadillac wearing a brown suit.”
“Could be another guy. A relay.” Priest pulled up the Public Television web site and found a promo for an old band of five men in long sideburns and glistening green suits.
Tara tapped the screen with her finger. “Polyester. My dad still has one.”
Masada stood and stretched her right leg, wincing.
“What’s wrong?”
“Old battle scars. What happened to the sound on the video?”
Priest turned on his stool. “It was muted.”
Tara laughed. “A mute senator-that’s a new one.”
“He’s not mute,” Priest said, smacking his lips.
Masada saw an opening. “Do you remember why Bush Senior lost to Clinton?”
Tara imitated the ex-president: “Read my lips — no more taxes!”
Professor Silver entered McDonald’s. A fat youth stood by the door, stuffing his mouth with fries. Elizabeth was sitting at a corner table with the Arizona Republic. She held it up to show him a cartoon. It depicted a tank, marked with a Star of David, aiming its cannon at a lanky woman with black hair, who crouched behind a cactus, next to a burned-down house, aiming a giant pencil at the Israeli tank.
Silver laughed. “That’s my Masada. Fearless!”
Elizabeth handed him an envelope. “You’re officially approved as a permanent resident of the United States.”
They smiled at each other with the camaraderie of sinners.
He peeked inside the envelope. “Is this the green card?”
“They’ll mail your card directly from Washington. When you leave the country, you show the card at the airport, and the system won’t flag you for overstaying your visa.”
“Washington?” His good eye stung and blinked. “You can’t give it to me now?”
“Your application has been approved. It’s done, really. You should receive the card within sixty days.”
“That’s two months!”
Elizabeth’s face was taut. “Maybe less, several weeks.”
“I don’t have weeks. I’m booked on a flight Thursday morning. You must get it!”
“Must?” Elizabeth’s face turned red.
He grabbed her wrist. “Thursday!”
She pulled free. “Just like my father! Ungrateful!”
“Grateful for what?” Silver stood up, shaking the envelope. “A job half-done?”
Masada spent the morning clearing up the broken glass and scrubbing the floors. After a quick shower, she went to the bedroom, closed the door, and lay down.
She thought of Rabbi Josh, the way he had come to check on her the morning after Mahoney’s suicide, sweating and panting. She thought of his concerned eyes, his scruffy chin. She imagined caressing his bulging biceps, kissing his skin, and felt a jolt of pleasure.
Assuming a fetal position, Masada hugged her knees to her chest, the brace pressing against her heart. She could barely breathe, shocked by the crushing lust. “You’re a foolish woman,” she said. “Foolish! Foolish! Foolish!”
Professor Silver parked his Cadillac in front of Masada’s house and stuffed her copy of The Evian Conference under his shirt, which he tucked back into his pants. He got in through the tarp that served as a front door and almost stumbled over a large paint container. “Hello? Masada?”
She appeared in the hallway, her face rosy, but before she said anything, the phone rang in the kitchen.
Masada picked it up and listened. She said, “You’re off base, Dick. Tara won’t jump the gun.” She listened more. “I need her resources.”
Standing by the door, Silver let the book drop to the floor, coughing to mask the noise, and kicked it under the refrigerator.
“Listen, Dick,” Masada said, “tell them to send me the next installment. I need to buy new windows.” She tapped her foot, listening. “No, the insurance won’t pay because I’m being investigated by the FBI for suspicion that I staged the explosion, okay?” She slammed the phone down.
“I can help you with some money,” Silver said.
“They’ll pay me. It’s all a game.” She pulled two water bottles from the fridge, handing one to him. “How are you holding up?”
He almost laughed. She was worried about him. Allah was falling off his throne in laughter. “No more dead cats, thank God.”
“Oh, before I forget. That Canadian, Sheen, when he was at your house, did he wear a green jacket or suit?”
“No. A brown suit.”
“Did you notice a green jacket in his suitcase?”
“Meidaleh,” he patted her cheek, “I’m not the type to peek in my guests’ luggage.”
“We didn’t find a record of Fred Sheen passing through the airport. He must have used a false identity.”
“I open my home to him, and he lies to me. Disgusting!”
“Also, SuperShuttle has no record of him, or of your address.”
