The Gates of Zion (40 page)

And so, she thought with a sense of relief, there was her illness, spelled out in an American magazine. She had never put a name to it before. Somewhere between the first cattle car and the last Nazi officer to abuse her, her heart had died. Even as she had struggled to recapture the importance of God in a life filled with horror and betrayal, she had lost the battle, lost her soul, lost God.

She gazed toward the walled Old City, where her grandfather lived, unaware of the fact that she was alive. “Maybe my heart has always been dead,” she said aloud, startled by the sound of her own voice.

She tried to remember if God had ever been real to her or if He had always seemed remote, simply a historical appendage to her heritage. At Hanukkah or Passover, had He ever been near to her?

She closed her eyes and tried to remember the face of her mother at her bedside as they had prayed together:

“
Spirit and flesh are thine,

O heavenly Shepherd mine;

My hopes, my thoughts, my fears, Thou seest all;
Thou measurest my path, my steps dost know.

When Thou upholdest, who can make me fall?”

The words of her childhood faith seemed to mock her, bouncing back from the ceiling of the car. How she had fallen! Now neither God nor man could lift her up again.

She stared, unthinking, out the window, watching the approach of an armored car up the long, steep slope of Mount Scopus. As she watched, a tall British officer hopped out of the driver’s side, then rushed around to open the door on the passenger side of the vehicle.

He reached his hand out and stooped to help someone from the car.

An old rabbi wearing a broad, black, fur-trimmed hat stepped from the vehicle onto the sidewalk. He smiled through his long graying beard, then pulled his knee-length black coat tighter around him. He bowed curtly to the officer and turned to disappear through the hospital doors.

Rachel smiled at the old man’s appearance.
So much like the rabbis
back in the ghettos of Warsaw.
But that seemed another lifetime ago.

“Good Shabbat, Rebbe,” she said softly, remembering a thousand faces that had left the earth forever.

***

Gerhardt finished drilling the hole in the dashboard of the stolen British cargo truck. He reached for the three-inch section of pipe on the seat beside him and shoved it into the hole. It fit perfectly. He would have it welded in place before he threaded the fuse through it. Once the fuse was lit, it would disappear into the pipe, and no one would be able to stop its deadly path.

He stepped out of the truck, watching with satisfaction as crates of explosives were gingerly hefted onto the truck beds by a chosen crew of Jihad Moquades. He smiled grimly and wiped his hands on his trousers.

Hassan approached from behind, coughing loudly to announce his presence. “So,” he said pleasantly, “it appears that the will of the Mufti is also the will of Allah.”

Gerhardt did not bother to turn around. “Was there ever any doubt?”

“You were correct. Kadar lost the argument, eh? And now kings and kingdoms send us everything we need to do battle while they stand to the side and rage against the Jews. It is only right, I suppose, that we of Palestine risk our lives for the Mufti.”

Gerhardt eyed him cynically. “And what position will you ask for in his government?”

Hassan ignored his comment. “Did you hear? The United States government has seized another shipment of explosives being sent to the Jews. A crate fell onto the dock in New York and broke open.”

He smiled.

“We will share our supplies with the Jews.” Gerhardt waved his hand broadly toward the stacks of crates. “Although they will receive our gifts in slightly different form than you see here.”

“Haj Amin has ordered the Jihad Moquades to cease all action until you have completed the mission.”

“A wise decision. That should lull them into sleep long enough for us to deliver the package.” Gerhardt leaned against the hood of the truck and stared in amusement at Hassan.

“I wish I could be part of such a decisive blow against the Zionists.”

Hassan clicked his tongue in disappointment.

“The Mufti has left other tasks for you on Christmas Eve, has he not?”

“Yes.”

“Then be content. You do the will of Allah.”

25

Yacov’s Release

With a black patch over his left eye, Yacov squinted up at the blurry faces of Ellie and Uncle Howard. Ellie’s red hair was silhouetted beautifully against the drawn white curtain that separated Yacov’s bed from the noisy clamor of the children’s ward. The kind English doctor blended in with the sterile surroundings with the exception of a bright blue handkerchief he wore tucked in his white coat pocket at the suggestion of Yacov.

