The Jerusalem Inception by Avraham Azrieli Page B

headquarters until the force returned. The major was fuming. “We should have arrested them! Stone throwing is a crime!”
    “Count your blessings,” Elie said. “The event ended without serious injury and, even more importantly, without any media presence.”
    “Appeasement will only empower these fanatics!”
    “Leave the strategy to me.”
    “You’re a civilian. This is a police matter.”
    “It’s a political matter, and I speak for the prime minister. From now on, you’ll consult with me before taking any action against the ultra-Orthodox. Understood?”
    Major Buskilah grunted, but he didn’t argue anymore.
    From the Russian Yard, Elie drove to Premier Eshkol’s official residence in the Rehavia neighborhood. The house rested in the shade of a giant elm tree. The previous meeting had just ended, and Elie saw Chief of Staff General Yitzhak Rabin cross the small courtyard and get into his staff car, which drove off.
    An assistant showed Elie in.
    Like David Ben Gurion before him, in addition to being prime minister, Levi Eshkol also held the defense portfolio. The meeting with General Rabin had left him with a red face. “They’re sucking my blood, Weiss, and spitting it in my face!” Eshkol dropped into a chair. “I’ll be remembered as the klutz who got lost in Ben Gurion’s big shoes.”
    “You’re doing a fine job,” Elie said.
    “And what about your job? You told me they’ll only chant Psalms and go home to eat tcholent. Now they’ve put a driver in the hospital, and the opposition is drafting a no-confidence resolution for tomorrow’s Knesset session over my government’s failure to rein in the meshuggeneh black hats. I don’t need this! I have President Nasser and King Hussein and the crazy Syrians to deal with!”
    Elie lit a cigarette. “It was an accident.”
    “Accident is the incompetent’s fig leaf.” Levi Eshkol had been pressed into leadership by Golda Meir and the other old-guard Labor leaders, who used him to block the younger politicians from ascending to the top. But now the Arabs were gearing up for another wholesale attack on Israel, and the media was pressuring Eshkol to yield the defense portfolio to the famed General Moshe Dayan. “Are you losing your touch, Weiss? My people were able to cut deals with the religious parties on the abortion vote in the Knesset—”
    “Neturay Karta is not a party.” Elie stubbed his cigarette in an ashtray that was already full. “It’s a fundamentalist sect that cuts no deals, a fuse that can ignite a nationwide religious revolt.”
    “My point exactly. They are your responsibility.” He shook his finger at Elie. “I inherited you, Weiss. I was told that your Special Operations Department can handle them, but I’m starting to have doubts.”
    “Why?”
    “With food comes appetite. Now rocks, tomorrow guns.”
    “Shooting is not a Talmudic skill,” Elie said. “My reports outline our strategy. Neturay Karta is the epicenter of Jewish fundamentalism, of fervent anti-Zionists. We’ve been monitoring them for two decades. Ben Gurion had expected bloody religious riots within five years of declaring independence. It’s been almost two decades, and I’ve been able to contain them.”
    The mention of Ben Gurion’s name had the desired effect. Prime Minister Eshkol seemed deflated. “I don’t read the Bible every day like he does. Maybe I should.”
    “A small disturbance here and there is a small price to pay for civic order.”
    “Not so small if you’re the poor driver who paid with a cracked skull.” The prime minister took off his thick glasses and started polishing them. “If they go meshuggah again, you must crush them like flies.”
    “Neturay Karta might be a small sect, but thousands of ultra-Orthodox citizens would come to its defense from all over Israel—Haifa, Tel Aviv, Beersheba. I have informers everywhere. The black hats despise the Jewish state as a sin against God. They view the secular majority