The Gates of Zion (41 page)

“Oh, Grandfather! A wonderful plan! Shaul will gladly run home, and no one would stop him. There are more stray Arab dogs in the Old City than goats in a Bedouin field. They will never notice.”

“So, our hearts can be light. For the Eternal in His wisdom has even made provision in His plan to use the jackal Shaul in His service.”

Grandfather embraced Yacov again. “And so, I must be gone now.

But first―” he felt the boy’s arms tighten around him—
“He shall
bless thee … ,”
he began the benediction.

“
The Eternal shall bless thee from Zion, the Maker of heaven and
earth,”
Yacov said in a small voice.

“Louder, Yacov,” Grandfather instructed.
“The Eternal―”

“
Eternal, our Lord! How mighty is Thy name throughout the
earth!”
Yacov’s voice was stronger; his desperate urge to cling to Grandfather was being replaced with calmness.

“And preserve thee!”

“
Preserve me, O God! For in Thee I trust.”

Twelve more blessings Grandfather pronounced on Yacov, until at last the boy gazed at him one last time with tearless courage. And as the old man turned from him and slipped from behind the curtain, he felt that Yacov would survive the heartache that must surely be before him. He shuffled past the other children in the ward, inwardly blessing each hopeful face. “So, God,” he whispered, “this was a good Shabbat after all,
nu
?”

He paused at the door and glanced back across the ward to the curtain ringing Yacov’s bed. Then, with a sigh, he pushed the door open and walked into the corridor.

Howard and Ellie stood at the far end, chatting quietly as they gazed out a window onto the hospital courtyard below.

“Ah-hem.” Grandfather coughed as he shuffled toward them.

They both glanced up at him simultaneously and walked to meet him in front of the elevator.

“You have room in your home for one very small Jewish boy?”

asked Grandfather, searching his pockets for the pound note Yacov had brought home three weeks before. He pulled out the crumpled bill and took Howard’s hand, placing the money in his palm.

“Please―” Howard tried to give the bill back to the rabbi—“I can’t take this.”

“It is only a small amount.”

“It is a blessing for me if you will allow me the honor of caring for Yacov.” The bill dangled limply from his fingers.

“God forbid I should take another man’s blessing. So I cannot pay you. But you know in three days is Hanukkah, and I have no gift for the boy. You will take this and buy him a dreidel, eh?” The rabbi smiled at Ellie.

“What is that?”

“A top. It is tradition,
nu
? Don’t ask me why. And with what is left, Yacov is partial to rock candy. And let me write him a note in my own hand, eh?” He shuffled to the nurses’ station and borrowed a pen and a small piece of notebook paper from a heavyset woman in an overstarched uniform. After scribbling a few lines, he folded the paper carefully and scrawled Yacov’s name on it. He handed it to Howard. “You know what these things mean to such a small boy.”

Howard nodded and took his wallet from his back pocket, carefully placing the bill and the note inside. Then he took several clean, crisp, five-pound notes from the wallet and handed them to Grandfather. “For Hanukkah. For you to share with others, if you like. I know things are not easy now in the Old City.”

“That is true. True. And daily it seems there are more mouths to feed.” He did not take the bills from Howard’s outstretched hand.

“Suddenly every young man wants to come to Yeshiva. To study or fight, I cannot tell. But with every convoy some new student climbs from beneath a truck or out of a flour barrel.” Rabbi Lebowitz chuckled.

“So take it, Rabbi. For your students and yourself during Hanukkah.

It is a blessing from you to me if you will accept my gift.”

“God forbid I refuse to bless you.” He took the money, then slipped it into his pocket, his eyes dancing with humor.

“Thank you.” Howard smiled. “Happy Hanukkah.”

“And good Shabbat,” he returned, peering at Howard over his glasses. “You are such a good man, Professor. Pardon me for saying, but it is a shame such a scholar and a learned man as you is not a Jew.” He stuck out his lower lip and frowned thoughtfully. “Now, will you tell me? What news have you got on that scroll of Isaiah? It has often crossed my mind these weeks.”

“We received a wire two days ago from the university in America.”

Howard crossed his arms. “The fragments we dated were around two thousand years old. That places their origin sometime around the destruction of the Temple.”