“I am glad you are one of the goyim.” Yacov smiled at Ellie’s bright red sweater. “You wear such happy colors in your shirts and dresses! In this hospital everything is the same. White. And so I wonder if I am really seeing with this eye after a while.” Howard laughed, and Ellie plopped down beside him on the bed.

“I’m so glad you can see me, too, Yacov,” she said.

“If this were an Orthodox hospital on Shabbat, I would certainly believe that I was blind. For everything would be black―even the beards of the doctors.”

“You look like a pirate,” said Ellie. “Doesn’t he, Uncle Howard?”

“Blackbeard. He was an Orthodox pirate.” Uncle Howard mussed Yacov’s hair, which had just begun to grow in, brown and curly, from the Orthodox cut.

“Was he Hasidim or Ashkenazi?” Yacov asked earnestly.

“Hasidim. Like you. And he was rough and tough.”

“And he wore a patch?”

“On his left eye. It matched his hat and coat.”

“That is good.” Yacov grinned. “Then I shall be like this Blackbeard fellow.”

The doctor chimed in, “I believe Yacov is feeling lively enough to put to sea.”

“I am feeling well,” the boy answered eagerly. “And I should very much like to see my grandfather and Shaul.”

Ellie and Howard looked expectantly toward the doctor. He tapped his fingers on the bed frame and toyed with the end of his stethoscope. “You have been with us for a little over three weeks now, and I must say your recovery, considering the amount of damage done, is just short of miraculous.”

“Then may I go home?” Yacov pleaded.

“The problem is, Yacov, that you need continuing care. That means you must come see me at least three times a week. If you return to the Old City, that will not be possible.”

The boy frowned and stuck out his lower lip.

Ellie took his hand and said gently, “Today is the Sabbath, Yacov, and today is the only day the Mufti has given permission for the Old City Jews to travel out and still return. Every day he makes it more difficult for the Jewish Agency to move food and supplies into the Jewish Quarter.”

“This I know. My grandfather will not come out,” he said sadly. “He would never break Shabbat.”

Howard and Ellie exchanged looks. “You can see how hard it would be for the doctor to care for you, son.” Howard placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “The Old City is not the place for you right now.”

Yacov nodded again slowly.

“Shaul seems to like our house fine. Would you like to come home and stay with us for a while? We have some other friends as well.”

Ellie tried to sound cheerful, though her heart was aching for the fragile little boy who seemed so small against the white sheets.

“Moshe had promised us a Hanukkah service along with our Christmas. And one of our guests is a very pretty girl.”

“I would like very much to see Shaul again.” Yacov sniffed. “But my grandfather would be very lonely without me during Hanukkah.”

Suddenly the curtain behind Howard rustled and moved back along the curved metal bar that held it. “Lonely during Hanukkah?”

growled a familiar voice. “And do you think this old man does not have students who will light the candles?”

Yacov drew an astonished breath, “Grandfather!” he cried, jumping up on his knees. He flung himself into the old rabbi’s outstretched arms as the tiny cubicle was filled with Grandfather’s deep chuckle.

“You came! You came on Shabbat!”

“So you thought I wouldn’t?” Grandfather smiled and glanced around. “What is this place? The Holy of Holies? All white. You don’t get tired of wearing white, Yacov?” He tugged at his black vest, then looked up at the doctor, whose face broke into a wide grin.

“And this is the high priest,
nu
?”

Ellie and Howard stood to the side, happily watching the reunion of the boy and his grandfather. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Rabbi,” said Ellie.

“So, it is good to see the Arabs did not hurt you. When I saw your photographs the next day, I thought you must have been injured as well.” He hesitated at the strange look that crossed Ellie’s face. “So, Yacov,” he said, tapping the boy on the back, “you are so happy to see me that you have forgotten your manners? Who are these kind goyim who have taken such good care of you while I am locked behind the Old City gates?”

“Pardon me, Grandfather. I was overcome.”

“I see.” The old rabbi wiped a tear from Yacov’s cheek. “Like David and Jonathan, eh? Sometimes it is good to weep with joy. But never forget your manners.”

Yacov sat back and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Yes, Grandfather.”

“So introduce! Introduce! What are you waiting for, the Messiah?”

“You have met Miss Ellie Warne.”

