murderer in the mikdash

8/9/2019 Murderer in the Mikdash

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Murderer in the Mikdash

By: Gidon Rothstein

Chapter ONE

It was just dumb luck, Rachel thought, marveling at the coincidence but adding

bitterly, if, after the Arrival, we're still allowed to believe in such things. But if I hadn't

looked up from window-shopping at that exact moment, I would never have seen him full

face, and I wouldn't have recognized him from any other angle.

These thoughts came in between her gasps of breath as she tried to keep up with

him, average in height and weight but with distinctively stringy red hair and a

permanently harried expression, as if he was perpetually overloaded with obligations. It

had been a while since she had walked quickly; it was even more challenging having to

duck into stores anytime he looked like he might turn around. Knowing that she could

never describe him clearly enough to identify him to anyone else-- where were her

journalists instincts when she needed them? Maybe it was true, anchorpeople were just

the pretty faces-- she trailed him through the winding streets of the city with the urgency

of slim but fading possibility.

If only that policeman, the one with all the questions that night at Liat's, were here

now! Much of what had happened outside Liats building that night was just a haze. She

remembered the ambulance workers frantically working to save her dying friend. Even

more vividly, though, she remembered this stringy red-haired man, wearing a jacket that

identified him as part of a volunteer ambulance corps. He wasn't doing anything, which

first caught Rachel's attention, just standing over Liats body, his face showing a


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Murderer in the Mikdashby Gidon Rothstein 2

complicated wash of emotions, in a way that told Rachel he was not really an EMT, that

he had some other connection to Liat and her death.

As she had turned to call over a policeman and point him out, she had been

distracted for a moment. By the time she turned back, he was gone; she was doubly

determined that he not get away this time. When she had mentioned him to the cop, he

had shrugged in that particularly annoying Israeli way, saying he couldnt do anything

without a better description. Anyway, the cop had said, while it is rare for a young

woman to die of sudden respiratory distress, it does happen; her family preferred to close

the case quickly, to allow for burial without undue delay. With no compelling reason to

act otherwise, they would list the death as natural causes, and wrap their investigation.

Rachel assumed the man with the stringy red-hair and harried expression would

not know who she was, so she allowed herself to trail him fairly closely-- she wasn't good

at it as it was, and needed all the slack she could create. So intent was she on her pursuit

that she didnt notice when they entered the Old City, or the direction in which they were

walking. As the man went through several security gates, Rachel considered her next

move. Identify him to police personnel? Why would they care? She could already see

the cops giving her the blank, pointedly polite look that said you had just offered them

information of no use. Rachel decided she had two immediate goals get a better look

at him, so she could describe him more exactly, and trail him to where he lived or was

staying.

Selihah, geveret, mazal tov `al ledet benekh, excuse me, miss, congratulations on

the birth of your son. The words of the security guard startled her out of her thoughts.


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Realizing that he had seen the badge on her arm, as had so many people in the last three

weeks, she automatically thanked him and began to move on.

Im sorry, ma`am, but I wont be able to allow you to go beyond here for another

few weeks, the security guard persisted.

But you dont understand, that man Rachel sputtered, realizing that her target

was quickly disappearing into the crowd. Look, its very urgent that I get in touch with

that man right there. Its a matter of catching a murderer!" She hoped that last hadnt

sounded too dramatic; she also wondered whether lying to a security guard- she had no

idea of whether there even was a murderer, she just was having trouble accepting Liat's

"sudden respiratory distress"-- carried any consequences in the New Israel.

Maam, if youd like I can take a description of the man you were looking for,

but I cannot let a woman in your condition onto the Temple Mount.

Something in the way he spoke finally brought Rachels attention fully away from

the now-lost red-haired man and to the jet-black haired one standing before her. He

wasnt a security guard in the usual sense, she realized, he was a Levi, and he was telling

her that she couldnt enter the Temple Mount for a while longer. Why?

"I'm sorry. What did you say?"

The Levi sighed, as if this were a particular trying part of his job. "I won't be able

to let you onto the Mount until after you've completed the waiting period and offered the

appropriate sacrifices." He seemed to know that this would not fly smoothly and waited

for the onslaught to come.


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At first Rachel had no clue as to what he was talking about. She had never

interested herself much in the Temple; it made her nervous to think of Israel sliding back

to an ancient set of rituals. What did the Temple have to do with childbirth? Slowly,

across the bridge of years, long-forgotten high school classes-- which had barely made an

impression at the time-- came back to her. The Bible said that women who had given

birth could not enter the Temple for a fixed period of time.

She looked down at the badge that she had been wearing, the one her doctor had

told her was a way to build a friendlier society. The New Government, the doctor had

said, wanted all Jews to feel like they were connected, to share each other's sorrow--

mourners were encouraged to wear torn clothing for an entire month after losing a close

relative-- and times of happiness. Truthfully, Rachel had enjoyed the flood of

congratulations that came her way at all times and places. It helped a little bit with the

fatigue of caring for a three-week-old without a husband.

But what a fool she had been! That wasn't why the government had instituted the

practice. It was a way of spying on her, of enforcing the new rules about entrance to the

Temple. She thought back to the day in the hospital, lying exhausted in her bed wishing

for one more day until she had to go home. She realized now that her doctor's smile

mixed good wishes for Rachel with embarrassment as she explained the law, blue badges

for boys and pink for girls. The date on the badge, she now realized, was exactly for this

Levi to know when she was eligible to go through the ritual that would allow her onto the

Temple Mount.


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New Israel, new government, for Rachel it added up to new frustration, that

special migraine that came only when she faced these situations. Mostly, she could

ignore the building of this Temple in Jerusalem, focus (when she was working) on stories

that had little to do with that building. Whenever she confronted it, realized all the rules

it imposed on all segments of society, that same headache appeared. Knowing it was

futile, some stubborn part of her insisted on trying one more time.

You mean youre going to let a man get away, a man who is possibly a murderer,

just because I gave birth in the past month? She tried to challenge the Levi as

aggressively as her years of reporting had taught her, knowing that grabbing the moral

high ground was often just a matter of inflection.

Apparently, he had learned the same lessons. Maam, first of all, I have no

evidence that that man was possibly a murderer; more important to me (and more directly

my job right now) is protecting the Temple Mount from improper entry. And the Bible

clearly identifies a new mother as barred from entry to the Temple Mount.

Rachel looked up at the man, probably in his late 30's, tall, confident, even a little

arrogant, too sure of his perfect rightness. There was no chance that she would sway

him; she knew she would not even convince him to go into the Temple and find the red-

haired man, especially since she could not describe him well enough for anyone to find

him. She imagined having all red-haired men detained (could they announce "Would all

men with stringy red hair please come to the information booth?" over a loudspeaker?),

but realized that no one would agree to that.


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That was it for now; the trail was cold, there were at least six other exits for him

to leave by, and she couldn't watch them all. There was no point in arguing with the

religious fanaticor petty bureaucrat -- in front of her. Rachel briefly considered

touching him out of spite, since she knew that would mean he would have to leave the

Temple Mount for the rest of the day (was that from high school? that old rabbi had got

more into her head than even she had known). She settled for a look that she hoped fully

conveyed her disdain for the system in which he had so much confidence, turned on her

heel and stalked away.

She desperately needed something to lift her spirits, so when she saw a coffee bar,

she went right up to the counter. Welcome to the Temple Grounds, best fresh-brewed

coffee in the city of Jerusalem. What can I get you? Rachel was still so engrossed with

her encounter with Levihe had been wearing a name tag, and that was actually his

name, not only his occupation; Levi the Levi, what were his parents thinking? -- that it

took her a while for the question to penetrate her thoughts.

She ordered a cappucino and took it back to a table, all the while half-noticed

incidents from the past year flooding her mind, taking on new meaning. She remembered

Avshalom, her Israeli producer, mentioning that he had had to postpone a meeting in

Jerusalem because of a skin problem. When she had expressed her concern, he laughed

(a little chagrined, she now recalled, although she hadnt paid attention at the time) and

said that his doctor had assured him that it wasnt a physical problem, it was a spiritual

one, and his kohen--since when did people start having personal priests? - thought this

lesion would disappear soon enough and he would get back to Jerusalem. He hadn't


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seemed concerned; he just shifted the meetings to Tel Aviv, so she hadn't paid attention.

