The Jerusalem Inception Read Online Free PDF Page A

to the south.
    Bent over in fear, the men ran downhill, except for their rabbi, who paced calmly, indifferent to the shrieking bullets. Lemmy chased his father’s hat, catching it halfway down the hill, and brought it back. Rabbi Gerster examined the hat and poked a finger through the bullet hole. The bearded men congregated around their leader, watching in awe. Redhead Dan yelled, “A miracle! A miracle!”
    The sun’s last rays touched the roofs. Sabbath was about to begin, time to return to Meah Shearim, the enclosed neighborhood where the insular sect of Neturay Karta lived in strict observance of the Torah, insulated from the sinful ways of the surrounding Zionist society.
    “It was a close call.” Rabbi Gerster put an arm on his son’s shoulders. “Blessed be He, Master of the Universe.”
    “Amen,” Lemmy said.
    They walked down the steep path, worn from eighteen years of weekly visits. The men glanced at the rabbi, their anxiety mixed with elation at having witnessed a miracle. They were devoted to him, a holy man who had emerged from the ashes of the Holocaust alone, not yet twenty years old. Lemmy had heard the stories from others, how his father had come to Neturay Karta to seek refuge among the faithful. His payos had barely started to regrow, the scars on his chest still fresh. But he was the scion of the famous Gerster rabbinical line, and the sect’s elders took him in. They matched him with a wife, Temimah, another survivor of the war. In 1948, when the Jordanians had exiled the Jews from the Old City, Abraham Gerster took a vow not to travel away from Jerusalem until Temple Mount was restored to Jewish sovereignty. And when a son was born to him, he named him Jerusalem, though everyone called the boy Lemmy, as if his given name was too holy to be used lightly. With the passing years, Abraham Gerster had gained a vast knowledge of Talmud and a reputation for calm wisdom, becoming the leader of Neturay Karta.
    As they reached Shivtay Israel Street, Lemmy saw a woman standing by the roadside. She was petite and slender, her dark hair collected in a bun. A sleeveless dress exposed her shoulders, and her plain sandals revealed tanned ankles.
    Lemmy was shocked. Zionist women never ventured near Neturay Karta with their hair and limbs so immodestly exposed.
    The men murmured contemptuously and pulled down the brims of their hats to hide the sinful sight.
    The woman stepped forward and blocked Rabbi Gerster’s way. She stared up at him with piercing green eyes. And before anyone managed to interfere, she reached up and touched his beard.
    This unimaginable violation—a woman’s impure hand touching the rabbi!—unleashed Redhead Dan, who charged forward like a bull, ramming her. Her heel caught the curb, and she fell backward and banged her head on the sidewalk.
    The men closed in, cursing in Yiddish, fists clenched. Redhead Dan shouted, “ Shanda! Shanda!” He plucked off his shoe and lifted it over the woman’s head.
    Without thinking Lemmy hurled himself at Redhead Dan and knocked him to the ground.
    “Stop!” Rabbi Gerster raised his hand. “ Enough! ”
    The men stepped back.
    She sat up. A thin stream of blood dripped from her forehead, down her cheek, and onto her plain dress.
    The rabbi kneeled by her side. He said nothing, but his face was pale. The woman pushed a lock of hair away from her face. He offered her a white handkerchief. She took it, pressed it to her bruised forehead, and began to laugh.
    She laughed!
    Lemmy realized she must be mad. Why else would she laugh?
    She continued to laugh, yet tears flowed from her eyes.
    The men watched their rabbi to see how he would react to her madness.
    “Please visit us tomorrow.” He gestured at the gate. “Over there.”
    She nodded.
    He stood and walked away. His men hurried after him. Lemmy offered a hand to Redhead Dan, who refused it with an angry grunt and sprang to his feet unaided.
    Just before entering the neighborhood gate, Lemmy