The Devil in Jerusalem (28 page)

“But he was already sandak to Eli!”

“As long as he is here, we can't possibly honor anyone else above him.” His voice softened. “Please, Daniella, after everything the Messiah has done for our family … I'll talk to your brother.”

She shrugged helplessly.

Shlomie approached Joel.

“Is that really you?” Joel asked him, looking over the getup, the long, untrimmed beard, the wild payot.

Shlomie smiled at him kindly, not thinking the worse of him. He understood. An eagle flying high above instills awe in everyone who beholds it. He had become that eagle. He quietly explained the situation to Joel, who had no choice but to graciously give up the honor he had not asked for but had been gratified to receive. But the slight hurt him deeply. The rebbe—if he had
any
kindness or wisdom at all—should have understood this and insisted that the child's uncle take precedence over himself, he thought, looking over Menachem Shem Tov with greater scrutiny.

Arrogantly, Shem Tov took his place at the front of the room, holding the baby in his lap with careless ease. Daniella and Shlomie were thrilled as they watched him lay his holy hands on the baby's delicate little head, using all his magical powers, his knowledge and wisdom, to call down the blessings of angels, which would ensure their child a safe and happy future.

Later, Joel approached his sister privately.

“Daniella, what is going on here?” Joel cornered her.

“What do you mean?” she countered, immediately defensive.

“Has your husband gone completely mad? He dresses like a bag lady and behaves like one of those street-corner prophets they put into insane asylums when they become annoying enough. He doesn't work. And as far as I can see, he doesn't do anything to help you either. He's never with his children. Why do you put up with it?”

“Look, Joel, if he was getting his Ph.D. and I was supporting him and he was working hard on his thesis, you wouldn't have a word to say against him! But because he is learning Torah and has elevated himself spiritually, you criticize. We have other values. You know that,” Daniella argued, trying to banish her own misgivings, recognizing the truth in his words.

“People who study for a Ph.D. eventually graduate,” he said dryly. “How long can you go on this way? It's insane.” Esther put her hand on Joel's, restraining him.

“Look, Daniella, all Joel means is that things seem so changed now,” she said gently, affectionately linking her arm through Daniella's. “The children look so different. Those long payot. And the girls, such haredi-looking dresses. Like Beit Yaakov girls.” She laughed. “We're surprised, that's all. We're concerned for you and for them. Is … everything all right?”

Daniella abruptly removed her arm. “What are you trying to say, Esther? That we've become too God-fearing? Too religious?”

“I didn't mean to … All I was saying is that since the last time I was here, the children seem so, I don't know, unlike themselves.”

Joel came to his wife's aid. “I noticed that, too.”

Daniella ignored the larger question, focusing on the details. “They are going to schools in which all the children dress like that.”

“I wanted to speak to you about that also. I was talking to Duvie about what level he was up to in English, and he said his school doesn't teach English. That they don't even teach Hebrew. They learn in Yiddish. Yiddish! What's that all about, Daniella?”

“These are the best schools for
our
children. Our rebbe picked them out personally for each of them. We are very lucky to have his guidance and blessing.”

Joel shook his head. “Where are your friends, Daniella?”

She looked startled. “Since we moved, we're not in touch.”

“But your new friends from
this
neighborhood?”

“I don't have much time for socializing.”

“I don't see a single woman here, except for Shem Tov's wife and Esther. What is happening to you, Daniella? Why so isolated?”

Was this true? she wondered, but she answered him resentfully: “Why are you trying to make me feel bad on such a happy day?”

“I'm just worried, that's all.”

“I'll tell you what you are. You are both jealous! Because I am living the better life, the holier life, and you are just going on day by day, typical Orthodox Americans who are more American than Orthodox. Worrying about your next cruise to the Bahamas,” she replied cruelly, without even knowing why. It was as if after begging him to come, all she wanted now was to push him away. She couldn't stand seeing her life through his eyes.