As she thought about it now, she realized that it had been diagnosed as tsara`at, that

leprosy-like thing.

Or Renee, who had had to throw away her favorite dress because of a stubborn

red stain. Or the neighbor who Rachel had seen taking all the furniture out of her

apartment because she was having an inspection for house-leprosy. She had tried to

ignore this Temple as not affecting her lifestyle; she had thought that it would be good for

those who were interested in it, and that she could mostly continue living as she had

pleased. As she realized how wrong she was, Rachel felt anger rearing its ugly head.

You a reject, too? Stung by the word, Rachel looked up, ready to bite the head

off the man who had called her that. But the smiling countenance of the friendly giant

standing over her, who introduced himself as Reuven, made it clear that he meant no

offense, indeed that the situation had not yet been created in which he would knowingly

offend somebody. Not mollified, but unwilling to be intractable, Rachel managed to

control herself enough to simply say, Yes, I suppose so.

There's lots of rejects here; that's why I got this location for the coffee shop. I

figure when people get told they can't go in, they'll need a pick me up right away. See

that guy over there? He just helped at a car accident that had a fatality. He's got to wait a

week before he can go back in. And see her? She"

Reuven was about to go on, but Rachel wasn't interested, because she had her

opening. Maybe this guy could explain it to her. It doesnt bother you? she blurted

out.


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What?

That all of these people are being kept out of places for reasons beyond their

control? That that guy is being punished for helping treat people who were hurt, for

helping treat the dead with dignity?

The question seemed to startle Reuven. He looked at her for long moment, and

then said, Oh, I see, youre one of the Old Ones, arent you?

Im not old, I just had a baby! Rachel had heard the term, but didn't like its

implications. It would make it especially hard to get back her job, even once she had

worked the pounds off her body and face.

Oh, no, I didnt mean it that way, its a term the newspapers use for people who

are having a hard time adjusting to the new system. Most people, it seems, have

embraced the Arrival and the Rebuilding happily and enthusiastically. For those people,

the system may seem to present a few minor inconveniences, but in the scope of

things.

Minor? I think the man I was chasing might have been a murderer!

Reuven continued as if she hadnt spoken. But a small minority is having more

difficulty. They-- and they are usually older, hence the term-- are still attached to the

freer system of a couple of years ago. Interestingly, some of these people are actually

quite observant, but they still want to be able to follow only their individual conscience in

deciding where they walk, who they touch, and all the other details that the Mikdash-- do

you mind if I call it that? Temple sounds so, I don't know, cold-- has returned to our

lives. Sociologists think that itll be a longer adjustment period for such people, but they-


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-sorry, you-- will eventually come to appreciate that the benefits of the Mikdash far

outweigh any inconveniences."

"In fact, I'll share a secret with you. One of the reasons I bought this coffee shop

was in the hope of meeting people like you-- people who come off the grounds of the

Mikdash and drink coffee here in the Temple Grounds often go away happier than when

they came in. I think it's the drugs I slip in the coffee."

Reuven's mischievous smile as he said that was conveniently coupled with

another customer calling for his attention. Rachel was attracted to the man's sincerity, his

obvious belief in what he said, and his open good-natured acceptance of the people

around him. But that wasn't enough to dispel the dark cloud hanging over her, and when

he worked his way back to her table, she was ready to pounce again.

"But you really didn't answer any of my questions! You just said you're happy

with the new system."

Reuven put on a horrible imitation of an Irish accent. "Ah, chickadee, did I say

we answer questions here? I just said that people go away happier." Without the accent,

he went on, "I have had too many long, deep conversations about issues that seem to be

intellectual, but are actually emotional. Like today-- were you upset by theprinciple of

being excluded from the Temple Mount? I bet not; I bet something happened that made

you want to get there, and your frustration over being stopped is what's bothering you."

Rachel was a little insulted by the insinuation that she was letting her emotions

rule her intellect, but of course he was right, at least in this instance. She had been upset

about Liat, who, in the months after Lije disappeared, had become her closest companion.


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After Adin's birth, Liat's phone calls had gotten stranger; she had become obsessed with

safety, with her diary, with getting Rachel to promise that she would read her diary if

anything happened to her.

And then the memory of the night the police had called, having found that Liat

had dialed her number just before she died. Rachel woke up nights wondering what Liat

would have told her had she managed to complete the call, she wandered the streets while

strolling Adin, listening for some clue as to what had happened to Liat, or even her diary.

The police had never found it.

Seeing the red-haired man had made her think, just for a few minutes, that she

might find the answers. She was mostly crushed that the mystery would continue.

She told Reuven the whole story, if only to let him feel some happiness at how

right he had been, to let him have the satisfaction of unmasking her supposed righteous

anger for the personal frustration that it was, to hear his I-told-you-so, in whatever

version he gave it. She had underestimated him again; he didn't say anthing about that,

just became interested in Liat's story.

"What makes you think Liat didn't just die, like the Medical Examiners said?"

"I don't have any real reason to doubt them, I guess. It's just, she was so young,

and healthy, and I know that those aren't reasons, but along with how she had been

acting I mean, you had to know Liat. She was such a free spirit, without a care in the

world, always concerned that everybody around her have a good time. And then, about

three weeks before she diedright about when I had Adin, actually, she started rambling

on the phone, and when I'd mention it, she'd get all defensive, and clam up."


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"Rambling?"

"Yeah, I don't even remember about what, but just going off on tangents that

didn't seem related to wait, I remember. She kept talking about her diary, about how at

least that was safe, and if that was safe, it would all come out in the end. I had no idea of

what she meant, and I still don't, but"

Rachel's voice trailed off, as she saw a red-headed man through the coffee shop

window. For a minute, she thought it was him, but as he got closer, she realized it wasn't.

"What is it? Is something wrong?"

"No, I'm fine, thanks. I think I've just got men with stringy red hair on the brain."

Rachel was suddenly very tired. Thinking about Liat was bringing up thoughts and

memories she wasn't yet ready to confront. She stood to leave.

"Thank you for the coffee, Mr." He had only introduced himself as Reuven.

"It's HaOzer, but please, everyone calls me Reuven."

Rachel smiled, but it was her polite social smile; she was too tired for a real one.

"All right, thank you, Reuven, what do I owe you for the coffee?

Reuven ignored her question, focusing on the change in their conversation. "Did I

do something to upset you?"

"No, why do you ask?"

"Well, you seemed to bring our conversation to a close rather abruptly, as if

something had happened."

"I think I'm just tired; seeing that red-haired man, losing him, thinking about Liat.

I feel one of those tension headaches coming on, and the coffee, good as it was, did not


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stop it. Also, if I get home quickly, I can get in a 20 minute power nap before the

babysitter leaves. Without being rude, I'd like to just pay for my coffee, say how nice it

was to meet you, and be on my way." Rachel could always sense when a man was

working up to asking her out, and was hoping to avoid that particular awkwardness.

"The coffee's always on the house for someone who just came back from not

getting onto the Temple Mount-- we are the Temple Grounds after all--but I had also

wanted to mention to you that"

"Look, I'm sorry, I think you're a very nice man, but I'm just not ready to begin

dating yet"

"Dating?" Reuven looked thoroughly puzzled. "Aren't you a new mother? What

happened to your husband?"


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CHAPTER 2

There, he had said the word, and the sting was as strong as ever. She remembered

the first night Lije had failed to come home; she had made dinner, able for the first time

since the beginning of her pregnancy to stand the smell of food for long enough to

actually cook. She had worn one of her new maternity outfits, one that the station bigs

back in the US had approved, extending her stay on the air for a few more months, giving

her more time after the birth before she had to decide when to go back to work.

When he was late, she had gotten annoyed. Lije was wonderful, but he was easily

capable of getting sidetracked, and forgetting to call. Then, as the hours wore on, and she

called the various numbers she had for him, she began to worry. What if something had

happened? She called the police the next morning, and then had to deal with the fury

their knowing looks had inspired. They had seen it all too many times before-- a young,

attractive man, particularly olim, immigrants from abroad, they said-- doesn't show up at

home, it means he's found a better field to plant. It sounded more natural in Hebrew, but

that's what they said.