“
Oy!”
the old rabbi exclaimed. “So old they are!”

Ellie stepped forward and stood close to Howard’s elbow. “Did you say you saw my photographs the day after the riot?”

“The very same. Did you not take them to someone else, perhaps, after you left me?”

“No. I lost them when we ran.”

The old rabbi’s eyes narrowed. “As I thought.” He paused, troubled by his thoughts. “They are in the possession of one in the Old City whose trustworthiness many have come to doubt. He mentioned to me that he knew who was in possession of the scroll and that it is perhaps of great value. Is this so?”

“It is of great value, yes,” answered the professor. “The intrinsic value of something so ancient that also proves the accuracy of biblical translations over the last two thousand years is beyond price.”

“So, and who doubts that the Holy Scriptures are unchanged?” The old rabbi lifted an eyebrow.

“Not you, perhaps.” Howard shrugged. “But there are many. And the timing of their discovery. After two thousand years of the Diaspora, now the Jews are coming home, just like the prophecy in the scroll said.”

“You make me a Zionist almost.” He tugged his whiskers. “So tell me, Professor. If this discovery is so important for the cause of the Zionists, would it not be most urgent for those who are against the homeland to keep this scroll hidden away? Would it not do harm to their cause as well if the scroll were revealed?”

“I had not thought of the negative aspect, but I suppose that’s true.”

Now Howard looked troubled by the thrust of the conversation.

“Ah, Professor, you should have gone to Yeshiva school, for there you learn to think through problems backward and forward. As it is written: Gather seven Jews together to discuss a problem, and you will have fourteen opinions, eh?” The rabbi laughed.

“How did Ellie’s photographs come to be in the possession of your friend?”

“Some say that he is no man’s friend but his own. I do not know how he came to have them, but if perhaps you would allow me the blessing of helping you retrieve what was lost …”

“Most certainly, Rabbi.”

“Thank you.” The old man nodded curtly. “You, you care for my lamb, and I shall seek to care for your lambskin. Well spoken? Yes?

There are laws written in the Torah and the Talmud concerning lost property. A righteous man will respect your claim. Of course there are the righteous and then there are the righteous,
nu
? So now this old man must be gone.” He pushed the elevator button, then turned to Ellie first and closed his eyes and placed his hand on her head. “May God bless you and grant you long life with a husband who will care for you and give you many children. Omaine
.
”

“Amen,” Ellie repeated, smiling in spite of herself.

Rabbi Lebowitz then faced Howard and repeated the procedure as the elevator clanged open behind him. “And may God bless you in every venture and grant you prosperity and peace. May His blessing be upon your home. Omaine.”

“Amen.” Howard took his hand and shook it vigorously. “God bless you, sir.”

The old rabbi stepped backward into the crowded cubicle and bowed slightly as the doors shut. His suspicions about Akiva’s sincerity were now confirmed.
So, God,
he prayed silently as the elevator slid down the shaft to the first floor,
maybe this is
important, maybe not. But if I can return a kindness to these goyim
who care for my Yacov, then I would appreciate a little advice on
the matter, eh? And if our little band has been led by a wolf
beneath a sheep’s fleece, then maybe we should know that, too.

He stepped carefully from the elevator, his legs feeling shaky from the ride; then he walked slowly across the lobby and into the cold December air. He glanced at the darkening sky to the west. “Another storm, God?” he asked aloud. “Good. We will fill the cisterns of the Old City. At least we shall not lack water.” He sighed and turned back to where he had left the armored car and the kind British captain.

“Good Shabbat, Rebbe,” a soft voice greeted him as he passed a black car parked at the curbside.

Rabbi Lebowitz adjusted his glasses and nodded. “Good Shabbat,”

he replied to a young woman in the backseat. He paused as her hopeful face smiled up at him. It was as though she wanted to say more―or perhaps she expected a reply from him. Somehow he felt as though she knew him from some place, but he did not remember her from the Old City marketplace. For an instant he was confused by the expression in her eyes. “So,” he said again, “good Shabbat, young woman.” Then he resumed his walk to the armored vehicle that would take him home.