Alarmed, Silver realized he had spiced up his lies with crumbs of false authenticity, exposing himself to easy refutation.
“He could have paid the driver off.” Masada tightened the straps of her knee brace. “But why did he stay with you? With so much money in the bag, he could have stayed at the Ritz.”
She had unraveled his story but gave no indication of suspecting him. Silver’s hands trembled, but he calmed himself with the thought that tonight this clever woman would meet Allah. “Don’t they ask for a credit card at a hotel?”
Masada’s hands passed through her hair, toying with the long strands. “There must be a link between you and these people. You and I need to sit and dig into every detail.”
“We’ll talk at temple, after services.” Professor Silver opened his arms. “Give a hug to an old man.”
Masada bent down to embrace him. He returned her embrace with a tight squeeze, knowing it was the last time. He detached from her with difficulty, his throat tight.
Raul pointed to a page in the prayer book. “That’s where we start, right?” Rabbi Josh nodded. He watched the members of his congregation. The men’s heads were covered with white yarmulkes, the woman bejeweled, filling the synagogue with the aroma of mixed perfumes. They sat in rows of padded chairs arranged in succeeding crescents that faced the dais and the Torah Ark. Many regulars brought guests, whose faces Rabbi Josh did not recognize. He was pleased with the swelling crowd. Word must have gotten around that Masada El-Tal would discuss the Torah portion. Mahoney’s shot to the head, the attempts on her life, and the consequent media storm had given her notoriety.
He tensed every time the door opened, expecting her tall figure to appear. He pinched the strings on the old guitar Linda had bought him for his birthday.
Raul held up the book, pointing to the Hebrew text. “Dad, is this a Yod or a Vav?”
Rabbi Josh bent to look closely at the letter. “It’s got a short leg, so-”
“It’s a Yod!”
“Correct.” The rabbi listened as Raul recited the Hebrew letters. Earlier they had discussed the importance of prayer in securing Shanty a good spot in dogs’ heaven.
Al Zonshine entered with Professor Silver, who held Al’s arm as they proceeded down the aisle to the first row of seats. The contrast between them was striking-Silver in his white shirt, red bowtie, and blue suspenders, and Al in a greenish polyester jacket over a grubby T-shirt. Rabbi Josh assumed they had run into each other in the lobby and wondered if the professor’s eyes were giving him trouble again.
Al’s face was red, his head bowed like a charging bull. He had visible deteriorated since stalking Masada a few months earlier, followed by the separation from his wife. Rabbi Josh was planning to speak to Al after the service to offer him help, having heard a rumor that Al was living in his van. But seeing Al’s odd appearance, he became worried enough to step down from the dais and beckon Hilda, who was sitting on the left end of the hall. Reluctantly she came over and settled a couple of seats down from her estranged husband. “That’s close enough,” she said, shaking her head. Al didn’t seem to notice, his bulging eyes focused on the Ark of the Torah.
The long arm of the wall clock touched the top. 7:00 p.m.
Rabbi Josh stood and faced the congregation. “Welcome to our Friday night service.” He waited for the chattering to quiet down. “I am glad to see that no one was intimidated by what happened.” The graffiti had been painted over that morning, but he had worried people would stay away. “Let us pray for those who hate us. Let us pray that they allow God’s grace into their hearts. Let us pray that they forgo hate for love and charity.”
The congregation chorused, “Amen.”
“To those of you who are new to Temple Zion, we always begin with the Kabbalat Shabbat, Welcoming the Sabbath, followed by a discussion of this week’s chapter of Torah.” He paused, turning to his son.
Raul stood. “The Torah chapter is Shoftim. It means Judges.”
The announcement drew clapping, and he sat down.
“Thank you, young man.” Rabbi Josh opened a prayer book. “Please turn to page forty-three.” He pinched a string on his guitar, glancing at the door. When his eyes descended to the seated congregation, Al Zonshine gave him a dark, knowing look.
“Go forth, bride’s groom, receive your betrothed; Let us welcome her, the Sabbath.” The chant brought peace to Rabbi Josh’s heart. The congregation repeated each line, chanting after him. “In advance of the Sabbath we shall march, for she is the fountain of grace.”
Raul’s high-pitched voice sounded above the crowd, and Rabbi Josh reached over to caress Raul’s head but pulled his hand back, reluctant to make the boy self-conscious.