She couldn't believe it. She couldn't believe they had said it to her like that, but

that was a whole different story. Lije run off on her? And yet, as the search went on, and

there was no sign of him or his car, she had begun to have some doubts.

But she certainly wasn't telling any of this to this stranger, who seemed not to

have met the question he wouldnt ask. Looking up at Reuven, she informed him, in her

most clipped tones, that she did not choose to discuss her private life with people she had

only just met in a coffee shop, of all places.


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Reuven apologized. "I know, I get carried away. It's justI meet so many

people who are so needy, so desperate for someone, for anyone, to listen to them, that I

get used to just asking any questions that come up, as a way of showing my concern. I go

too far sometimes; my fault. Forgive me?" It was a smile of such obvious sincerity and

remorse, that Rachel couldn't help but relent a little.

"Certainly I forgive you. Was there anything else?"

Reuven ignored her shortness-- which she appreciated actually, since she had

overdone it, she knew--and said that yes, he had wanted to mention to her that there was a

group of people like herself-- who were having trouble with the adjustment-- who met on

a regular basis.

"A support group?" Rachel could not hold back her distaste for the idea. "With a

sixty year old social worker telling us how wonderful we are for having feelings?"

Reuven smiled. "You've heard of them, I see. Actually, this one is dfferent; it's

more of a discussion group among the people than an attempt to get to any conclusion.

The gang just talks about infuriating events that have happened-- like your story with

Levi the Levi-- and the group shares the problem. They feel better for it. If nothing else,

I think you'd get a kick out of seeing people share some of your indignation over their

indifference to your search for A POSSIBLE MURDERER."

Reuven said the last words with a flourish so exaggerated that this time Rachel

couldn't help laughing a real laugh, remembering her melodrama about the stakes in her

trailing the red-haired man.


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"Are you going to be there?" Rachel couldn't believe the question slipped out of

her mouth. She did not know this man, but she felt safe with him, and not just because of

his physical size or strength.

I could go, sure, but I think you might gain more if it was just you. Tell you

what, I'll drop you off, introduce you around, then leave, so you can make your own way

with the group. How does that sound?"

Rachel agreed, and they arranged to meet at the Temple Grounds for coffee at 10

the next morning, to head from there to the Old Ones meeting. Rachel had no idea of

what it would bring, but no hopes or expectations to disappoint her, either.

CHAPTER 3

Of course, just when she wanted to get a good nights rest, be fresh for the

meeting, Adin decided to be a monster. She took him from the babysitter at 6:30, he

complained the whole evening until 10, and then woke up every hour and a half until

5:30, when he fell asleep for four hours, by which time the sitter was there for the day.

Rachel barely slept, and when the baby finally went back at 5:30, she dreamt that Liat

was floating above her, frantically dialing the phone, but never getting connected. She

woke up sweaty and, if possible, less rested than when she had fallen into her bed the

night before.

To match the rest of her life, on her way to the coffee shop she saw the red-haired

man again, walking about twenty feet ahead of her on Rehov Yafo, which Rachel still


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liked to think of as Jaffa Rd. Her Hebrew was perfectly fluent, but thinking of street

names in English made her feel like she was still an American visiting this country

instead of a citizen of the only democratic theocracy she had ever heard of. She was a

little surprised to see him again so soon- she had never seen him before Liat died, and

now he was popping up all over the place-- and struggled with conflicting pulls. She had

promised to meet Reuven at 10, but she didn't want to lose the red-haired man again.

Then she realized she didn't have to make a choice yet. If he was going to the Temple

Mount as he had yesterday, he would pass the coffee shop, and she could just explain to

Reuven what was going on.

It wasn't that easy. A few blocks before reaching the Old City, he turned off and

went into the Old Hilton Hotel (sure, it had some other name now, but Rachel refused to

change-- her names for hotels was stuck at whatever they had been called when she was

eighteen years old and visited Israel for the first time), leaving Rachel momentarily torn.

Well, she rationalized, Reuven is in his coffee shop anyway-- after all, it is a business as

much as a place to pick up Temple rejects--I can always catch up with him later. From

there, the rationalization segment of her brain, one of her most developed talents, was in

full swing, and by the time she arrived at the Hilton, she had almost worked it out that it

was wrong of Reuven to have asked her to come to the coffee shop at all.

When she walked into the lobby of the hotel, she paused for a moment to breathe

it in, as she always did. Rachel hadn't been poor in a long time, but the opulence of hotel

lobbies, the marble floors, the smell of money, the waterfalls of various shapes and sizes

that each hotel put in as part of the dcor, were irresistible draws. One of the perks of


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working that she still missed was the business travel, with accommodations at hotels like

the one whose lobby she was currently occupying.

A member of the staff walked up to her. "Excuse me,"

Rachel had been down this road often, although less so since she had gotten so

pregnant that she had to give up her spot on the nightly news. "Yes, I'm Rachel Tucker,

thank you."

As the words left her mouth, she realized her error and flushed with

embarrassment. The bellboy had just been trying to help her find her way; he, like

everybody else in this stupid country, did not watch American news, did not know or care

that she had been an anchor on network television, was unimpressed with her celebrity.

Close your mouth, Rachel, she gritted to herself, and then said, out loud,

'I'm sorry, I thought you were asking me something else. Could you tell me, did

you notice a man with red hair come through this lobby in the last few minutes?"

The bellboy turned to the receptionist, behind the desk about thirty feet from

where they were standing.

"Hey, Limor, did you see agingi come through here in the last five minutes?"

Limor started to shake her head no, then yelled, "Wait, was his hair really oily and

stringy?" The bellboy looked at Rachel, who nodded.

"Yes."

"Oh, sure, I saw him. He asked me where the Old Ones meeting was."

The Old Ones meeting! What was he doing there? Rachel hurried to the fifth

floor meeting room the woman directed her towards, wondering what she would find.


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In the elevator with her were two couples, in their mid-forties, stylishly dressed,

although the woman of one of the couples was Israeli-stylish, wearing clothing that

emphasized each curve of her voluptuous body. The other woman, no less attractive,

wore a more understated outfit, which lured the eye in, giving just a hint of the lushness

underneath, making any man want to learn more about the body hidden by the clothes.

Rachel, a clotheshorse, wished she had an outfit just like it.

The American couple was staring at her. Finally, the woman said, "Excuse me,"

Rachel wasn't falling for that one again. "But are you Rachel Tucker, the anchorwoman?

After the embarrassment in the lobby, it was actually nice to be recognized.

Rachel acknowledged she was, signed an autograph--when she used to have to sign fifty

a day, with people approaching her everywhere, it had been annoying; now that she

signed maybe three a week, she appreciated the people who asked. Elegant clothes

informed her, "This is my husband Bob, and I'm Elaine Gordon. We've only just moved

here from Teaneck, NJ. So nice to meet you."

Realizing that they were going to become acquaintances, Rachel looked at both of

them a little more carefully. Bob Gordon looked to be nearing fifty, still able to pass for

forties, but rapidly approaching the time when he could no longer hide his age. His

waistline, probably a little thicker than in college, still looked reasonably fit, and his

hairline, flecked with gray, had held up admirably. Elaine, no more than a year younger

than Bob, had done a remarkable job of staving off any signs of aging. From her perfect

makeup to her well-toned arms, she was clearly a woman who had the time and means to

insure that middle age was in her mind, not on her person.


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Rachel put out her hand, not sure that these were her kind of people. "We've lived

here, off and on, for several years, since just after the Arrival." Too late, she realized that

she had used the wrong pronoun. "I mean, Imy son came along just about three weeks

ago; I'm used to speaking of us as a unit." Not a bad recovery, she thought to herself,

they'll assume I'm divorced and had a child out of wedlock or something. Which is better

than having to tell the truth.

Thankfully, the Gordons were more interested in talking about themselves than in

noticing the misplaced plural pronoun. "It's funny, you know, the whole time we lived in

Teaneck, everyone we knew and were friendly with was Orthodox--totally observant.

