Highlander - Donna Lettow [34]
Today was the anniversary of her death, of all their deaths. He had faithfully kept the anniversary ever since, in the decadent villas of Rome, the tiny Russian shtetls, the teeming cities of Eastern Europe, wherever his life had taken him. With the liberation of Israel, he’d finally been able to return to the rock, to this tiny room where they had loved, to the room where he had killed her.
Avram knelt by the clay oven, bowed his head, and began to recite softly, so softly only he and God could hear. “Extolled and hallowed be the name of God in that world which He is to create anew, and to revive the dead and to raise them to an everlasting life. Then will the city of Jerusalem be rebuilt, the Temple be erected there, the worship of idols be ,erased from the land, and the Holy One, Blessed be He, will reign in His Kingdom in majestic glory. May this happen in your lifetime and in your days, and in the lifetime of the whole house of Israel, speedily and near in time, and let us say, Amen.”
The words were in Aramaic, the language of his childhood, a language nearly forgotten, but which gave him great comfort. It made him think of his father, who had drilled him in his prayers from the day little Avram started to speak, confident that his son was smarter and quicker than all the other boys. One of the hardest parts of being Immortal for Avram had been learning that Mordecai ben Enoch and his wife were not his natural parents, that Mordecai had adopted a foundling child to be his only son. At first he was devastated, but as time passed Avram came to realize that no father could ever have loved a son of his loins more than his father had loved him. He remembered the beaming look of pride on his father’s face the first time he’d read aloud from the Torah in front of the other men of the synagogue. After all these centuries, he hoped his father would still be proud.
“Let His great name be blessed forever and to all eternity. Blessed, praised and glorified, exalted, adored and honored, extolled and lauded be the name of the Holy One, blessed be He; though He be high above all the blessings and hymns, praises and works of solace which are uttered in the world; and say ye, Amen.”
Avram stopped on the “Amen,” hearing footsteps nearby. He turned his head to see a man, gray-haired, yet tanned and very fit, coming toward him.
“Son, are you all right?” One of the guides who helped patrol the complex and conducted tours for the visitors stopped in the ruined doorway.
Avram smiled at the old man. “I’m fine. Just resting a bit.” He shrugged, embarrassed. “I had to be Rambo and come up the long way.” They shared a chuckle at Avram’s expense.
“The next tour’s starting up in about fifteen minutes.” The guide was full of enthusiasm. “Bet you I can show you some things you never imagined were up here.” He gave Avram a wink. “I promise I won’t go too fast for you.”
“Fifteen minutes? Sure,” Avram said amiably, “meet you there.” With a wave, the guide continued on his way.
Avram turned back to the corner by the oven, reached out to touch a faint mark of scorched rock on the wall nearby— still marking the spot where he had burned the last of their possessions. He bowed his head and continued.
“May abundant peace and life descend from heaven upon us and upon all Israel; and say ye, Amen. May He who makes peace in His heights bring peace upon us and upon all Israel; and say ye, Amen.”
Then he stood up and removed a handful of pebbles from his pocket. He had collected them during his hike up the serpentine path. Pebbles that predated the concession stands, the sound and laser show, the cable cars. Pebbles that predated even the Romans. He rolled them around in his hand for a moment and then set them down in a little pile on top of the clay oven, marking his visit. His kaddish complete, Avram took one last long look around the ruined fortress and started the journey back down the mountain. He’d be back in Jerusalem before Pesach began with the setting of the sun.
Chapter Seven
Paris: