Newton’s Fire

TWENTY-FOUR
I

Megiddo, Israel

Avram Kohen had slept in the same bed for so many years that he panicked a little on waking to find himself lying on a thin blanket on an unfamiliar hard floor in complete darkness. But then memories came to his rescue: his nephew Uri pleading for his life; his night-time drive north here from the Negev.

The truck’s suspension creaked as he sat up. He felt stiff and tired and cold and filthy. He opened the rear doors, looked out at the broken concrete of the vast car park, and the hill that overlooked it.

Megiddo. Armageddon itself.

There was a payphone by the bus stop out on the main road. ‘Are you ready?’ he asked, when Francis picked up.

‘Another hour,’ said Francis.

‘We’ll be with you in forty minutes.’

He felt better for the modest exercise and the morning air as he walked back to the truck. He was a little hungry too, but Shlomo and his friends were the kind to be punctual. Indeed, a battered navy blue people carrier lumbered up the track a few minutes later. The doors opened and Shlomo and ten others got out. They all wore the distinctive beards, hair, hats and other garb of ultra-Orthodox Judaism, yet somehow they were different from the usual run: thinner and tougher and altogether more dangerous. A legacy of their army service perhaps.

‘Where are the others?’ asked Shlomo.

‘They’ll join us later.’

Shlomo frowned. ‘They didn’t want to be here for this? For the tenth heifer?’

Avram had deferred this moment as long as possible, to prevent defections; but now the time had come. ‘Their motivations aren’t your motivations,’ he said.

‘They’re not religious?’ asked Shlomo.

‘They’re good Jews,’ Avram assured him. ‘What more do you need to know?’

‘What kind of Jews?’

‘Settlers, mostly. From Hebron.’

There was silence. Haredim didn’t mix easily with outside groups, particular secular ones. ‘You lied to us,’ said Shlomo.

‘Did I?’

‘You know you did.’

‘Look at us,’ begged Avram. ‘Twelve men in a car park. You think we’re enough to seize and hold the Promised Land? You think that we can bring down the Dome and then build a new Temple all by ourselves?’

‘With the Lord on our side, praise His Name, we can-’

‘The Lord, praise His Name, has been on our side forever,’ snapped Avram. ‘And yet the Dome still stands. So maybe we’ve been doing it wrong. How about that for an idea?’ He looked around at them but saw only hostility and resentment in their faces so that he knew he needed a different approach or he’d risk losing them. ‘Listen to me,’ he said. ‘Please listen. These past twenty-four hours, I’ve been talking with sympathizers from across the world. I’ve told them of all the signs that the Lord has sent us in proof that this is our moment. The earthquake. The heifer. The forty-nine years of the prophet Daniel. The simple fact that tonight there will be no moon. But there’s one more reason we can be certain this is the time. A reason I shared with none of them, because they aren’t capable of understanding. But you will understand. Because tonight isn’t just significant in their Western calendar. Tonight is significant in our own calendar too. Tonight is Rosh Chodesh Sivan.’

There were murmurs among Shlomo’s men at this. They saw instantly where he was going. But he kept talking all the same, taking advantage of the moment. ‘The people of the Exodus were a diverse people,’ he said. ‘They came from different tribes and families, different traditions and beliefs. Then Moses led them out of Egypt and into Sinai, to the foot of its holy mount; and it was there that, for the first time, we came together as one people. It was there that we became Israel.’

Avram knew they’d be familiar with the passage, yet it demanded being read out aloud, so he strode back to his truck for his battered copy of the Torah, turning to the Book of Exodus as he returned to them, reciting the verses as he walked.

‘“In the third month of the departure of Israel out of the land of Egypt, on this day, they came in to the wilderness of Sinai. For departing out of Raphidim, and coming to the desert of Sinai, they pitched their tents in the same place: and there Israel camped against the mountain.”’

He closed the book, held it aloft like triumph. ‘“And there Israel camped against the mountain.” The only instance in the Torah, in the entire Tanakh — the only instance — where our people are described in the singular rather than the plural. You all know that. And you all know why, too. Because, on that one day, we all of us became Israel — one nation with one mind and one heart joined together in one covenant with the Lord, the covenant that we kept in the sacred Ark in the tabernacle and in the Holy of Holies in the Temple of Solomon on Mount Moriah. So what other day could we possibly choose for this great enterprise, but Rosh Chodesh Sivan? And yet you would have the Haredim do it alone? No. A thousand times no. This is the day when all Israel comes together in covenant with our Lord. And who are we to say that these Jews or those Jews aren’t worthy to be there with us? Who are we to put our own preferences ahead of the Lord’s? This way, we will be a mirror of our nation. This way, when our fellows wake up tomorrow in Tel Aviv and Haifa, in Europe and New York, whatever kind of Jew they may be, they’ll see people just like themselves on their television sets, striking a blow for our nation against the Arabs and their allies. And all Israel will flock to our side with passion and joy and courage and numbers because of it; and all Israel will demand that the Temple of Solomon is built once more upon Moriah. All Israel united as one again on Rosh Chodesh Sivan.’ He came to a finish, half expecting to be greeted with acclaim and cheers, but all he got was a few grudging nods.

‘Very well,’ said Shlomo, interpreting the mood of his small company. ‘Just as long as there aren’t any women.’

Avram didn’t let his expression so much as flicker. ‘Of course not,’ he said.