When the Arrival happened, we were so excited to move here. We thought, this is it!

Living in a country like this would be just what we wanted, and then when we finally

closed up shop at home and got here, well, we're just having the hardest time! We find

these meetings really helpful, though, just to meet people like ourselves and talk about

the little frustrations, well, it just really helps."

Rachel knew it was her problem and not theirs, but she thought that she might

have to shoot herself in the head if she had to spend more than another two minutes with

the Gordons. The sugar coating on every word that came out of Elaine Gordon's mouth

was enough to rot three sets of teeth. Rachel managed to nod politely when required--

her silence did not hinder Elaine's stream of words in the least-- and then separate herself

from them as soon as they got into the room.

Which was a shock. Rachel had assumed that there would be maybe fifteen

socially retarded people gathered around a conference table moaning and groaning about


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how good the old days were, before the Arrival. But the Gordons had walked her into a

small ballroom that easily held two hundred people, and was around three-quarters full.

At this point, people were milling around, many of them obviously already catching up

with friends they had not seen since the previous week's meeting. Rachel wasn't sure of

the procedure, so she checked that the red-haired man was there, and then found an

empty seat, next to a woman who looked inoffensive if uninteresting.

"Excuse me, is this seat taken?"

"No, my husband's not going to make it this week, feel free to sit down. My name

is Hulda Weiner, nice to meet you."

"I see nobody strives for anonymity at these things."

"There's no need. The government has made it clear that it's giving a long

adjustment period for people like us, that as long as we attend meetings regularly and

behave reasonably well in public, we can behave fairly loosely. I've been going for a

while, but truthfully, it's mostly so I can still indulge in an occasional not-fully-kosher

meal at one of those restaurants for non-Jews. When I feel guilty enough, I'll stop

coming."

Rachel hadn't realized that there were different sets of rules for different kinds of

people. Raised in a strict law-and-order family, she had just thought she had to follow

whatever laws the government laid down. Since she was nominally observant even

before, most of the public rules hadn't been that big a deal, and the government wasnt

yet prying into people's private lives-- although there was a recurrent debate about that in


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Parliament. At least until now, Rachel had been able to ignore the new system. Others,

she now realized, hadn't been that lucky.

Her journalist instincts began to stir, and she sat down next to Hulda Weiner with

some enthusiasm; maybe there was a story here for audiences back home. The woman

herself was physically unremarkable, with short mousy-brown hair that unattractively

drew attention to the length of her neck, unnaturally thin on her body, which was

probably thirty pounds beyond pleasing. People like her, Rachel knew, were often dying

to talk to anyone who expressed an interest.

"So, I'm a first-timer. Can you explain to me what happens?"

"It's pretty simple. We sit on these red chairs, and watch other people bare their

souls; or, if the mood strikes, we do it ourselves. Anything said in here is completely

confidential and unpunishable-- the government respects it as a vehicle for helping people

like us acclimate to a new set of social rules and mores."

"Sorry, I know this stuff is so obvious to you because you've been doing it for a

while, but I lost you right at the beginning. Does the meeting come to order at some

point?"

The bang of a gavel on a front podium answered her question. A tall man with a

full head of beautiful white hair called the meeting to order, and began reading from the

Bible. That week's section spoke of setting up judges and policemen to enforce the

Bible's laws, and elicited groans from some of the people there.

When he had done, he said, "We gather here to share with each other our

problems in getting used to the New Order here in this country. Anything said here


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remains completely confidential and is inadmissible in any outside proceedings. Just a

few rules: There is no talking allowed other than by those recognized by the chair." So

much for getting information out of Hulda Weiner, thought Rachel. I may have to buy

her coffee afterwards to get any news. Meanwhile, the man was finishing up, "and

remember, introduce yourself to the extent that you are comfortable, and speak for no

more than five minutes."

CHAPTER 4

In the next two hours, Rachel relearned several lessons she had learned many

times beforedont trust an amateur to speak for five minutes, because they have a

knack for making it seem like hours; being smart and being articulate are not always the

same; and it was possible to empathize with someone's situation while wanting never to

hear about it again.

Around the one hour mark, though, one person made a comment that stuck in her

head, making the whole meeting worthwhile. A muscular guy in his late twenties, not

only well-built but clearly used to dealing with tough situations, got up, looked around

furtively, and said, "My name is Jacko. My brother got killed last night in a barroom, and

I'm going to kill the guy who did it. I never thought the system was helpful before, but

the fact that I can off the guy who caused my family this much pain--and I'm going to get

it done even before the funeral--helps out a lot. The guy's running to Hevron, I think, but


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I'm going to head straight from here, and I can catch him before he gets close. And

then" He pointed his finger and thumb and made a shooting motion.

Rachel had no idea what he meant, although it sounded like he had just announce

that he was going to kill his brother's murderer. Shocked, she turned to Hulda and asked,

"What is he talking about?"

Hulda, apparently more wrapped up in the meeting than she was, shushed her.

She'd ask Reuven later, but it seemed like nobody in the room cared that his guy had just

announced that he was going to commit murder. Rachel couldn't figure out why, and had

a hard time focusing on anything else until 5 minutes before the end-- the white-haired

man had announced that there would only be time for three more speakers. The first was

another blubberer, who spent his entire allotment talking about how thrilled he was that

the government wasnt punishing him for whatever grave sin he had committed; Rachel

forgot him right away.

The second speaker she couldnt forget at all, because it was the man with the

stringy red hair. He stood up hesitantly and moved to the microphone-- he had a

surprisingly high-pitched voice for any man, let alone for the one Rachel had come to

think of as Liat's murderer. "My name isHarvey, and I am required to come here by

my Levi. I've done some pretty bad things in my time, and when I got out of prison, my

Levi said that coming here would help me absorb the lessons I've been having trouble

with over the last little while. I've been coming now for seven months, and I just wanted

to say thank you to this group for being here."


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And he sat down, leaving Rachel even more confused than ever. All right, so he

was a guy with a past, but what did that have to do with his having been standing over

Liat as she died? Was he just lying to the group, and he had really killed her? He

sounded sincere, he looked sincere. And yet, she had seen him, and he had not looked

surprised or horrified at her death, as the other EMT's had.

There was more here than met the eye, but Rachel had no idea of how to proceed.

As the meeting broke up, she realized that coffee with Hulda didnt seem all that

appealing, especially when Hulda turned her down, and said she had to get home.

She turned to her new default plan in life, following Harvey. As he headed for the

Temple Mount--did he know she was following him and use the Mount as a way to shake

her?-- she assumed she'd pass the Temple Grounds, and could explain to Reuven what

had happened. For some reason, though, Harvey went around--instead of walking

through the Jaffa Gate (Sha`ar Yafo, she reminded herself, she had to get more used to

Hebrew) he went to Zion Gate, so that Rachel didn't pass the coffee shop.

Although she knew she would get stopped, Rachel decided to go to the final spot

anyway. A different Levi was here, more appealing than yesterday's. This one--his name

tag said Yedidya-- was about 5'11", in his earlier 30's, with jet- black hair cut close to his

head. His blue eyes, shocking on an otherwise dark complexion, seemed to look through

you, penetrating and welcoming at the same time.

Less flustered today, Rachel took the time to ask a few questions. "Pardon me,

but do you know that red-haired man who just went by?"


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"I'm sorry, ma'am, I don't." And Yedidya turned away to help another person

trying to get onto the Mount. Rachel waited until he was free, and then asked him what it

meant to have a Levi of one's own, trying to figure out what Harvey could have meant by

"my Levi." Yedidya seemed unsure of what she meant, so she told him of Harvery's

comment, modifying the story so Yedidya would not be able to identify any of the people

or places involved, and so that she wouldnt violate the confidentiality of the meeting.

He hesitated, and said,

"I can give you a short answer or a long one. The short answer is that many Levis

now serve as parole officers for convicts who just got out of prison, and that's probably

what he was talking about. The long answer would take too much time now, while I'm

on duty. I get off at 7 this evening, however, and if you'd like to meet me somewhere, I'd

be glad to explain further. Why don't you check with your husband, maybe he'd like to

join us?"

