Chapter 3
When the professor exited the Sons of Light the sudden crash of a brilliant sun left him standing and blinking, as if momentarily perplexed.
“Dr. Gottlieb, Dr. Dvir Gottlieb, May I interrupt you for a moment?”
A firm, persuasive hand had taken hold of his shoulder and paused him in his steps, causing him to turn to his left to see who had interrupted his thoughts. He was surprised to see no one, until he realized that the black-clothed wrist led across his back where, upon turning to the other side, he found himself closely wrapped in the arm of a gentle-looking rabbi who now faced him with a thin beard and a thick smile.
“Yes, uh, yes, I am…I’m Dr. Gottlieb.” His eyes fluttered, batting away the sunshine.
“Shalom, Doctor. My name is Rabbi Eleazar, Eleazar Ezra. I am associated with the children’s orphanage in Giv’at Shaul. I have with me today two of our children who would very much like to meet the author of their favorite book.”
Gottlieb had, of course, heard this many times before. The book was his one truly great success in this life. Of his nine books only this one had been a bestseller, his only children’s book, Prayer Beads. It was a guide to the many faces of God through the unlikely adventures of a young boy, Pini by name. One critic called it “a Candide-like romp through modern religious thought,” and “an attempt to explain the reality of religious dogma as well as the logic of doubt.” He thought both comments were fair assessments.
“Well, I, uh…” Gottlieb gently shrugged the rabbi’s arm from his shoulders, uncomfortable with the easy familiarity of the embrace.
“Please, Doctor Gottlieb, they are just down there, in that gray minibus,” the rabbi implored as he gestured toward the parking lot. “They are both crippled from a bombing. It would make them so happy…a dream come true, really.”
“Yes, well, I suppose so. I am going that direction anyway,” Gottlieb replied with a slight nod toward the lot. “I must catch a taxi.”
“Well, perhaps we can also give you a ride.” Rabbi Eleazer responded, his words soft and persuasive. “We were actually headed in the direction of the Rockefeller. A happy coincidence, don’t you think?”
Professor Gottlieb smiled slightly, appreciative of the offer. His eyes were now accustomed to the light and he could see that the rabbi was Haredi, though he had a modern affect with only a slight beard and a rather smallish kippah atop his head where a wide-brim hat would ordinarily lie.
“Yes, I think that would be nice. I would appreciate it so much,” he replied.
The two began the long walk up and down steps toward the waiting minibus, Gottlieb’s limp slowing his final descent, quickening his desire for the comfort of the idling transport. What were those architects thinking? Gottlieb again wondered.
Strange, he also thought, why would a rabbi from Giv’at Shaul, a hilltop full of Haredim, want children exposed to his book? It was certainly not the kind of reading that would strengthen their faith. Still, perhaps this was a sign of progress. Change always begins with the young and with teachers like this kind rabbi, whose personal views must be somewhat moderate.
The minibus pulled to the front of the stairs as they neared the parking lot. The door slid open, noisily rolling out –and over, a wide yawn exposing the dark recess of the van’s interior. Gottlieb was just about to ask how the rabbi knew that he was heading toward the Rockefeller, and was surprised to see no children as he stepped in. He was even more surprised when he was roughly thrown to the floor and a rag, damp with the flavor of chemical sleep, was held tightly to his face. His brief flopping resulted in only two halting breaths before a great, black blanket spread over his consciousness.
The minibus slowly pulled away from the curb, made a complete stop at the sign and eased into the traffic exiting the lot, heading north and then to West Jerusalem, the opposite direction of the Rockefeller.
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