Their words cut viciously into her newfound confidence and pleasure in her life. It was true she had no friends, but she didn't need them! She had her children, her husband, and Reb Menachem and his Hassidim. As for the children's schools, their new way of dress … She was part of something special, holy, and good. Joel, with his corrupted values, would never understand that. She was sorry she ever invited him. She would have to distance herself from her family, from their discouragement and bad advice.

Joel and Esther cut their trip short, leaving a day after the brit. He left Daniella a short message on her voice mail: “I don't know what has happened to you but it scares me. I am always there for you, sister. Be careful of your new friends.”

She never called him back, and didn't say good-bye.

 

25

They discovered to their chagrin that Menachem Shem Tov had fled the country two days after the children were brought into the hospital. He could be anywhere by now, Bina thought in despair. Through Interpol, they found out he had entered Canada but had left again two weeks later. He was now in Namibia.

“We'll extradite.”

“There is no extradition treaty between Israel and Namibia. That's why he's there.”

“But why would they shelter a monstrous child abuser?”

“Exactly. That's why we have to build an airtight case against him, Bina, no?” Morris pointed out.

“We have the notebooks.…”

He shook his head. “It's not enough. We need the testimonies of the victims, with corroborating evidence from the mother and his accomplices.”

“We need the children to talk?”

He nodded, then shrugged. “There is no way around it.”

“Let's talk to Johnny. He's the best child investigator in the country. If he can't get to them, no one can.”

Bina, Morris, and Johnny met at Beit Ticho, a quiet, garden spot in the center of town. Once home to the artist Anna Ticho, it was now a museum with a small restaurant, where many local authors gathered to write over a cup of coffee and a Danish.

Bina looked around at the blooming garden bathed in bright spring sunshine, her mind roaming back to the windy cold day in March when two horribly abused children had been brought into Hadassah Hospital. One was healing, and the other still lay in a coma. Her heart contracted as she thought of the little boy who would never again experience his childhood, run through a garden, smell the flowers. She breathed in the jasmine and roses, trying to clear her head and exhale the poison in her heart.

This case was tearing her life apart, she thought. Any idea of having another child had to be put on hold. “I can't even think of nurturing a new life with all this ugliness inside me,” she insisted to her husband. It was not only the case that was on hold, but her life.

“Johnny, we have got to get all the children to talk.”

He nodded, his long fingers pressed together, roof-like, touching his lips. “It's a catch-22. As long as he's out there and they think he can still harm them, they likely won't talk. And as long as they won't talk, he'll be out there. Also, as long as they think that their mother will be hurt by their testimony, they won't talk. As long as their eldest brother has power over them, they won't talk. We need to break down these barriers one by one.”

“Where do we start?”

“I think we should separate Duvie from the rest of the kids when we bring them in to talk to them. I also think we have to come to some kind of plea deal with the mother,” said Johnny.

“I don't see it. She's crazy, hypnotized. She'll never agree,” Morris broke in morosely.

“I didn't say it would be easy. But you've got no choice. And it's important for the kids. Talk to her lawyer. Take her out of her holding cell and put her into Neve Tirza Prison. Give her a taste of what life will be like for her there. I heard she had problems with her three cellmates in Jerusalem. Let her try dealing with a hundred drug addicts and murderers and prostitutes who all despise child molestors. Tell her if she doesn't talk she'll be there for the rest of her life.”

“She deserves it!” Bina murmured.

“I'm not so sure.” Johnny shook his head. “From all the evidence, it seems to me that Shem Tov is a dangerous psychopath, a person born with no conscience. Such people are often gifted with intelligence, magnetism, seductiveness. If you read the history of cults, it's the more intelligent and sensitive people who fall prey; people who are educated, idealists. Add to that Daniella Goodman's loneliness and isolation, her exhaustion in taking care of seven children with a husband who is who-knows-where most of the time. I'm sure she felt shock and terror at Shem Tov's behavior, but by the time he revealed his true self to her, like most cult members, it was too late. She was in too deep,” Johnny said gently.