***

The red-and-blue-striped turtleneck lay neatly folded on Yacov’s hospital bed. He pulled up the brown wool trousers and buttoned them. Then he stood bewildered, holding them up at the waist while he searched for suspenders. He found a slim leather belt instead and, for the first time in his life, awkwardly threaded the belt through the loops of his trousers. His own clothing had been ruined the day of the riot, so he dressed now in the hastily gathered remnants of the hospital lost and found. “I look like the goyim,” he muttered, pulling the shirt over his head.

“What was that, Yacov?” Ellie called from the other side of the curtain.

Yacov frowned. Then he heard a familiar voice: “He looks like a Gentile.”

“Was that Professor Sachar?” Yacov called.

Moshe stepped into the dressing area. “I was over at the university.”

He sat on the bed. “Thought I would stop by and see how you are.

Now they tell me you are going home.”

“Not home. To Professor Moniger’s home. If I entered the Old City dressed like this, they would take me for a heretic.” Yacov tucked the shirt in indignantly.

“Like me, eh?” Moshe flipped the lapel of his brown tweed jacket, then pulled on the open collar of his shirt.

“When first I met you, my eyes were behind bandages. You did not sound like a heretic.”

Moshe whispered, “Remember the bandages when you see a man, Yacov. Look with your heart. Professor Moniger is a kind and good man. I think perhaps God has forgotten he is not a Jew. And so when you are in his home, you must respect his ways.”

“I did not ask Grandfather about the food.” Yacov lowered his voice further still.

“Did you not know they follow Kashrut?”

Yacov sighed with relief.

Moshe grinned broadly. “And might I ask you … speaking of the Law, Yacov, is it not written somewhere that one must not steal that which belongs to another?”

Yacov gulped loudly and the color drained from his face as he struggled to pull on a pair of new wool socks. “Yes.”

“There is word that a small boy like you and a very large dog have been seen about the streets—”

“This is a fine shirt, I think,” Yacov interrupted.

“It is certainly unlike the black coat of the pickpocket.”

“And even without suspenders, this is a good way to keep one’s pants from falling down.”

“The thief, they say, wore suspenders,” Moshe added.

“I am most grateful that these fine socks have no holes.”

“They had no description of the lad’s socks.”

“They were most holey.”

“Like you, eh, my holy Hasidim thief.” Moshe mussed his hair. “It shall be our secret. Only remember to be thankful for each blessing, even when it comes from the hand of a Gentile. Will you do that?”

Yacov nodded and put on his own ragged shoes. “But may I not at least have a yarmulke?” he asked meekly.

“I thought perhaps a yarmulke might be required, even for one who looks like he fits in the New City.” Moshe pulled a beautiful, embroidered, blue-silk skullcap from his pocket. Gently he placed it on the boy’s head. “But a yarmulke does not a righteous man make,”

he said with sternness. Yet there was a smile in his eyes.

“Yes, sir, Reb Sachar.”

From the other side of the curtain Ellie called impatiently, “What are you doing in there?”

“We are having, as you say in America, a ‘man-to-man.’”

“Well, hurry up. Uncle Howard’s probably already down in the car with Rachel.”

Moshe straightened Yacov’s yarmulke and put his arm around his shoulder. “Ready?”

Together they marched out and through the ward to a chorus of
“Mazel tov”
and
“Shalom.”
With each step, Yacov felt his shoulders relax.

By the time they emerged into the cold December afternoon, Yacov was smiling and chatting about boys he had met and become friends with in the hospital. “We shall see one another again when we are all well and there is no more bombing in the streets.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Yacov saw Ellie and Moshe exchange glances. Moshe reached out quickly and rubbed Ellie’s arm as if she had been stung and he could wipe away the pain.

“This is a happy day, Moshe,” she said. “I’m fine. Okay?”

Moshe nodded and pointed to the car, where Professor Moniger sat talking with Rachel. His round face was animated and joyful.

Through the windshield Yacov watched as Rachel handed the professor the magazine and pointed happily to a page. The professor studied it a minute, then burst into an off-key rendition of a song Yacov did not remember hearing before. As a slight breeze carried his rusty voice across the parking lot, Ellie began to sing along: “Peace on earth, and mercy mild,