The door opened, and Masada entered. Their eyes met, but she averted her gaze quickly. He watched her select a prayer book from the rack and take a seat in the rear. She didn’t look up again.
“Dad?” Raul patted the open prayer book.
Rabbi Josh realized everyone was waiting for him. He resumed playing the guitar, chanting, “Observe and remember, his single command, we heard from the Heavenly Lord.”
Masada stole a glance at Rabbi Josh. He stood before the congregation with a prayer shawl draped on his wide shoulders, his white shirt embroidered with blue Stars of David, his ponytail resting on one shoulder. He played the guitar with tenderness that defied his big hands.
After the singing came the main service. By the time the Kaddish was recited by those who had lost a family member in the past year, Masada had recovered her resolve. Rabbi Josh was out of her life. She had no need for a relationship, and even casual intimacy would make her worry about him and Raul, distort her objectivity, and violate her intellectual freedom.
To make sure she would not succumb to her juvenile infatuation, Masada decided to alienate him irreparably, to demonstrate to him the unbridgeable gap between them.
She jumped as a hand tapped her shoulder.
“Scared you!” Raul laughed.
“You startled me,” she corrected, ruffling his carrot hair.
“Are you going to cry?”
“Are you going to make me?”
“Come.” He took her hand. “You need to sit up there, next to Dad.”
Professor Silver saw Masada and jabbed his elbow at Al, who seemed paralyzed, breathing in shallow bursts, his bulging eyes staring at the prayer book without seeing it. The first part of the service was coming to conclusion with the recital of Kaddish. The prayer for the dead was a fitting backdrop for what was about to happen.
The rabbi’s son led Masada down the center aisle toward the dais. They climbed the three steps, and she sat beside the rabbi, a smirk betraying her arrogance, or discomfort. Silver couldn’t tell. What’s the difference? She’ll be dead in minutes.
Al filled his chest with air and moaned, drawing a few glances. Silver became alarmed. He had planned the killing sequence to the smallest detail and practiced with Al until the Jew was acting the whole thing without trying to use his puny brain. Silver knew he must make him shoot now, before Al lost his nerves completely. He elbowed him but got no response.
The rabbi raised his book. “Page 309.”
Silver leaned over and hissed, “Soldier!” It was the trigger word he had instilled in Al during the basement rehearsals while pumping him with a great deal of hashish. Dozens of times Al had drawn the loaded pistol, which he had bought earlier at a pawn shop, stepped forward to the desk that represented the temple dais, declared, “So shall all Israel’s enemies perish!” and shot at the stuffed shirt that represented Masada’s chest. Al had wanted to follow the execution with another declaration before shooting himself: “I wish I had more than one life to give to Israel.” But Silver had convinced him that he must immediately put the gun to his mouth and pull the trigger. Show them you’re a real man, like Mahoney. Not that he cared if Al sounded like the idiot he was, but the shooting had to follow in quick succession, leaving no time for diversion. If Al survived and was arrested, he would talk. But if he died instantly, his ability to bring Silver down would die with him.
Al moaned again.
Hilda whispered loudly, “What’s wrong with you?”
Al blinked a few times, sat up sharply, and dropped his prayer book. It fell on the floor with a thud. Rabbi Josh looked, and others turned to see. Al picked up the book and kissed the cover. He kept his eyes down, pretending to read, his head the color of eggplant.
Silver cursed quietly.
On the dais, the rabbi said, “I always try to find something in the Torah chapter that connects with the person who volunteered to present this week’s chapter. Sometimes it’s easy, and sometimes I have to be creative.”
The audience laughed, and Lefkowitz boasted, “There were no flowers in my chapter.”
“True,” Rabbi Josh said, “but we found a verse praising the fertility of the Promised Land, which relates to flowers.”
The recollection generated laughs.
Silver leaned over and whispered directly into Al’s ear, “Soldier!”
No response.
The rabbi lifted the book. “This chapter sets down the law for an orderly society in the Promised Land, including a justice system, with fair laws and honest judges to rule over the Jewish people in the Land of Israel. It begins: You shall not take a bribe, for the bribe would blind wise men and twist the righteous.”
