Hadassah Covenant, The (10 page)

“Sir, the Americans know about this situation already,” Meyer offered.

“How is
that
?”

“Well, my cover is as a British scholar, liaison to the Italians. My initial discovery came after a raid on a large artifacts cache in which numerous casualties were sustained. The Americans were called in for a briefing.”

“Besides, sir,” Libyon inserted, “we at headquarters instructed Meyer to tell the Americans he had accidentally leaked this to an Israeli. We did it to give him cover and an opening for dialogue on the subject. It was hardly a surprising disclosure to them, although its repercussions alarmed them. After all, as you said, they know of our presence in Iraq.”

“So, Joseph, do you think they’re expecting to hear from me?” “I would say so. At least an ambassador-level contact, if not higher. They know how aggressively we protect our own, so they must be prepared for some kind of contact from us and have a response ready.”

“What do you think they’re prepared to do?” “Well, certainly not to allow us in. I think they expect us to
do
something. You see, the Americans have a dilemma. They know that most of the factions in Iraq are violently anti-Semitic, even the ones
they publicly support. And the thugs carrying out these attacks know that we recovered the original list in the raid. So any direct action to punish or prevent this genocide will be detected and its motives known immediately. If the Americans are involved, then Washington will be accused of carrying out Israel’s wishes and being a Zionist puppet. Iraqi officials will feel obligated to denounce the American action in order to maintain public support, even if they privately sympathize. U.S.–Iraqi relations will be weakened at the most vulnerable time, when the new Iraq is just beginning to take control. The whole Middle East house of cards could collapse.”

“So you think the U.S. will do nothing to stop these killings?”

“Sir, I believe that at best, they will debate and vacillate and play turf wars between the Pentagon and the State Department for so long that by the time they reach consensus, the last Jews in Iraq will be dead.”

“So you’re recommending we bluff them and take action anyway?”

“It depends on how much these surviving Iraqis mean to you,” Joseph answered, looking the Prime Minister directly in the eye. “A pragmatic case could be made that it’s hardly worth risking the lives of every Israeli in a regional war for the sake of who-knows-how-many families.”

“Certainly,” ben Yuda agreed with a scowl. “But as we all know, that’s never been the policy of the State of Israel. We go after our own. Tell me this: can we reach these Jews ourselves, simply based on the lists in that genealogy?”

“It would take a great deal of Mossad manpower, sir—at a time when our resources are stretched very thin. But yes, it can be done,” the Defense Minister finished, his tone wary.

“I’m not asking yet to pull the trigger on an operation, Joseph,” ben Yuda said, standing abruptly. “But if I decide to do just that, I want the information ready. If I choose to go in, we need to know where to find them. Right away. Is everyone in agreement?”

The men around the table nodded somberly. The Prime Minister’s recommendation had hardly been reckless. The real debate over options would begin as soon as the meeting ended and the entire cabinet came in.

“Mr. Prime Minister?” Meyer asked quietly as the others began to leave. “I have a small additional request. It’s of a quasi-private nature.” His voice had dropped to barely above a whisper.

“Oh, really?”

“Well, when I examined the parchments under improvised infrared in the field, I discovered another document along with the genealogy. One which possesses, shall we say, more historical than military value. Although that value is considerable.”

“I’m not following you.”

“Sir, this document’s authorship is not properly attributed. But from its text, it would appear to be written by—well, by Queen Esther herself. I couriered them back to Jerusalem, where our new infrared technology confirmed its age but not its authenticity. To our knowledge, there is only one place where we can do that, one extant text against which to compare it. It is, as you know, privately controlled by your wife’s family. And I know this is a sensitive time, yet I would deeply appreciate if she could be asked for her permission to examine it.”

Jacob ben Yuda nodded, now intrigued in spite of himself. He laid a hand on Meyer’s shoulder. “I will speak to my wife. I have one question, though. Why is a Mossad agent concerning himself with such a thing? Why not the antiquities people?”

The agent shrugged inscrutably, nodded his farewell, and took his leave.

M
OSSAD
H
EADQUARTERS
, J
ERUSALEM—MIDNIGHT

The intruder entered the highly protected perimeter like someone who knew the place—which he did. First, shrouded in the late-night shadows, he pulled out an invisible panel from the wall, reached in, and switched on an emergency override, which instantly disabled all alarm systems.

Then he slipped inside, holding a gun at the ready inside his jacket pocket, and made his way swiftly and guardedly into the central workroom.

There the Battaween documents awaited him.

Eagerly, with just enough pause to sweep his gaze around the room and check for camera lights, he held up the next document into a shaft of moonlight streaming in from a skylight above.

Then, like an addicted booklover unwilling to end his day’s reading, he began to devour the words before him.

He
had
to know what happened next.

Chapter Nine

J
ERUSALEM, IN THE EIGHTEENTH YEAR OF THE REIGN OF
K
ING
A
RTAXERXES

My Dear Leah,

I just finished your letter, and have only now sufficiently recovered my breath to sit down and write back to you.

I can hardly believe what you have told me.

