Read Online The Jerusalem Assassin by Avraham Azrieli - Free Book Online
Authors: Avraham Azrieli
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“Buckle up, little man.” Lemmy pumped the gas pedal, making the engine growl. “We’re taking off.”
Fifteen minutes later, they were driving along the east bank of Lake Zurich. The water to their right was blue, dotted with a few brave sailboats. A cool breeze came in through the open roof.
Klaus Junior tinkered with the radio. “Did your papa like to drive fast?”
“My father?”
“Did he also drive a Porsche?”
Lemmy slowed down. “No.”
“Why?”
“He wasn’t into fast cars.”
“Were you good friends?”
He had shunned those memories long ago, lest they reignite the blinding rage, which would interfere with his mission. But his own son deserved answers. “When I was a young boy, my father was very affectionate. But later on, we grew apart. He was very strict.”
“And then he and your mama died?”
Lemmy hesitated. His father, Rabbi Abraham Gerster, might still be alive—that is, if you considered an insular, ultra-Orthodox sect to be a form of life. “As it happened,” he said, “a terrible autumn afternoon was the last time I saw them.”
“It’s okay, Papa.” The boy leaned over as close as his seat belt would allow and put a small arm around Lemmy’s neck. “Now you have us.”
*
That night in Jerusalem, when the Sabbath was over, Rabbi Abraham Gerster left the neighborhood unnoticed. The city was coming back to life after the day of rest, with renewed bus service and pedestrian traffic. Twenty minutes later, he arrived at the King David Hotel. An armed guard stood at the entrance—a new phenomenon after a recent spate of Palestinian suicide bombings. Rabbi Gerster greeted the guard and entered the hotel.
He settled in a corner of the main lobby, where a TV set was showing a program about a new medical device invented by scientists at the Weitzman Institute. He ignored the furtive glances of hotel guests, who probably wondered why an elderly ultra-Orthodox rabbi with a white beard and long, dangling side locks would sit alone in a hotel to watch TV. And they would be correct. Not a single member of Neturay Karta owned a TV—an appliance that imported sin and promiscuity into one’s home and caused men to neglect the study of Talmud. But he had a good reason to come here, having noticed an item in Friday’s edition of the religious daily Hamodiah about a TV report to be aired after the Sabbath. He had to watch it.
The nightly news show started with a story about the preparations to transfer control of Ramallah to Arafat’s Palestinian Authority. Answering a reporter’s question at the entrance to the Knesset, Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin said, “If Israel is to survive as a Jewish state, we must defuse the demographic bomb. Let the Palestinians establish their own state in the West Bank and Gaza and live in peace alongside Israel.”
The story Rabbi Gerster had come to watch appeared next. According to the reporter, Itah Orr, she had agreed to be blindfolded and driven to an unknown location in the West Bank for the swearing-in ceremony of new members of the Jewish underground ILOT—a Hebrew acronym for Organization of Torah Warriors.
The film was taken at night with poor lighting. A handful of young men, faces masked with bandanas, held pistols and copies of the Bible. They recited an oath: “I hereby join the ranks of the Organization of Torah Warriors. I swear, by all that’s dear to me, and by the honor of the Jewish People, that I will fight against the evil government until my last breath.”
The leader, a stocky figure who wore a large knitted skullcap, declared behind his mask, “The only law is the law of God and His Torah! No more Oslo Accords! No more sinful land-concessions! No more treason!”
Rabbi Gerster recognized the voice. It was the freckled, twenty-something stout man who had led the demonstration in front of Rabin’s residence and had furtively returned Elie Weiss’s greeting.
The camera zoomed in on one of them. Short, with a
“Buckle up, little man.” Lemmy pumped the gas pedal, making the engine growl. “We’re taking off.”
Fifteen minutes later, they were driving along the east bank of Lake Zurich. The water to their right was blue, dotted with a few brave sailboats. A cool breeze came in through the open roof.
Klaus Junior tinkered with the radio. “Did your papa like to drive fast?”
“My father?”
“Did he also drive a Porsche?”
Lemmy slowed down. “No.”
“Why?”
“He wasn’t into fast cars.”
“Were you good friends?”
He had shunned those memories long ago, lest they reignite the blinding rage, which would interfere with his mission. But his own son deserved answers. “When I was a young boy, my father was very affectionate. But later on, we grew apart. He was very strict.”
“And then he and your mama died?”
Lemmy hesitated. His father, Rabbi Abraham Gerster, might still be alive—that is, if you considered an insular, ultra-Orthodox sect to be a form of life. “As it happened,” he said, “a terrible autumn afternoon was the last time I saw them.”
“It’s okay, Papa.” The boy leaned over as close as his seat belt would allow and put a small arm around Lemmy’s neck. “Now you have us.”
*
That night in Jerusalem, when the Sabbath was over, Rabbi Abraham Gerster left the neighborhood unnoticed. The city was coming back to life after the day of rest, with renewed bus service and pedestrian traffic. Twenty minutes later, he arrived at the King David Hotel. An armed guard stood at the entrance—a new phenomenon after a recent spate of Palestinian suicide bombings. Rabbi Gerster greeted the guard and entered the hotel.
He settled in a corner of the main lobby, where a TV set was showing a program about a new medical device invented by scientists at the Weitzman Institute. He ignored the furtive glances of hotel guests, who probably wondered why an elderly ultra-Orthodox rabbi with a white beard and long, dangling side locks would sit alone in a hotel to watch TV. And they would be correct. Not a single member of Neturay Karta owned a TV—an appliance that imported sin and promiscuity into one’s home and caused men to neglect the study of Talmud. But he had a good reason to come here, having noticed an item in Friday’s edition of the religious daily Hamodiah about a TV report to be aired after the Sabbath. He had to watch it.
The nightly news show started with a story about the preparations to transfer control of Ramallah to Arafat’s Palestinian Authority. Answering a reporter’s question at the entrance to the Knesset, Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin said, “If Israel is to survive as a Jewish state, we must defuse the demographic bomb. Let the Palestinians establish their own state in the West Bank and Gaza and live in peace alongside Israel.”
The story Rabbi Gerster had come to watch appeared next. According to the reporter, Itah Orr, she had agreed to be blindfolded and driven to an unknown location in the West Bank for the swearing-in ceremony of new members of the Jewish underground ILOT—a Hebrew acronym for Organization of Torah Warriors.
The film was taken at night with poor lighting. A handful of young men, faces masked with bandanas, held pistols and copies of the Bible. They recited an oath: “I hereby join the ranks of the Organization of Torah Warriors. I swear, by all that’s dear to me, and by the honor of the Jewish People, that I will fight against the evil government until my last breath.”
The leader, a stocky figure who wore a large knitted skullcap, declared behind his mask, “The only law is the law of God and His Torah! No more Oslo Accords! No more sinful land-concessions! No more treason!”
Rabbi Gerster recognized the voice. It was the freckled, twenty-something stout man who had led the demonstration in front of Rabin’s residence and had furtively returned Elie Weiss’s greeting.
The camera zoomed in on one of them. Short, with a
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