Silver’s eye stung. Masada’s chapter commenced with a bribe? Was this a warning from their God?
“Keep reading.” Masada lifted her copy. “And when the Lord your God gives you the land, you shall kill all the males by sword; the women and children and livestock you shall take as loot.” She looked at the audience. “Are we still required to do so?”
“This was written,” Rabbi Josh said, “in the context of biblical times, with tribal wars and no diplomacy for resolving conflicts.”
“Question is,” she said, “does the Torah still require us to eliminate the gentile inhabitants of the Promised Land today-the modern Palestinians? Are we supposed to conquer the land, kill the men, and enslave the women, children, and livestock?”
The rabbi looked around, but no one answered. Silver cheered Masada silently, grateful that Al had not shot her yet.
“I’m surprised,” Rabbi Josh said, “that an educated woman like you would perpetuate the Palestinian myth. Mark Twain chronicled his visit to the Holy Land in Innocents Abroad. You should read it. He found a barren land with a few scattered villages inhabited by Muslims, Jews, and Christians. The sacred cities of Jerusalem, Tiberius, Acre, and Hebron were dilapidated and ruined. Twain was there before the economic boom created by modern Zionism in the late nineteenth century. Today’s Palestinians are descendants of families that came from other parts of the Middle East because of the prosperity created by European Jews in the early twentieth century. There had never been a Palestinian nation or a Palestinian state in history, so there was no one to conquer and kill.”
Masada turned a page. “And what about the order to sacrifice animals on altars? Blind obedience to the priests? Corporal punishment?” She surveyed the congregation. “Are we still supposed to maim a sinner?”
“The sinner,” Al suddenly yelled, “is the traitor who snitched on her own people.” He jumped up, waving a fist. “You should be taken outside to be stoned. You!”
Like everyone else, Masada was shocked by Al Zonshine’s shouting. She expected him to leap onto the dais, but he stood there, fumbling in the pocket of his old-fashioned jacket.
Hilda got up and spoke to her husband. He grunted and sat down, glaring at Masada. Hilda returned to her seat, rolling her eyes. Professor Silver, sitting next to Al, seemed nervous. When their eyes met, Masada winked at him. He shrugged.
“Our Torah,” Rabbi Josh said, as if nothing had happened, “gave humanity the gift of ethics. Torah sets right from wrong. This is the beginning of human civilization’s law and order, ethical morality as a religious aspiration, which originated from the Promised Land.” He held the book up and quoted, “When you come to the land that God gave you, you shall inherit her and settle-”
“But we already fulfilled this edict,” Masada interrupted him, “when Joshua conquered Canaan, and the twelve tribes of Israel settled on the land. Unfortunately we lost it two thousand years ago. It’s over, so to speak.”
“Settling in Israel is a continuous duty,” Rabbi Josh argued, “a divine privilege extended to each and every one of us. We’re very lucky to be living at a time that an independent Jewish state exists on our land after two millennia.”
“And what if you catch a Jew worshiping another God?” Masada quoted: “You shall take that man who has done that evil deed to the gates of town and cast stones at him until he is dead.”
The congregation was silent.
Rabbi Josh smiled. “I think we all agree that such harshness is unnecessary, now that idols are no longer worshiped, even by gentiles.”
Masada didn’t look at him. “And the man who shall maliciously sin, ignoring the priest, he shall die and you shall exterminate the sin from Israel.” She paused, glancing at the rows of congregants. “Cooking during the Sabbath? Punishable by stoning. Driving to the synagogue on Saturday morning? Eating bacon for breakfast? Marrying a non-Jew? Death! Each of us would be sent to the gallows under this chapter of the Torah.”
“Absolutely not true,” Rabbi Josh protested. “The early Jews worshipped a single, invisible God while they were surrounded by idol-worshipers and many temptations to stray, which required harsh punishments as deterrence.”
She turned to face him. “But it says here-”
“Not to be taken literally.”
“Outdated?”
“From a practical standpoint, yes.”
“And the part about the man who killed another in anger and ran away?” She quoted. “And the elders shall take him from his refuge and hand him to the dead man’s family, and he shall die. Do not have mercy on him.” She looked up. “Also outdated?”
Rabbi Josh nodded. “The Torah was given to us thousands of years ago. You can’t expect it to remain contemporary.”
