She leaned on the table. "Abraham has kept them quiet for eighteen years, sacrificed everything to prevent violence, and now you'll destroy all his achievements!"

Elie clucked his tongue while stubbing the cigarette in the ashtray. "Even your darling Abraham can't control them forever. We always knew that one day it would turn b.l.o.o.d.y. Read the Bible, it's all there. Better it happens on my terms. My timing. My plan."

"Have you consulted Abraham about your plan?"

Elie brushed the question aside. "He's a soldier. Need-to-know basis. He managed to control them over Sabbath violations, their demonstrations at archeological sites, their window smas.h.i.+ng at restaurants serving bread on Pa.s.sover. Maybe he'll control them over the abortion issue. But it's getting harder. What I'm doing will eliminate his internal opposition in the sect. They'll tremble in fear."

"So why don't you tell him about it? These are his people. He knows them better than you!"

"I spent a night in a cell with that Redhead Dan character. We bonded, prayed together like kindred spirits, a pair of seditious fanatics determined to teach the Zionists a painful lesson." Elie chuckled hoa.r.s.ely. "Physical pain and sleep deprivation are great fodder for brainstorming. He bought right into my act. We worked up a concept for a sensational attack."

Tanya felt weak. Was he just bragging? "When?"

"Tomorrow morning. I promised to create a diversion, so the two of them can escape back to Meah Shearim. But, as Eshkol likes to say, I didn't promise to keep my promise."

"Where?"

"The prime minister's residence, during a press conference about defending West Jerusalem in the event of a surprise Jordanian attack. Eshkol and Rabin will brief the journalists on the roof, and then-boom! They'll see it from above in live action, like a movie. As soon as the black-hat terrorists attack, they'll be cut down."

Tanya grabbed the table, making the empty tea cups rattle in their saucers. "What do you mean cut down?"

"They attack, the guards respond. Fair game. And the media will have photos of two ultra-Orthodox men, black coats and all."

"It's murder!"

"Don't be naive. By tomorrow night, the public will rally behind Eshkol. I hired a professor at Tel Aviv University to do a whole a.n.a.lysis. He went back to Roman times, examined all cases since then, all the way through Queen Victoria-four attempts on her life, by the way. The American president, Andrew Jackson, who beat up his a.s.sa.s.sin with a cane. And Adolf Hitler, an excellent example too, attributing his survival to divine intervention. President De Gaulle, as well. Politicians who survive a.s.sa.s.sination attempts automatically gain hugely in popularity. Political scientists call it Popularity by Misfire. It's the twisted psychology of public sentiment."

"You're sick!"

"Desperate situations require desperate measures," Elie said. "The ultra-Orthodox fanatics will make Eshkol a hero to the secular majority."

Tanya dropped into the chair. "You must call it off! These Neturay Karta men are like children, living in the fairytale world of Talmud. And why give them live grenades? You could have given them smoke grenades!"

"It has to look real. Can you imagine the mocking headlines: a.s.sa.s.sins Believe Smoke Enough to Knock Down Eshkol. It would defeat the whole purpose. We need a heroic survival, photos of an unscathed prime minister standing in the rubble, sipping coffee amidst the debris, laughing in the face of danger. Don't you see the brilliance of this plan?"

"Throwing grenades in a residential neighborhood, based on political science? Do you hear yourself?"

"You'll see. Eshkol will address the nation with confidence, rea.s.suring the people of his control of the situation. With the war imminent, the army needs a popular prime minister. The silent majority will unite behind him, and the Orthodox will keep their black hats down to the floor for years."

"It will never work!" She could barely control her fury. "You'll produce a handful of martyrs, and the next day hundreds of other Orthodox youngsters will start collecting weapons in all the yes.h.i.+vas. You'll start the very armed rebellion you're trying to prevent!"

"I disagree," Elie said. "The Orthodox will react with fear and self-flogging. And the few bad ones, we'll pick like blackberries and squash them."

The waitress showed up with a freshly brewed tea pot.

Elie filled his cup. "Remember what happened to weak Jews? Israel will be destroyed unless we eliminate our enemies." He slurped his tea, and the rising steam blurred his face for a moment.

"I won't let you go through with this madness!"

"It's way over your head." He warmed his hands over the tea pot. "Don't interfere."

"And if I do? You'll have me cut down as well?"

"Just a short vacation." Elie put on his wool cap and beckoned the two agents. "In seclusion."

When she saw the agents approach, Tanya grabbed the steaming tea pot and emptied it in Elie's face.

Lemmy was reading The Painted Bird when his mother knocked on the door and entered his room. "Benjamin is in the foyer to see you. Would you like some milk and cookies?"

"Thanks." He stuffed the book under his pillow and went to greet Benjamin. As he reached the foyer, the door to his father's study opened and Yoram, Redhead Dan's study companion, came out, quickly leaving the apartment.

Rabbi Gerster emerged from his study. He wore a white s.h.i.+rt and black pants held by suspenders. He looked tired. The bandage was gone from his forehead, the small wound covered by a scab.

