Free The Masada Complex by Avraham Azrieli Page A

witnessing a violent suicide.” He glanced at her. “A new trauma saps the mental energy needed to contain the old trauma, which then explodes to the surface.”
    “I left my ticking bombs in Israel.” She reversed out of the garage.
    “Old traumas continue to tick even if we try to suppress them. They often manifest in vivid nightmares.”
    Masada accelerated up the street, turning into Echo Canyon Road without slowing down. “You think I’m going crazy?”
    Her tone confirmed he had touched a nerve. “Are you?”
    Masada decelerated sharply to stop at a red light. “I’m not Al Zonshine.”
    Rabbi Josh turned to her but said nothing. Her thinness extenuated the features of her face—a straight nose, high cheekbones, and a perfect jaw. He interlocked his fingers, keeping his hands in his lap, longing to touch her. “He is a member of my flock. I’ve tried to help him fight off his demons.”
    “Unsuccessfully, it seems.”
    “Has he bothered you again?”
    “Not since the restraining order was issued.” Masada took off as the light changed, pushing the car hard. She downshifted, approaching a turn. “There’s a barf bag under the seat.”
    “Thanks.” He laughed, realizing the drive was intended to test him.
    “Did Raul like my Corvette?”
    “He wants me to trade the Honda for one of these. I told him it’s unbecoming for a rabbi.”
    Masada downshifted to pass a slower car and turned right on Camelback Road so fast that he had to grab the door handle to avoid falling on her. She laughed. “God, I love this car.”
    “God loves you too.” He watched her shifting gears with a slender arm. The radio played, I’m a prisoner of your soul, a lifer in paper walls, plastered with your face, before you left this earth. He thought of Linda’s photos on his own walls, her clear eyes framed in carrot-red curls, a smile that was contagious even when he cried.
    Masada lowered the volume on the radio. “A shekel for your thoughts.”
    He hesitated. “I miss my wife.”
    “Do you feel guilty about liking another woman?”
    “Liking would have been fine. But when it’s more than liking—”
    “Guilt is impractical. I prefer anger.” Masada pushed her hair behind her ears. “Aren’t you angry at whatever killed her?”
    “I’m angry at myself.” Rabbi Josh sighed. “How about you?”
    “It’s easy for me. I blame Israel for the deaths of my parents and brother.”
    “Is that why you’re so eager to indict Israel?”
    “Who else would pay Mahoney to sponsor a mutual defense act with Israel?”
    “Christian fundamentalists? Jehovah’s Witnesses? Michael Jackson? The world is filled with misguided souls.”
    “Only countries spend that kind of money on bribes, and Israel is the only country interested in legislation that would force our president to declare war on whoever attacks Israel.”
    “And require Israel to fight against anyone attacking America.”
    “Ha!”
    “It’s convenient to only see the facts that support your theory.
    Can’t you acknowledge the possibility it wasn’t Israel?” Rabbi Josh put his arm forward as the car came to a screeching halt at a red light. “That Fair Aid legislation is a terrible development.”
    “Israel should have learned from the Pollard affair, the Abramoff and AIPAC scandals. Instead, they bribed Mahoney, and failed.”
    “You say ‘Israel’ as if it’s a single entity that acts and speaks in one voice. You know how divided and conflicted Israel is, including the ever-changing coalition government. And even if one of Israel’s agencies did bribe Mahoney, should the whole Zionist enterprise suffer?”
    “I don’t hear Israeli voices protesting the smear campaign against me.”
    “What did you expect? They have to discredit you by showing that you have a score to settle.”
    “You condone their tactics?” The light went green, and Masada threw the clutch, spinning the wheels until they caught traction, and the car bolted with a roar