“So she's never going to wake up?”

“I'm not saying that. What's hopeful is that it's been shown that even cult members don't really change at their core. What they've learned, been forced into, is like a shell over their basic beliefs and personality. Eventually, it's possible for them to break out and return to themselves. To see the truth.”

“We don't have time to wait for her to ‘hatch'; we don't have time for ‘eventually,'” Morris said firmly. “Let's start with the kids, then talk to the older boy alone. What is Duvie, thirteen? He's a scared kid. Figure out a way to ease him into telling us the truth. I think it'll be easier than with the mother, who's got a shitload of guilt to flush out of her system before she can face the truth. Some people would rather delude themselves forever than actually look into a mirror.”

 

26

Soon after Menchie was born, Shlomie gradually slipped back into his old ways and Daniella was finally forced to admit to herself her feelings toward him had changed. She no longer felt that he was her family, part of her life. Maybe even worse, she no longer admired or respected him. Bit by bit, whatever love or connection she had once felt for him had simply vanished.

This knowledge came to her in increments: the petty disappointments that he was not there when the children needed to be cared for; the disgust at how blithely and with such self-righteousness he gave away money he had done nothing to earn, and which did not in any way belong to him. Most of all, it was the aftereffect of those brief conversations she could manage with him about what he did all day.

“The Messiah says…” was the way he started every conversation, a look of stupid awe on his face as he grandly expounded on his latest newfound wisdom. “The Messiah says if you want to communicate with angels, you must leave your false humaneness behind. In the
Book of Enoch
, the first perfect human ascends to God without death.…”

Burdened with changing dirty diapers, trying to feed, clothe, and educate seven lively children, she hardly heard him anymore.

“The Messiah says that when you light candles Friday night, you bring the Divine Feminine aspect into the home,” he droned on.

“Did you remember to buy diapers? We are very low,” she interrupted him wearily, his supercilious singsong reminding her of loathsome Sunday-morning television Bible-thumpers.

“Oh, diapers,” he repeated, momentarily distracted.

“Amalya, sweetie,” she called out. “Can you please run down and get some diapers? Also, bring me some baby cream for Menchie's rash.”

She turned away from her husband, lifting a heavy laundry basket full of clothes, noting that Shlomie made no move to help her. He probably doesn't even notice, she thought bitterly. She heard her granny whisper in her ear:
Luftmensch
.

She put the basket down in the living room near the couch, using her foot to push away a pile of scattered toys. Toys, bits of cookie crumbs, used tissues, and candy wrappers were everywhere. It was sickening. But as hard as she tried, she realized she just couldn't do more on her own. She'd simply have to wait for their housecleaner, who came twice a week. She'd ignored Shlomie's frequent suggestions to have her come in more often. With their astronomical expenses and the ridiculously low interest rate the banks were now paying on deposits, she had no choice. She sat down heavily on the couch and began to fold. Shlomie followed her.

“We're learning the book
Sefer HaBahir
, the ‘Book of Brightness,' by Rabbi Yitzhak Saggi Nehor, who was called Isaac the Blind. He wrote about the mystical importance of light and color.”

“Right, a book about light and color, from a blind man.” She shook her head, matching up tiny socks.

He ignored her. “It's about the transmigration of souls from one human life to the next. Our actions decide to which life we will return. Kabbalah is a link between God and the universe and humanity. The Sefirot are the bridge. They emanate from God, suffuse life. The Messiah says—”

“Can you go out and get a pizza for dinner?” she asked him. “I just don't have the strength to cook.”

He looked up at her, as if coming out of a trance.

“A pizza?”

“Yes. Actually, you'd better bring four. Duvie can eat half a pizza all by himself.”

“Duvie?” His face suddenly changed color. “Actually, I have something to tell you about Duvie.”