"Good day, Rabbi," Benjamin said. "I hope you're feeling better."

"Seeing you here makes me feel better." Rabbi Gerster held a book in his hand, bound in rugged brown leather. The Zohar. "You know, boys, what's the difference between a sin against G.o.d and a sin against a fellow Jew?"

"Yes," Benjamin said. "G.o.d won't forgive the latter unless you sought forgiveness from the one you offended."

"Jerusalem?" His father waited until their eyes met. "Yoram told me about the box. I now understand what you wanted to tell me that night."

Lemmy shrugged.

"But I was too upset to listen. It was after midnight, and no one knew where you had gone. Your mother almost went out of her mind with worry. You understand?"

Another shrug.

"It was my duty to discipline you. Talmud says: A father who deprives his son of the whip is like a father who hates his son. Right?"

Lemmy glanced at Benjamin, whose mouth was slightly open, looking from father to son.

"You understand why I had to hit you, yes?"

"Are you asking for my forgiveness?"

The rabbi smiled sadly. "Yes, I am."

"Perhaps you should first ask Mother for her forgiveness? I mean, what's a slap on the face compared to what you're doing to her?"

Rabbi Gerster's shoulders sagged, and the strong hand that had slapped Lemmy a week ago came up and tugged at the graying beard. He turned and stepped back into his study.

Lemmy grabbed Benjamin's arm and led him to his room. A plate of warm cookies and two gla.s.ses of milk were waiting on his desk.

"Master of the Universe!" Benjamin took off his black hat. "What's going on?"

"It's complicated." Lemmy shut the door. "Here, have some milk."

"I can't." Benjamin looked at his watch. "I ate a late lunch, turkey sandwich, so I'm not allowed dairy for another two hours. Are the cookies dairy?"

"I'm sure they are. My mom uses milk chocolate chips." He felt angry at the sight of milk and cookies kept from Benjamin's enjoyment because of the six-hour wait required between eating meat and dairy. "This is all so idiotic!"

"What's so idiotic?"

"All G.o.d said in the Torah was: Do not cook a calf in its mother's milk. From this symbolic ethical rule we Jews have created a behemoth!"

"The dietary rules make sense," Benjamin said.

"To avoid the risk of cooking a calf in its mother's milk, the early sages banned cooking any calves in any cow's milk. The next generation of rabbis decided not to cook any cattle-young or old-in any milk, including goat, sheep, and camel's milk. The next generation decided to ban eating any meat simultaneously with any dairy product-just in case! Then Jews bought separate sets of pots and pans and plates and silverware for meat and dairy to make sure there's no risk of cooking a calf in its mother's milk!"

Benjamin laughed. "You know the answer. These are fences to guard us from an accidental sin."

"Accidental incestuous cooking? Is that the reason we treat chicken like beef, lest one day a clever Yid farmer would breed a chicken that gives milk, and his dumb wife might cook a little, soft-feathered chick'aleh in the milk of its mother hen!"

"Could happen!"

"And finally, the rabbis decided that we should wait six hours after eating meat or fowl because, if we ingested dairy, it might lead to cooking!" Lemmy leaned forward and pulled on Benjamin's side lock, extending the rolled hair until it straightened as long as his arm. "It's written: Do not shave the side of your beard like the Gentiles." He let Benjamin's side lock spring back into place, dangling down to his shoulder. "G.o.d didn't want Israelites imitating the pagan hairstyle of biblical times. But over generations, Don't shave became Don't trim, Don't cut, Don't touch your payos from birth to death, as if this hair," he tugged again on Benjamin's side lock, "these dead cells are somehow sacred. It's ridiculous!"

"Is G.o.d ridiculous? Where do you get these ideas?"

Lemmy pulled out The Painted Bird and handed it to him.

Benjamin examined the front cover, the colorful drawings of a painted bird.

"This story is written so well that you feel like you're watching a movie."

It was an odd statement. Neither of them had ever seen a movie. Movies were for the sinful, empty-minded Zionists. Benjamin read a few lines, threw the book on the bed, and rubbed his hands against his pants. "It's a sin to read books like that!"

"It's about the life of a kid like us in a different time." He picked the book up from the bed. "It makes you think about the horrible things people do to each other, and-"

"Shus.h.!.+" Benjamin's hand covered Lemmy's mouth. "A good Jew must devote all his time to studying Talmud!"

"Aren't we supposed to be a guiding light for the goyim?"

"So?"

"How could we be a guiding light for those about whom we know nothing?" It felt odd to repeat Tanya's argument to his friend.

"You don't need to commit sins to understand the sinners." Benjamin went to the door. "Sabbath starts soon. We should go to the synagogue."

"Wait!" Lemmy's impulsive sharing of his secret had placed them on a risky path, and he was determined to make his friend understand. "At least read a page, see how wonderful it is!"

"No! Don't you realize that Satan is trying to seduce you?"