I am sitting here in a simple chair right outside my tent, not even two paces away from where the Damascus courier just handed me your scroll. You might be shocked to see the outward humility of my current abode, and I must admit that compared to my former quarters in the royal palace, a tent on the rocky soil of Jerusalem could seem like a vast step down. Yet you would hardly believe what freedom I feel here! What utter liberation from the stifling sense of being guarded and watched every second of my life! It has been bliss—at least until now.

Artaxerxes has not been King even two decades, and already threats to his reign may cause me to leave on the next caravan for home. In fact, I may return hard on the heels of the very reply you are holding.

But I digress, for reasons you probably understand. You see, when I grasped the scroll from his fingers and read your name beside the seal, I exclaimed out loud in delight, so overjoyed I was to be receiving
news from you. But when I began to read and realized the import of your message, I could not help but gasp aloud, followed by frantic, anguished breathing, and finally sobbing tears. All in the space of merely a few moments. A sallow-faced little girl who dwells two doors down and has always been frightened of me turned with wide eyes, fled indoors, and summoned her mother, who stood at their threshold carefully watching me through dark eyes. I wiped my face and attempted a smile to assure both that I was in control of my faculties, but she has returned to the doorway several more times to check on me.

Oh, how my heart aches for you! To cautiously open your heart, to have it intimately examined, and then to have it summarily rejected is the cruelest of all agonies. My mind is racing as I try to find a place to start answering your question. For I certainly intend to.

But, my dear, the question you posed has been the central anguish of my life for the past few years. And not only mine, but that of the people dearest to me. Now including you.

Is my life, at least for any meaningful purpose, over? Has G-d’s plan for me been fulfilled
?

My dear, Leah, I will certainly answer this question, if it takes all I have. Even if it requires me leaving my beloved Jerusalem and returning to Persia.

This is why I am praying that G-d will remove the wound of Artaxerxes’ rejection from your heart. That He will deaden your mind to the memories that evening seared into your deepest being. Having said that, remember, “Memories do not die. Memories must simply be replaced—with new memories.” You may never fully understand why you were not chosen.

But first, let me begin with what I know this moment. I will tell you about a conversation I shared with Mordecai on the very day I left for this place. The words of it came flooding back into my mind even as I read your letter.

As you probably have been told, Nehemiah’s caravan was delayed beside the Ahava River for several days. But on the morning our final go-ahead was signaled, Mordecai stood beside me, arms crossed, as I
packed my final few items. I could tell something was burrowing deep within him.

“Well, my little Hadassah,” he finally said with a faintly bitter note in his voice, “I certainly hope you find the adventure you seek.”

“What do you mean?” I replied, not bothering to mask my defensive reaction. “You speak as if I am some youth off on a foolhardy jaunt.”

“I do not mean that. I only mean that you have had such a rich life. And yet you act as though experiencing even more is some kind of birthright.”

“Poppa!” I exclaimed in surprise, my voice raised higher than I intended. “We have talked about this so many times over the last few years. You know what I have lived through. You know what it was like to walk away from being Queen.”

“Yes, and you survived it. Just like millions of people before you have outlasted disappointment and loneliness.”

Just then I realized, from the deep pain in his eyes, that my beloved Mordecai was speaking of himself. I reached out to touch his hand.

“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice now softer. “I haven’t thought of you. I wasn’t thinking of . . .”

He covered my hand with his remaining palm and shook his head slowly. “You don’t know how much joy and fulfillment it has given me to raise you. To see what G-d has done with your life. But at the same time, today, I find myself wishing, looking around me . . .” His voice drifted off, and he looked into the sun, which he always seemed to do at times of great anguish, as though to burn away what they might reveal. When he spoke again, his voice had changed completely. “I was just thinking of life without you. Without anyone.” He glanced away, and the pain in his face seemed to mirror the loneliness he would soon experience. He had never married, for I had always been his world. While young, I had innocently believed that to be sufficient. Yet just then I realized the truth: Mordecai was lonely.

And I realized something else. He was being specific. By “looking around me” he meant that there was an ache in his heart—and it had a face, and a name.

“Tell me. Where have you been looking? Who?”

He shook his head most resolutely now. “No. I will not speak her name. There is no chance. It is not a possibility.”

“
What
is not a possibility? Love? Marriage? Why not? The wish for happiness and acceptance are also legitimate desires. G-d himself placed these hungers inside of us. You taught me that yourself, Poppa.”

He looked at me with the saddest expression I had ever seen him wear. “I am an old man far beyond the prime of his youth and the fullness of his vitality. I am not a man who attracts a single look from a woman.”

“You’re wrong. I have seen many women look at you.”

“That is only because of my station. My position in the empire.”

“Maybe, but that’s part of your appeal! You have every right to rely on your position and fame as Exilarch to woo a woman. Even though it’s only a part of who you are. You are so much more. You are kind and wise and the godliest man I will ever know. And you also happen to be the most beloved and famous man in all of Persia, second only to the King. Each of those things can be legitimately attractive.”

“Please, Hadassah,” he said, shaking his head emphatically, “let us speak of this no more. I am sorry to have brought it up.”