The Masada Complex (28 page)

“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 “Also outdated?”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“Outdated, expired, and invalid, not to be acted upon in modern times, correct?”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“Pick and chose what’s outdated and what’s not?”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.”