“Ah yes. And the Britisher tells me she has saved your life. For which I thank the Eternal each day. May He bless you in all your ways.”

Ellie blushed. “Thank you. It was Yacov who saved me first.”

“He is a good boy. A bright boy, my Yacov, and I thank the Eternal for this.” He prodded Yacov once again.

“And this is the professor, her uncle.”

“Ah yes, the man with such an interest in the ancients. I thank you for the interest you have also taken in the very young.” He nodded toward Yacov.

“And this is Doktor Brown, whose hands were gentle like an angel to help me.”

“Doktor Braun?” Grandfather pronounced the name in a German Yiddish accent. “May God bless you and sustain you with a long and happy life. He who is ever merciful will not forget this act of mercy.”

“Thank you, sir. He who is merciful had much to do with it as well, I assure you.”

Grandfather bowed curtly. “Of course. Is it not written that all goodness comes from Him alone?”

“Omaine,” said Yacov.

Uncle Howard put his arm around Ellie’s shoulder. “We will let you two get reacquainted. We’ll be out in the hall when you are done.”

Dr. Brown nodded slightly. “I have rounds to make. I’ll be back in a bit.”

They left the boy and grandfather alone then, drawing the curtain to ensure their privacy.

***

After Ellie, Howard, and Dr. Brown had gone, the old rabbi wrapped his arms around the boy and held him close. “Yacov, Yacov. My son.”

Yacov snuggled close to Grandfather’s vest and let the loneliness of the last three weeks drain away. They sat together silently for a long time, each absorbing the joy of the other’s presence.

At last Yacov spoke. “But it is Shabbat. How did you get here?”

“First the Lord and I reasoned together in morning service; then I walked to Mendelbaum Gate after I escaped from that pest Yosi and Rabbi Eilan, who no doubt wanted to speak to me about the committee for these young Haganah fellows coming secretly into the Quarter. Once at the gate I met a most kind Britisher who is well acquainted with the professor. He escorted our pitiful little band through the Arab Quarter. Then, noting that the No. 2 bus would not possibly bring me through the Arab’s nest of Sheikh Jarrah and that most certainly a lone rabbi walking through the Quarter would be murdered and doubtless cause a riot, he offered to bring me to and from the Old City in his armored car.”

“But what of Shabbat, Grandfather?”

“You think, Yacov, that the very Lord who made the Shabbat did not know that the Mufti would use it to his own devices? Do you forget so soon the Law as written in Leviticus 19:18?” He inhaled expectantly. “So say it. Has this patch caused your tongue to grow dumb?”

“
Thou shalt not avenge, nor bear any grudge against the children
of …”

“Yes, yes, so go on,” Grandfather prompted.

“
… of thy people, but thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself: I am
the Lord.”
Yacov beamed.

“Correct. Did the Lord create Shabbat?”

“Yes.”

“And on His day, what does He require of His children?”

“That we keep the Shabbat holy?”

“Is the keeping of Leviticus holy?”

“Yes.”

“And what else?”

“It is our duty.”

“So. And why did this old man travel to see you, my son?”

“Because—” Yacov gulped—“because you love me?”

“As myself,” the old rabbi finished. “Well spoken, Yacov. Reasoned as a true scholar and a learned man. Now we must reason other things as well.”

Yacov gazed at Grandfather intently and nodded. “Yes, Grandfather.”

“It is well we see eye to eye. So, this good doctor has said you must return several times to see him. How shall we best accomplish this?”

“Perhaps we can sneak out at night… .”

Grandfather shook his head decisively. “Has the doctor not said you must stay in the New City?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because of my eyes. But Grandfather, I shall be all right.”

“Can a man without sight study the Torah and the Talmud? Can he read the stories of the Mishnah to his children?”

“No.”

“Then is it important that you have sight?”

“Yes.”

“Good. We see eye to eye.” The old rabbi crossed his arms and peered over his glasses at Yacov. “Where shall you stay then?”

“The professor has offered his hospitality. Shaul lives there.”

“Ha!” exclaimed Grandfather, slapping his knee joyfully. “I had given the jackal up for dead! Then you must stay on with the professor. When your heart grows lonely, simply send that hairy, stinking beast into the Old City with a note. I shall send him back again, and we shall not gaze across the walls and worry away our health, eh?”