He opened the book and started turning the pages of fine print. He was running out of time. "This boy's parents left him with an old woman at the beginning of the war. They were Jews, or Gypsies. A few months later the old woman dies, and the boy hits the road. He encounters all kinds of strange people who abuse him. And after every cruel experience he finds hope in a new method of wors.h.i.+p. First he is superst.i.tious, completely obsessed by witchcraft and evil spirits. Next he becomes a devout Catholic, counting each prayer against each indulgence. Finally he decides that, because all his devotion didn't save him from suffering, G.o.d doesn't exist. So he becomes a communist, constantly reciting party slogans about equality and freedom. At one point, a peasant paints a bird in different colors, and when it's released to rejoin its flock, they don't recognize it and attack. The boy sees a rain of feathers-red, blue, yellow, green, and orange-fall to the ground."

"And the same will happen to you!" Removing a volume of Talmud from a shelf, Benjamin opened it. "Generations of sages created this eternal wisdom for you. Why go to foreign pasture when your own field is already so lush?"

A loud knock sounded, and Rabbi Gerster entered the room. "Shall we go to the synagogue?"

Benjamin's face lit up. "Bless be He who cures the ill!"

"Amen," the rabbi said.

Despite his anger at his father, Lemmy was relieved. Eight days had pa.s.sed since the abortion protest on King George Street. His father's self-imposed confinement had deepened the division in the sect. Redhead Dan had boasted that Rabbi Gerster would soon order a violent struggle against the Zionist government, whereas Cantor Toiterlich timidly gave voice to Neturay Karta's long-held principles of seclusion, prayer, and the study of Talmud. The debate in the sect had been brewing all week while the men had waited for their rabbi's return.

Rabbi Gerster noticed The Painted Bird and picked it up.

Benjamin s.h.i.+fted in place as if his feet stood on red embers.

"Cheap entertainment for the feebleminded." The rabbi tossed it on the bed. "Has my son become feebleminded?"

"It's neither cheap nor entertaining," Lemmy said. "It's a story about a boy who spends the long years of the war hiding from the n.a.z.is, freezing in the winters, hungry, terrified. Weren't you once such a boy?"

Rabbi Gerster's lips pressed into a thin line. "You have a clever mind," he said. "Why don't you apply it wholly to G.o.d's books?"

Before Lemmy could answer, Benjamin took a step toward the door. "Shall we go?"

On the way to the synagogue, the rabbi rested his arm on Benjamin's shoulder. "I hope you concentrate on the teachings of G.o.d, not on stories of the Goyim."

"We study together." Benjamin walked stiffly under the weight of the rabbi's arm. "The two of us, every day, all day."

"Apparently, my son finds time for idleness." He spoke as if Lemmy was not behind them. "But not you. G.o.d blessed you with a pure soul. Our people need leaders.h.i.+p and guidance. Continue to study hard, and one day you'll be a great rabbi."

The synagogue appeared before them with its tall windows and ma.s.sive wood doors. The forecourt was filled with men, and they rushed to greet the rabbi.

Redhead Dan pushed through the crowd. "Rabbi! Have you heard the news? On Sunday morning the Knesset will approve the final abortion law! G.o.d wants us to fight! The death of babies takes precedence over the observance of the Sabbath!"

Everyone started talking at the same time, but Rabbi Gerster only smiled, lifted his arms into the air, and began singing: "Heighten your heads, gates, exalt yourselves!"

Confused, the men of Neturay Karta stopped arguing.

"Doorways of the universe," he sang, "the King of Honor, G.o.d is coming!"

The men joined, and the rabbi started from the beginning. Quickly the singing intensified, and circles formed around him. Their faces grew more cheerful as they danced around him faster and faster, proceeding into the synagogue. Inside, the men's singing filled the hall, their hands on each other's shoulders, dancing with their beloved rabbi around the elevated bimah, under the glistening lights of the crystal chandelier. "The King of Honor, G.o.d is coming!"

Lemmy danced, his arms locked with the men, whose faces glowed with sweat and spiritual joy. The dancing grew faster, the singing louder. Someone broke between Lemmy and the man to his right. It was Redhead Dan, his round, freckled face full of excitement. He sang at the top of his voice, and slapped hard on Lemmy's shoulder. "Heighten your heads, gates! Exalt yourselves!"

As he danced, Lemmy thought of the mysterious box and Redhead Dan's talk of fighting. What was he up to? Yoram must have told the rabbi, but did anyone realize how crazy Redhead Dan really was? And who would Tanya tell about this, and what would they do?

Rabbi Abraham Gerster danced with his men, his hands bound with theirs, his eyes closed, his face lifted to the glowing chandelier. It went on and on, until the rabbi suddenly pulled free and leaped on top of the nearest wooden bench.

The men stopped dancing and stood still, watching him.

When the synagogue was completely silent, the rabbi filled his lungs and, very slowly, began singing again: "Raise!"

He paused, his hands reaching up. "Your heads!"

His face creased in great devotion. "Gates, exalt yourselves!"