Rachel knew he was just trying to be proper, not to seem like he was asking a

married woman out on a date. Like everyone else, he assumed that a new mother was

married; in some sense, she supposed, she was, although the bastard hadn't had the

decency to get in touch in the last eight months. Still, she hated having to explain her

situation to people she barely knew, and she was in no mood to explain it now. She

thanked him, took a card with a phone number in case she wanted to contact him again,

and left.

With the adrenaline of the chase wearing off, Rachel finally heard her stomach's

insistent growlings. Glancing at her watch, she was surprised to see that it was 2 o'clock-


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- she hadn't eaten since 7 that morning. She should have offered to take Yedidya for

lunch-- did Levis get lunch breaks on days they were working in the Temple? Lunch

gave her a chance to reflect on the day so far. Mindful that TV cameras were in her

future somewhere, she hoped, she allowed herself only a Ceasar's salad, dressing on the

side. Of course, she was so proud of her self-restraint that she had Cookies and Cream

frozen yogurt for dessert, probably wiping out any calorie savings she had managed.

As she sat there, her body told her clearly that she was pushing herself too hard.

After yesterday's chase of Harvey (she liked having a name to attach to him), she had felt

quite strained, and had determined not to overdo it today. Luckily, Harvey had been in a

relaxed mood after the meeting, so that the walk to the Temple Mount hadn't been too

taxing. Even without racing, though, all that walking had been a little much. She would

get to her next destination, whatever that was, in a cab.

What was her next destination? Now that she had a moment to think about it, she

realized how much her life had changed in the last day. Before, she had been balancing

her basking in the glow of Adin's infancy with wondering when she would be able to get

back to work. She had been saddened by Liat's death, had spent a great deal of time

helping out at theshiva, the week of mourning, and had called Liat's mother almost daily,

to try to help her through this awful time. But it was just a tragedy, like many others, and

she tried to put it away neatly in its proper place, to pull it out and remember it from time

to time. She had certainly not expected to be spending every waking moment thinking

about it, as she had been for the last--she glanced at her watch, 26 hours.


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Seeing Harvey had pushed Liat to the forefront of her consciousness. She could

not put her finger on it, but a voice inside her, the voice her parents had always tried to

get her to heed, was screaming loudly that he held the key towhat? Almost the worst

of it was that she had spent much of the last day starting sentences like that, hoping to

trick herself into finishing them so she could at least know what her intuition was trying

to tell her. It hadn't worked yet, which frustrated her, because she particularly hated

following paths that led she knew not where. If she could just once follow Harvey

without losing him; what could he be doing up there on the Temple Mount?

Rachel had been thinking so hard and long about Harvey that she hadn't really

noticed when she had paid the restaurant bill, and, not yet having a goal, started strolling

through town. When she looked up, she was relieved to find herself a block away from

the Temple Grounds. She was getting tired, and a nice cup would hit the spot. Also, she

only had a few hours until she had to be home for Adin, and she owed Reuven an

apology for this morning. Even the word made the bile rise in her throat; some therapist

would get rich helping her discover her aversion to apologies, should she ever decide to

follow that trail. Meanwhile, she needed what she always used in these situations, a

bribe. But what could she get a man, without it seeming like a come-on?

A book, she thought. She had always thought of books as all-purpose items. A

book aboutcoffee? No; for all that he had a coffee shop, Reuven had not seemed to

care that much about the coffee itself, unlike those people she knew who could spend

hours discussing the advantages of the various flavors, types, and processes of


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preparation. No, for Reuven, the coffee was a means to getting to know people. For

Rachel, coffee was just a means to stay awake.

Then what would be a good book to apologize with? She knew; a book on the

history of apologies. She'd write a cute little inscription inside it, adding hers to the

history. She went into the first Barnes and Noble she saw-- she remembered thinking the

Messiah had really come when Barnes and Noble opened its first Jerusalem branch,

although the delay in importing other of her favorite American shopping havens still

gnawed at her-- but couldn't find a history of apologies (there, now she knew a bestseller

she could write when she had the time), so she settled on a copy of Plato's Apology, and

headed for the shop.

Reuven was talking earnestly to a young man at a table when she walked in, and

was so engrossed in his conversation that he did not look up when the door opened and

closed, a bell ringing to alert the staff that a new selling opportunity had arrived. She

went to the counter, where the perky college student said, "Welcome to the Temple

Grounds, how may I serve you?" ordered her coffee, and watched Reuven talk.

Although she couldn't know from where she was standing, the scene seemed self-

explanatory. The kid had big, sad eyes, a little moist as if he were talking about a subject

that caused him pain but that he also felt compelled to return to, again and again. Reuven

would not solve this kid's obsession, Rachel knew from having interviewed similar

people over the years. And yet, she sensed no impatience in him, no desire to get up and

run screaming from the table-- the reaction she usually had to hearing people regurgitate

their problems for more than the fourth time.


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She watched a little more, curious about this man who had managed to make her

feel guilty enough to buy him a book. His size jumped out at you right away, but for all

that he was tall and broad and solid, there was no threat in him. She could not imagine

his intentionally causing harm, physical or otherwise, to another, although she could

easily imagine him tearing to bits anyone who tried to hurt someone else. His hands--

Rachel had always been one to watch a man's hands at least as much as his eyes; the eyes

might be the window on the soul, but the hands were a window on the life he actually

lived-- were big and meaty, warmly enveloping whatever came into them.

As she was watching Reuven work his magic on the kid, their conversation

seemed to reach its natural end. The boy wiped his eyes on a tissue, drank the last

remnants of his coffee, embraced Reuven, and left, promising over his shoulder that he

would call and let him know "how it worked out." Finished with that case, Reuven

looked around the shop, and saw her standing at the counter. Without saying a word,

Rachel held up the gift-wrapped book, and motioned towards it, as if to say, "You can't

yell at me until you see my apology."

Reuven worked his way over towards her, passing coffee-drinkers along the way,

each one getting a greeting or introduction. Watching him work, Rachel realized this was

more of a club than a coffee shop; most of the patrons appeared to be regulars, having

established relationships of various kinds with Reuven, here because he provided them

something they could not get out there. She had no idea what it was.

He was wagging a finger at her reprovingly, though playfully. "I remember

seeing 'They're Playing Our Song' on Broadway as a kid," he started. Rachel had no idea


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where this was going. "It starred Robert Klein and Luci Arnaz. I remember because it

was my first Broadway show, because I thought Luci Arnaz was pretty, and because

there's a scene in the play in which Luci Arnaz is late for a meeting with Robert Klein.

He is sitting in a studio waiting for her, and he writes in his diary-- out loud-- "she is now

24 hours and 20 minutes late. And it's not the 24 hours that bother me, it's the 20

minutes. And, of course, just then she walks in, and all is right with the world."

"And which part of that story is supposed to apply to me? I'm several hours late,

but not 24. "

"No, the all is right with the world part."

Rachel did not deal with embarrassment well, nor was she ready to respond to that

direct a compliment. She assured herself that Reuven had just learned that needy people

thirst for such touches, and assumed that he was treating her as he would any other

patron. Obviously flustered nonetheless, she gave him the book, and stammered out her

apology.

"But I did go to an Old Ones meeting, at the old Hilton."

"Did you really? How did that happen-- I thought you were too nervous to go by

yourself?"

So she told him the story, amazed by the quality of his listening. She had seen it

yesterday and just now with the college kid, but she was surprised all over again by how

comforting it was to be held in the thrall of his readiness to hear whatever she-- or anyone

else-- chose to share. She told him about seeing the red-haired man-- she didn't want to

mention his name til the right part in the story--and following him to the hotel, where, it


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turned out, he was going to a meeting! She told him some of the highlights of the two

hours there, including her excitement about putting a name on the stringy red-haired man,

Harvey. She did not notice the look on his face when she said the name, because she was

too busy asking the questions that had bothered her since she left the meeting.

"Reuven, what would that guy Jacko mean about catching up with the man who

killed his brother before he got to a city of refuge and giving him what he deserved?"

Reuven looked at her with surprise. "You don't know?"