“We should ignore it?”
“It’s meant to inspire us to do justice.”
“An eye for an eye?”
“A symbolic statement.”
“A tooth for a tooth?”
“Obviously.”
“A hand for a hand? A foot for a foot?”
Rabbi Josh lifted his hands in the air. “God doesn’t expect us to follow each edict in practice forever. It’s an ancient text-”
“Outdated, expired, and invalid, not to be acted upon in modern times, correct?”
“The Torah isn’t written in black and white. We, as Jews, can interpret it in ways that fit the times we live in.”
“Pick and chose what’s outdated and what’s not?” Masada lifted the book. “What about settling in the Promised Land? Is Zionism an anachronism, like stoning idol worshipers, poking out eyes, and chopping off feet?”
“There’s a big difference.” Rabbi Josh controlled his voice with difficulty. “Criminal justice has evolved with civilization. But our bond with the Promised Land, the return to Zion, making aliyah, that’s the foundation of our faith and national identity. Judaism stands on three legs: The Torah, the People, and the Land of Israel.” He pointed at her. “What you say means that Judaism itself is an anachronism.”
Masada shook her finger slowly, drawing everyone’s attention. “Zionism and Judaism are not synonyms. Judaism gave humanity the Ten Commandments, which still serve as the moral foundation of civilized society. But Zionism, settling in the Promised Land, isn’t even mentioned in the Ten Commandments, is it?”
“But the longing to Zion,” the rabbi said, his voice trembling, “united us in the Diaspora for two thousand years. It’s the core of our Jewish being, the homeland awaiting us as a people.”
“Beware what you wish for.”
“How can you say that? The State of Israel is the most beautiful thing that happened to Jews since the Holy Temple was destroyed by the Romans. The Diaspora was an agony, centuries filled with suffering-”
“They seem happy in the Diaspora.” Masada gestured at the crowded synagogue. “And you, Rabbi Joshua Frank, claim to long for Zion, but here you are, in Arizona.”
The blow was delivered, and he exhaled, touching his face as if she had actually slapped him. “That’s below the belt.”
From his seat next to his father, Raul looked up at her, his young eyes accusatory.
Al Zonshine leaped to his feet. “You deserve it, Rabbi!”
Rabbi Josh lifted his hand to calm Al.
“She’s pissing on you! She’s pissing on all of us!” Al’s face was purple, and he yelled, “She’s pissing on Israel! She’s pissing on the Ark! She’s pissing on the Torah!” He caught his breath and shouted, “And she’s pissing me off!”
Rabbi Josh sighed.
Masada watched Al step forward, shoving his hand in the pocket of his jacket, further contorting the ill-fitting garment, which creased and stretched with an odd, green sheen.
Suddenly it came to her: Green polyester!
Al Zonshine?
While the rabbi descended the steps to deal with Al, Masada realized the connection: Vietnam! And the hand in the video clip-hairy and meaty, with thick, stubby fingers-was Al’s hand! Sheen must have driven from the professor’s house to meet Al, gave him the bribe money, and Al went to meet Mahoney to close the deal. Did Al own a white van? She would follow him after the service to find out.
“You must,” Al yelled at Rabbi Josh, “excommunicate this bitch!”
The rabbi stood in front of him in the area separating the dais from the crescents of seats. “We’re in the house of God on Sabbath Eve-a time of peace and spiritual reflection.”
“Bewitched you, didn’t she? Banish her from our temple!”
Rabbi Josh shook his head. “This is a place of inclusion.”
“Then you are a traitor too!” Al Zonshine lifted the prayer book, threw it at the rabbi’s chest, and ran up the aisle to the exit.
Everyone was frozen in shock, except Professor Silver, who got up and followed Al.
Masada flexed her leg. Poor Levy, always trying to help, do the right thing. She rose from her seat to follow him, to tell him that Al worked for the Israelis, but paused. She would wait. Better the old man didn’t know.
Professor Silver exited the sanctuary and chased after his inept accomplice. Al had already turned on the engine when Silver pulled open the passenger door and climbed into the van.
“Shooting there is wrong!” Al panted, pressing his chest. “The Ark! I’ll go to hell!”