"Know what?"

"Lady, where have you been since the Arrival? Don't you follow what's going

on?"

"Truth to tell, I find so much of it upsetting--hence your having diagnosed my

need of Old Ones meetings--that I have tried to block all that stuff out. Can you tell me

now?"

But she had lost him; Reuven wasn't listening to her. Ordinarily, she wouldn't

have minded, but it was in startling contrast to the attentiveness she thought she had

sensed in him. Seeing him drift off into a reverie upset her whole sense of the man, and

brought into question, in her own mind, her abilities as a judge of character.

"Reuven?" No answer; he was looking out the window, seemingly staring off into

space.

"Reuven?"

He didn't move his eyes, but his mouth formed the words, "Did you say that you

were following a red-haired man?"


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"Yes, why?" Rachel looked out the window now, trying to follow his gaze, but

she couldn't see anyone who looked remotely like Harvey.

"And you saw him go to the Temple Mount twice?

"Yes. Reuven, what is it?"

"And today you found out his name is Harvey?"

"Yes. Reuven, is there a reason we're replaying the last five minutes of our

conversation?"

Reuven lifted his arm and pointed a finger across the plaza, at an ice cream store.

Rachel looked over and saw Harvey walk out, licking a cone, and turning in the direction

of the Temple Mount. Reuven was out of his chair and at the door before Rachel had a

moment to react.

"I'll follow him for you; leave your phone number with Meltzer there behind the

counter, and I'll call you when I have some news."

Rachel would have wondered whether this was a ruse to get her phone number if

she hadn't seen Harvey herself. She paused to notice how often their paths had happened

to cross over the last few days, and then went home to Adin.

CHAPTER 5

Although she couldn't blame him, she had not expected to enjoy raising a baby as

little as she was enjoying Adin. Friends told her she would start getting real smiles out of

him in about three weeks, and that six weeks after that, he'd start sleeping through the

night and playing more. Without that reassurance, she didn't know what she would do.


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Right now, she filled her waking hours with him by taking him for walks in the stroller,

bathing him and singing to him, feeding him, changing him, and putting him to sleep for

those blessed times of quiet.

Lije should have been here for this, she thought to herself for the 37th time since

Adin's birth, just after she got him to go down for his "nighttime" sleep, which would last

until 1 in the morning, if she was lucky. Mostly, she assumed that Lije had met some

terrible accident, and mourned his death. At times like these, though, or when people

asked her about her husband, she realized that she also had a deep well of anger and

frustration that this had happened to her. Being angry at someone who was probably

dead also made her feel guilty, so that her subconscious emotions roiled wildly inside of

her. She was not even close to ready to start thinking about them.

Putting Lije and the concomitant turmoil of thoughts and emotions away, she tried

to plan her night. She knew she should just get into bed right now, but she always needed

that unwinding time after Adin went to bed. On nights when there was a particularly

good movie on TV, she sometimes found herself having stayed up straight until he woke

up for a feeding. The days after letting that happen were blurs of fatigue.

Tonight was better. She took out her exercise video-- her producer had just

called, ostensibly to chat, but really to remind her that they were expecting her back and

fit in two months-- and worked out for half an hour, which also convinced her not to

snack all night. Charged by her workout, she meditated for fifteen minutes, which, as

always, didn't give her much enlightenment, but did send her off to a deep sleep.

Which lasted until 10:15, when the phone woke her.


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"I'm sorry, I know you're a new mother and it's late, but I had to talk to you."

"Who's this?" Rachel had never been good at phone voices, which insulted some

people. No, really, you must know who this is, they would say. People like that didn't

stay her friends for very long. Groggy from sleep, there was no way she was going to

recognize a voice on the phone. She wasn't even sure whether it was male or female.

"It's Reuven. Are you awake enough to remember what I'm going to tell you?"

"Yes, why? What's wrong?" Rachel did, however, pride herself on picking up

undercurrents of other people's speech, a skill she connected to her success in journalism.

In Reuven right now, she heard urgency, with underlying streams of concern, fear, and

determination as well. She didn't know how those mixed, but assumed she would find

out.

"Can I come over? Would your husband mind?"

Why did everybody have to focus on her husband? 10:15 at night was not when

she was going to tell this perfect stranger, who managed to exasperate her as often as

inspire her admiration, her story.

"I don't think now is a good time. My son is going to wake up in the next couple

of hours and then again all night long. Can't this wait until tomorrow? I'll meet you at

the coffee shop at 10, unless I find myself forced to follow Harvey again." The last was a

weak attempt at humor, but it misfired badly.

"NO! Whatever you do, promise me you will notfollow Harvey again until we've

talked."


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Aside from being surprised, she was a little put off. Who was he to tell her who

to trail and who not to trail? She would trail whomever she cared to. Reuven, perhaps

sensing her reaction, continued in a calmer tone.

"Look, I know that you have no reason to trust me, but I'm asking you to anyway.

Stay home tonight-- you do have to take care of your baby, after all, and come here as

early tomorrow as you want to-- we open at 5, for the crowd going to see sunrise at the

Temple. I'll be here all morning, and after speaking to me, I think you'll understand why

I didn't want you trailing that man."

"All right. But you'd better have a really convincing story."

"Just wait. And lock all your doors and windows tonight."

At first, she thought it was just a figure of speech, but after hanging up and

thinking back over the conversation, Rachel realized he was serious. Feeling a little

foolish, she walked through the entire apartment, checked all the entrances, and finally

got back into her bed at about 10:45, but of course now could not fall asleep.

Perhaps as a survival skill, Adin seemed to sense when she desperately needed

some sleep. He didn't wake up until 4:45, leaving Rachel enough time to dream of Liat

on the phone. Only this time, she thought she heard Liat say, "I like that Reuven."

After feeding Adin, she took him out for an early-morning walk; she figured she'd

see whether the Temple Grounds really opened at 5. Sure enough, when she got there at

5:15, they were open for business, with a steady stream of people coming in, grabbing a

cup of coffee and heading towards the Mount. Curious, she stopped one young woman,

and asked what time things got started at the Temple.


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"It changes with sunrise, but usually by 6am there's something going on. I like to

hit the Mikdash for about a half hour before I head to the gym and to work. It sort of

charges up my day nicely." And she headed off. Rachel, never a morning person until

Adin came along, couldn't even relate to someone voluntarily rising at 5:30 to spend a

half hour watching some priests get the Temple ready for the day, and then go to a

workout and a job. It was a new world, all right.

Which reminded her of Reuven. As she stepped into the store, she was surprised

to see people sitting at the tables, but then she realized that they were just waiting their

turn. Seeing Reuven behind the counter, she waved. Busy with customers, he waved

back, motioned that he'd be with her as soon as he could, and went back to serving.

Adin seemed to like the smell of the place, and went right to sleep. Rachel looked

around for someone to interview, to understand this crowd better. Since she was little,

she had always understood the world by asking questions of others rather than by

thinking herself; it was what appealed to her about journalism. As a child, it drove her

parents crazy; now they couldnt stop telling people about their daughter the reporter.

She approached a man in his late twenties wearing a Levi's uniform. "Excuse me,

but aren't you a little late?" She hadn't meant it as accusingly as it came out. "Sorry, I

didn't mean it that way. I meant, I'm trying to understand more about the Temp, I mean

the Mikdash, and I thought Levis had to be there way before sunrise to set things up."

The kid smiled at her. "No offense taken. Actually, I'm just a trainee-- I don't get

my full certification until I turn thirty. Some days I have to be there for the beginning of


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stuff, but my supervisor told me I could come in a little late today-- I had the middle of

the night guard-shift last night, so he had pity on me. Thanks for asking."

"Do you mind if I ask a couple of other questions, too?"

"Not at all. That's our job, to be here to answer your questions."

"What do you mean?"

"You don't know. He was surprised, but aggressively nonjudgmental. Its such

a pleasure to be able to explain it to you. We Levis do some guard duty at the Mikdash,

we do some singing to make the service more beautiful, but mostly we wander around the

country, even the world, answering whatever questions people have, offering classes, and

so on. So it's a pleasure to have someone ask me questions-- we have a sort of informal

quota we're supposed to answer each month. If we don't meet it, out supervisor sends us

to remedial classes on how to be friendlier to people, help them feel more comfortable

approaching us. So, really, I should thank you for approaching me."