“Take a deep breath.” Silver fiddled with the climate control knobs to increase the flow of cold air. “You’re doing fine.”
Al grabbed a stained rag and wiped his forehead. “Can’t do it.”
Silver forced his voice to stay even. “There’s nothing to fear.
We are doing God’s work.”
“What if I hit the Ark?”
Screw the Ark, Silver thought. “Didn’t you read this week’s Torah chapter? An eye for an eye. That’s our Lord’s command.”
Al clutched his chest. “Ahhh!”
Silver opened the glove compartment and found the bottle of pills. “Here, take one.”
Hands shaking, Al placed a pill under his tongue and sat back, eyes closed. Beads of sweat covered his face.
Silver prayed silently. I beseech you, Allah. Don’t take him yet. A few more minutes, and you can burn his soul in eternity.
Al’s breathing slowed down.
“Would you rather die of a meaningless heart attack? Or do you want a hero’s end?”
“Hero.” Al wiped his face again.
“Show me the gun.”
His paws were too big for his own pockets, and he struggled to extract the weapon.
“Cock it.”
He did.
“Keep it in your hand, down by your leg, and walk right up to the dais. Understood?”
“An eye for any eye!”
“That’s the spirit! Don’t look at anyone. Focus on Masada. When you reach the edge of the dais, aim at her chest and pull the trigger. “Then you end it, like Mahoney.”
“I’m a soldier!”
“Soldier of Judah! Our people will tell your story to their children for generations!”
“Judah’s Fist!” Al closed his eyes. “Give me a minute alone.”
“One minute, soldier!” Professor Silver left the van and returned to the building. The foyer was lined with glass displays of Jewish trinkets. He stopped at the open door to the sanctuary and watched.
Rabbi Josh was back on the dais, seated next to Masada, who noticed Silver at the door and smiled at him.
“I have to respond to what was said before the interruption.” The rabbi put his hand on his son’s red head. “Why do I live comfortably in America while preaching aliyah? Because of this.” He leaned over and kissed the top of his son’s head. The boy twisted his freckled face in displeasure, making people laugh.
Silver glanced at the white van outside. He had to shift his gaze slightly, as the blotch hid the van. It was parked under a street lamp, Al still at the wheel.
“I owe it to my late wife,” the rabbi continued, “to raise our son in safety, not where people brave terror attacks, where rockets rain down without warning, where the Arabs’ hate of our people still burns hot. I must give our son a secure, happy childhood. I cannot put him in harm’s way.”
“I’m not afraid,” Raul said, earning a round of applause.
The rabbi laughed. “When you’re eighteen, you can make aliyah of your own volition, and I’ll join you.”
“So,” Masada said, “you’ll make aliyah when the kid goes to college.”
Silver shook his head in amazement. At least she was going out with a bang.
“I am ashamed,” Rabbi Josh said, “that I put my son before my religious duty. I fear for him. That’s the downside of being a parent. You’re always afraid.”
“But if you believe in God,” Masada argued, “Arizona or Israel are the same. Isn’t Raul’s safety in God’s hands, Rabbi?”
Silver held his breath in awe. What a waste, to have to kill such a brilliant woman. She had the rabbi prostrated on the cutting board, sliced up like a green cucumber.
Rabbi Josh raised his hands. “I can only aspire to Abraham’s faith, as he tied his son to the altar. One day I will settle in the Land of Israel and defend our Jewish state with my own life.”
Back at the van, Silver could see the interior lights come on as Al had opened the door.
“Your life?” Masada stood, facing him. “That’s a psychological condition: The Masada Complex.” She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. “Rolef’s Political Dictionary of the State of Israel gives a definition of this term: Masada Complex is the conviction that it’s preferable to fight to the end than to surrender and acquiesce to the loss of independent statehood.”
The rabbi spread his arms. “Guilty as charged.”
“The Masada Complex,” Masada said, “is the cause of death for thousands of Jews in Israel. It’s the reason otherwise sane men talk about sacrificing their lives. The Masada Complex is Israel’s national mental illness.”
“Americans sacrifice their lives for their country.” The rabbi pointed to the Ark, flanked by the U.S. and Israeli flags. “Are they also mentally ill?”
She faced the congregation. “The U.S. army is strictly voluntary. Most Americans wouldn’t agree to serve, let along die for it. Americans pursue individual success, self-fulfillment, and acquisition of personal wealth. This country exists for the people’s safety and happiness, and it’s secured within its natural borders, free of viable enemies. But Israel is stuck in perpetual existential danger since its establishment because it is but a futile attempt to implant a western democracy in a region whose soil will never support it. Israelis will continue to die unnecessarily because of an illusion, a dream of an independent Jewish state living in peace with its neighbors. But that dream can never become a reality. It’s unfair, a tragedy, a historic injustice, but it’s true.”
As much as he agreed with Masada, Professor Silver was shocked by the relentlessness of her attack on the rabbi. He glanced at the van, shifting his head slightly to move the blotch aside, and was relieved to see Al approach the temple. In a moment, Masada and Al would die-a murder-suicide that no one would question, with a victim and a killer conveniently available to eliminate any search for a culprit.
Al approached in a stiff walk, his right hand glued to his side.
“And until they realize it,” she said, “Israelis will continue to suffer from the Masada Complex!”
“And I think,” Rabbi Josh declared, “that you are afflicted with the Masada Complex.”
They faced each other, similarly tall yet so different-Masada thin and erect, black hair flowing down to her shoulders, the rabbi muscled and tanned, softened by his golden ponytail.
“You think I suffer from a Masada complex?” Masada laughed. “That would take a bunch of Talmudic hoops.”
“Try it for size,” the rabbi said. “Exchange independent statehood with human rights, or whatever else you’re crusading for, and you fit the definition.”
Silver tore himself from the captivating scene on the stage to watch Al, who passed by him without a word and entered the sanctuary.
“That’s ridiculous,” Masada said.
Rabbi Josh quoted from memory: “The conviction that it is preferable to fight to the end than to surrender and acquiesce to the loss of a scoop. Immigrants’ rights? Freedom of speech? Government corruption?” He looked up from the paper. “You’ve sacrificed everything for your work. You have no husband, no children, no love-no life, really.”
Silver watched Al advance down the aisle toward the dais.
“But I don’t,” Masada said, “prefer to die for these it.”
“But you are willing to sacrifice yourself.”
Al reached the foot of the dais and raised his arm, pointing the gun at Masada.
Hilda Zonshine screamed, and the rabbi turned and saw Al’s gun.
“So shall all thy enemies!” Al coughed, struggling to complete the sentence.
Rabbi Josh threw himself across the dais to shield Masada. At the same time, Hilda Zonshine rolled off her seat in the front row and launched her stocky frame at her husband, yelling, “Alfred!” She collided with him just when a shot exploded.
The entire congregation erupted in shouting and screaming. A stampede headed for the doors. Silver stepped aside just in time to avoid being trampled.
When the flow of Jews dwindled to a whimpering trickle, Silver stepped to the door, only to be knocked down by a man running out. It was Al, who tried to say something but could not make his mouth work.
Silver pointed to the gun. “Remember Mahoney!”
Al turned and ran.
Through the sudden quietness, Silver heard a man shouting. It took him a moment to recognize the rabbi’s voice.
He pulled himself up and entered the sanctuary.
“Help,” Rabbi Josh cried, “somebody help!” He was kneeling on the stage, his back to the hall.
Coming down the aisle, Silver saw the boy’s legs on the dais. Stepping closer, he saw blood pooling under the crouching rabbi, who looked up and wailed, “No! Please God! Not my son!Not Raul!”
A chair was toppled over, a large hole in the backrest. Blood had sprayed across the two national flags flanking the Ark of the Torah.
Silver mounted the dais and circled the rabbi.
The entry hole was small, as if a finger had poked into the boy’s chest. But Silver knew the exit hole in the back was bigger than a finger, bigger than a fist, or a basketball. He had chosen the bullets exactly for that effect.
The rabbi’s cries turned to sobbing as he cradled his dead boy. “Raul. My baby. Please don’t! Raul!”
An memory came to Silver of his own torment, laying over the edge of a bleak precipice, wailing for his son, his heart tearing apart with the realization that Faddah was gone forever.
A siren sounded in the distance.
The room started spinning. Silver tried to reach a chair, but his legs folded under him. The wood planks of the dais rose and collided with the side of his head. Darkness descended.