Something in what he said reminded her of Yedidya from yesterday. He, too, had

seemed anxious to talk to her more. She had assumed that it was because he was

attracted to her-- she was used to men's interest, whether because of her physical beauty,

her fame, or, every so often, her intelligence-- but she was thinking maybe it was

something else. His card was still in her purse, somewhere. She fished it out.

Would that be why Levis carry business cards, to give out to potential

questioners?


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Exactly. Only its not business; most of the guys I know enjoy that part of the

job as much or more than the Mikdash time. Also, a lot of us start great friendships with

people we first meet in that context.

And its a great way to pick up women, I bet.

The young Levi flushed. I wont say it doesnt happen, but its frowned

uponwere supposed to be doing this for a higher purpose, and letting that get in the

waywell, theres no official rule about it, but its clearly discouraged. Anyway, that

shouldnt matter to you, having a kid and all.

She let it pass, yet again. Do you know this particular Levi she looked at the

card in her hand, Yedidya Gross.

No, sorry, theres a lot of us, but if youd like me to ask around, I can get back to

you with some info on him.

Rachel realized that this conversation wasnt going anywhere, nor did she trust

this mans opinion of Yedidya anymore than her own instincts, but she realized that a

conversation with Yedidya might be more enlightening than she had thought it would be.

She made a mental note to call him, and then remembered that since giving birth she had

to write all her mental notes down or they disappeared. She pulled out her 5x7 spiral

notebookshe took a perverse pleasure in having avoided a PDA, but had had to

graduate from random scraps of paperand wrote Yedidya? on it, putting the card in the

notebook as well.

Still waiting for Reuven, Rachel stared out into the street, watching the people

move towards the Temple, trying to guess their life stories in the two minutes they were


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in her line of vision. There were the tourists of all typesshe mostly liked seeing

Americans from less-than-observant backgrounds, obviously overwhelmed by how

different Jewish life in Israel had become as compared to their relaxed attitudes towards

observance back home. That would have been her, she thought with a wistful smile, if

not for Lije.

Lije. How he had blown her away when they first met. His looks certainly

helped; being who she was, there was no way she would have given a second thought to a

man who wasnt physically well put together. But it was his eyes, sparkling with their

intensity, intense about everything. Intense about pursuing her, intense about building

a life committed to ideals, intense about getting closer to God. It wasnt, she thought to

herself for the thousandth time, that she shared his passions, it was the passion itself she

found so irresistible. And following that passion had brought them here, the land Lije

insisted was where the future was going to happen.

Sorry it took so long, but there was a late-breaking rumor that the Kohen Gadol,

the High Priest, was performing todays service. His mother just passed away, and he

wants to honor her memory by working this entire month himself.

And thats a big deal?

Reuven seemed nonplussed by her ignorance and indifference. Well, yeah, I

mean, usually you only get to see him work hard in the weeks before Yom Kippur, as he

prepares for the day-long service that he has to do himself. To see him in the late winter,

thats a real treat.


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Rachel was not in the mood to find out more about the Temple right then. Adin

was going to want to nurse soon, she wanted to get a nap in after that, and she was getting

back some of her dander at having been summoned here.

So, Reuven, tell me what was so urgent that you had to call me after 10 last

night? Even as she said it, she realized how ridiculous she sounded, but the truth was

that since Adins birthan arrival as significant in her life as the Arrival in everyone

elses-- 10 was a late night. It would be a while before she could take an 11pm news slot;

she hoped there were morning anchor jobs available when she decided to go back to

work.

I saw Harvey, so I followed him. He went into the Temple Mount, but of course

Im careful to avoid things that would prevent me from going into the Temple. It was the

end of the day, so there wasnt a big crowd on the Mount, which made following him

without getting caught a little challenging, but I managed it. And when I saw who he was

meeting with, I managed to ask a few questions about him, and didnt like what I heard.

So I felt I had to warn you.

Warn me about what?

Harvey went to see a kohen, a priest, named Pinhas Moshel. Does the name

mean anything to you?

Pinhas Moshel! Liats ex-husband, who Liat had rambled on about, who she kept

saying couldnt get his hands on her diary. She had been right, the red-haired man was

the key to Liats death. Actually, it does, but why dont you finish your story?


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Well, I found out that Harvey meets with this Pinhas guy often, like hes his

hired hand for various errands. And since I know what kind of stuff Pinhas does, getting

too close to his hired hand struck me as a particularly dangerous course of action.

What do you mean? What kind of stuff would Pinhas need a hired hand for?

Reuven paused for a long time before he answered, so long that Rachel asked her

question again. Finally, he seemed to make a decision, and leaned in a little closer to her,

and whispered, Pinhas is the one who cut off my pinky toe.

CHAPTER 6

Rachel sat back so hard she almost knocked her own chair backwards. She had

always sensed Liats fear of her ex, but never would have guessed that shed hear a

sentence like that out of someone elses mouth. He what?

Reuven looked around to make sure no one was listening. When he spoke again,

it was so quiet that she almost missed it. I owed him money. I wasam-- a kohen, and

I got a little too used to a high standard of living. Then, suddenly, my usual gift-givers

dried up, and I was short of money. Pinhas appeared, seemed to sense what was going

on, and offered me money, enough to tide me over. When the time came to pay, though,

he demanded interest, which of course is not allowed. So I told him that, offered to go to

a court and discuss it. Instead, he tied me down, cut off my pinky toe, and said, there,

debt paid in full.

He said it quietly, devoid of any obvious emotion, except that Rachel had spent a

lifetime listening for emotion. She knew that the streams of anger, the intensity of


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Reuvens certainty that he would one day settle up with Pinhas, ran deeper than she had

seen in anyone, except maybe Lije.

I dont understand, why didnt you go to the police?

He caught me by surprise, knocked me out, tied me up, waited for me to wake

up, and cut off the toe. It was my word against his, and without witnesses or really strong

circumstantial evidence, its rare that the authorities do anything about it.

But still, there was your lost toe!

Sure, but how would the police know that I didnt lose it in an accident, or slice

it off myself to be able to accuse Pinhas? Hes a man who has his share of enemies.

Hes a very powerful priest, controls much of the sacrificial economy. He supplies most

of the animals and oil used, and guards those contracts jealously. I later heard that he

was worried that I would take over some of that business, or prevent him from

monopolizing it, so he spread rumors about my personal life that led people to stop

bringing me priestly giftsthey want a priest of sterling character. He set me up, so he

could get me alone, and take away my life!

Rachel was certainly sympathetic, but she wasnt sure she understood the depth of

Reuvens bitterness. Im sorry, did you say your life? I dont want to minimize the loss

of a toe, but

Reuven had been speaking with his head facing down, the words coming out of

him in a low, controlled voice. As he looked at her now, she saw tears glistening in his

eyes.


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You dont get it, do you? Did you stop and wonder, ever, what drew me to

Temple rejects? Id like to think that Im just a nice guy, but the truth is thatIm a reject,

have been for five years now, and being on the Mount, watching others do their bit for

God and country up there is usually too much for me to bear. I make sure to be away for

most holidays, just so I dont have to go on the Mount, and see him still serving, while I

have to live out my life separated from the service that I loved so deeply.

He saw the bewilderment on her face, and took a deep breath. All right, let me

try this again. I heard what that Levi said to you before, that the teaching is more

important to him and to others than the service. That may be true for a lot of people, but

for me, it was the Mikdash. It was standing in the courtyard, cleaning the altar, sweeping

up, moving used animals, whatever, but being part of that center, that hub of I used to

be in the Mikdash more than 300 days a yearI still hold the record for consecutive days

of serviceit was everything to me. It was the reason I couldnt stay married, no woman

could put up with the mistress of my work.

When Pinhas sliced off my toe, he made me a ba`al mum, a blemished priest.

Sure, I can still get some priestly gifts, although people forget about you if they dont see

you at the Temple on a regular basis, but I cant serve. To serve, you have to be

physically perfect, and I have a blemish.

And to answer your next fifty questions. I thought about going to the cops, but

they are, shall we say, discouraging of reports about Pinhas. There have been many

complaints about him over the years, but hes smart, really smart, and nobodys ever

caught him doing anything other than serving loyally and righteously. So the authorities


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have announced that they refuse to hear unsubstantiated reports about Pinhas, and will

punish anyone who brings oneas they see it, it is unpunishable if its unprovable, and

ends up maligning Pinhas, which they cant allow.

But Ill tell you this. The day will come when I see an opening to bring him

down from his perch; hell go too far, or make a mistake. And I just hope Im part of that

when it happens. But, as for you, you must stay away. This is a man of no morals, no

restraint, other than getting what he wants. He could commit murder and not blink.

Murder and not blink. Liat.

But wouldnt that make him unfit to serve?

A bitter smile from Reuven. Only if he got caught, and so far, he hasnt gotten

caught.

Rachels head was spinning. One part of her was stunned to think that one of

Gods designated priestsof course, she had never been fond of Pinhas, but she always

assumed that that was because he was Liats ex, and she saw him through Liats

jaundiced eyescould be running such a Mob-style racket in the Temple, of all places.

Another part of her was surprised at how surprised she was; a jaded journalist, never

much interested in the Mikdash, thinking about Pinhas like this had shaken her more than

she would have ever guessed. A third part of her viewed Reuven with a little suspicion.

He had to be exaggerating. Could Pinhas cut off somebodys toe and get away free?

Even with all that going on, most of her was thinking of Liat. If this was who

Pinhas was, she felt sure that he was behind Liats death. She knew he couldnt do it

himself, because coming into contact with a corpse would bar him from entry into the


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Mikdash for seven days, and Pinhas would never have allowed that. But now she had

Harvey; it had to be him. Pinhas fixer, he must have killed Liat, and then come back to

the scene of the crime to insure that she was really dead. The emotions on his face that

first night must have been some human sense of guilt for ending such a beautiful life so

prematurely.

An idea was nibbling at the back of Rachels head, but her fury at Pinhas and

Harvey was blocking almost all other thought. She knew she had to immediately

extricate herself from Reuven, who was becoming much too involved in her life for her

comfort. But there was one more thing that he could help her with.

Listen, there is something else I didnt understand, that day when I went to the

Old Ones meeting. That guy Jacko, who swore he was going off to get revenge on his

brothers killer, what did he mean?

Reuven had been lost in his own thoughts, and she suspected he wasnt paying

much attention as he answered her. Hes got the right to be agoel hadam. If someone

is killed, their close relatives have the right to avenge their death by killing the

murderer.

Without any trial or anything?

Well, the murderer is supposed to run to the nearest ir miklat, city of refuge. If

he gets there, he gets to have a trial, and the court determines what should happen to him.

Until he gets there, though, or if the court decides hes liable for the victims death, the

goel hadam has the right to kill him.


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Reuvens voice had taken on a singsong quality, which she realized meant that he

was so involved in his topic that he wasnt wondering why she cared. The teacher in him

took over when he was asked a question, and he answered the question as well and as

fully as he could. She thought she could risk one more question without him figuring out

her plan.

What if the murderer doesnt run?

Well, that would be stupid, because then thegoel hadam could kill him at any

point.

Which was exactly what Rachel had hoped to hear. She dropped the issue before

Reuven got suspicious, and engaged him in aimless chitchat for a while, just so as not to

leave too abruptly. Reuven tried to convince her to go to another Old Ones meeting, this

time with himRachel was having trouble deciding if he was trying to get personally

close, or was just concerned with her adjustment to life. She promised to think about it,

to call with her answer, and left the shop in a hurry.

Her watch said 7:25. She needed to get Adin homethe babysitter would come

at 8:30, and she needed breakfast, to nurse, and to find Lijes old gun. Having a purpose

and a plan put a new spring in her step, and she found the walk home refreshing, as did

Adin, who woke up part of the way home and entertained the streets of Jerusalem with

his cries, as he informed his mother in no uncertain terms that he did not wish to wait a

moment longer for his breakfast.


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CHAPTER 7

Two hours, including a nap and a shower, later, Rachel was back on the streets,

hailing a cab. Once she got in, with the cabbie waiting to hear where they were going,

she realized that she had no idea. So far, she had seen Harvey on a random Jerusalem

street, at an Old Ones meeting, and out the window of the Temple Grounds. She thought

of waiting there until she saw him again, but Reuven would become suspicious, or,

worse, think she was interested in him, which she assured herself she was not. How often

did that lunchtime meeting happen at the Hilton? Well, no matter, it was the only logical

place to start. She told the cabbie to take her to the Davids Citadel, the Hiltons new

name. He said, Oh, the Hilton, and drove off.

Walking into the hotel, she was struck by how different security was since the

Arrival. No one checked her bag, although her guilt made her feel like everyone knew

she had a gun in there. Hoping she did not look too nervous, she went up to the reception

desk, where the pretty young woman behind the counterpre-Arrival pretty, long black

hair, stark makeup emphasizing her lips and cheekbones, skintight uniform emphasizing

her lean tight body, one that Rachel knew meant many hours in a gym and many meals

turning down anything that tasted good-- behind the counter smiled and said, May I help

you?

Yes, is there an Old Ones meeting here today?

Yes, maam, every day at 12 oclock, in the ballroom on the fifth floor, and

theres no need to be nervous, many people feel the need to attend a meeting now and

then.


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Two and a quarter hours to kill, Rachel thought, then laughed at her pun. A walk

was out of the question, since her body was already protesting the abuse of the last few

days. The next time she had a baby she would have to remember not to get caught up in

investigating a murder until at least a little longer after giving birth. There was a coffee

shop in the hotel, but after her time in the Temple Grounds, more coffee was the last

thing she wanted. They did, however, have a restaurant, so Rachel decided to get a head

start on lunchwho knew where the day was going to go?

Looking over the menu, other instincts took over, and she ordered a fruit salad,

which she toyed with while she mulled her usual list of questions and issues. Was she

going to raise Adin alone, or try to find a man to share the parenting even if she couldnt

marry him until the situation with Lije cleared up? Would Lije come back, or would she

at least find out where he was, so she could get on with her life? When should she go

back to work? She was acutely aware of how hectic her schedule was when she was

working, and with no other parent around, she worried about the effects on Adin. On the

other hand, she knew that she needed an outlet for her energiesher interest in Liats

case, she had to admit to herself, was at least as much excitement over a real intellectual

and emotional challenge, one that had nothing to do with diapers or dealing patiently with

a squalling, pooping infant, as it was about a desire for justice.

Her reverie went as most of her reveries did, getting some clarity, but mostly re-

treading familiar ground, with few decisions coming any closer than they had been when

she started. It did, however, while away the time until the meeting was ready to start.

She entered the room, and was relieved to see Harvey right at the front. Unfortunately,


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the Gordons were also there, and they remembered Rachel. This time, though, Rachel

had some questions that would help her steer the conversation in a productive direction.

You come every day to these?

Well, no, it depends on our plans for that day. But we come as often as we can.

First, it gives us a boost in feeling comfortable in the country. Also, Thursday is Speaker

Day, and they often have interesting and motivational speakers. But most importantly,

the Government credits our tax bill for each time we come, didnt you know that?

Rachel didnt much care, since she had little Israeli income to speak of; she was

living off savings until she rejoined her TV show, at which point they would pay her

maternity leave retroactively. She made a mental note of it nonethelessit was exactly

the kind of information that you needed at some later point and had forgotten to pay

attention to when it came up. Since the meeting was about to begin, she thanked the

Gordons, and carefully found a seat far enough away from them to insure that she would

not have to speak to them again. By the time she seated herself, the meeting was coming

to order.

Speaker Daywhich Rachel guessed was so that regular attendees could have a

day off from hearing other people obsess over their difficultiesturned out to be an

extended advertisement forulpan, Hebrew speaking classes. Rachel remembered how

much Lije had pushed her to take an ulpan; she had refused, insisti

murderer in the mikdash

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